#fuck i wont be fixing that typo

[ally-charnutz]

ONE DAY LEFT.

[gingerbread-qwq]

[eebie]

meteor shenanigans are the most fun to write

[agayconcept]

.

[nicepersondisorder]

killing and violence (wrist pain is back)

[pika-blur]

i updated it my babys fine :D

do i have to update my 3ds to use hshop

[astranite]

*grumble rant mostly complaining in a big block paragraph chucked out to the void* executive dysfunction issues feel so ridiculous because even when i know exactly what step i need to do next— read the articles for uni essay. Why i need to do it— so i have a base from which to figure out a thesis (look that might cause problems in What am i arguing, but thats a solvable issue if i can focus enough to fix it) to do the rest of the next steps. And how— i have no trouble reading or analysing complex texts. None of that fixes the Cannot Concentrate problem. The articles arent even boring and i like learning new things and im the sort of person know to literally read random bits of textbooks for fun. And i Want to do it. Because i like reading and writing and analysing stuff even above it being important for uni work. But ive spent the afternoon scrolling tumblr, checked my email thrice, left bite marks on my good pen, and literally stared at a blank wall rather than read the article on my screen even when i put away the aforementioned tumblr so now i want to scream. And it makes it difficult to ask for help because people assume its one of the other problems as they aren’t familiar with brain literally wont do it. And being “”clever”” doesnt help (even putting aside the frustrating fact that I couldve done this at 15 and done well and wouldve liked it) because its an entirely different thing (uncannily good pattern recognition and Details and long term memory for facts lead to analytical skills because everything ever is a giant interconnected web, but to focus they do not.) And the classic advice of ‘dont be a perfectionist’ which somehow people also go to isn’t actually what is happening here. The reason things are either in a not even submittable note or its living in my head stage or straight up noting then completed to high level (typos and formatting editing aside as at the last minute those are predictably first to go in the calculation of time to marks) is because the gap of executive function between nothing and even done at all is very large but the subsequent gap between done and done well is limited. My very particular flavour of autistic adhd coming through yet?

So hence rather frustrated especially as here i am trying to do the responsible thing of not starting at the last minute because the research alone will Take Time. And given its the final essay I would prefer not to entirely fuck it up. But ah well, so it will begin again trying tomorrow. Probably is character development that im going to Go On A Walk instead of continuing to bang my head against it.

If anyone read this far ✨Welcome to my brain✨

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Chapter 17 (NEW)

——————————————————————————-

Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

——————————————————————————

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Arthur spoke again.

“Hey, want to see the scar I got from the Manticore? It looks like someone attempted to saw me in half”

I swiveled my head around to look at him, He was perched on one of the bigger rocks looking right at me.

He must be really bored, or maybe he thought the scar was a weird sort of awesome and wanted to show off, who knew.

“Sure why not this is boring as hell, i’ll even show you where i got my kidney cut out if you want”

He nodded and lifted his tunic just enough to show off the pinkish jagged line with some scabs going across the side of his waist.

It was bigger than I had thought, I expected it to maybe be an inch or two long, not eight.

“It does look sick, but i honestly had thought it would be smaller, whatever i’m glad it didn’t kill you”

I had crouched down while talking to see the scar better but got back up to normal after Arthur put his tunic back down.

“My turn I guess? If you still want to see where i’m missing the kidney”

He nodded and I hiked up the tunic enough so that he could see the clean cut that had been made to remove the organ.

“I’m not going into details but it sucked, at least i still have three others that work”

Putting the cloth back over myself I thought about what else I could talk to Arthur about. 

The only thing that came to mind was the other scar I possessed.

The one where a guard threw his sword at me and just barely missed anything important.

I wasn’t sure how he would take that information seeing as he was training to become a guard but maybe telling him wouldn’t be so bad.

“I do have another scar, on my upper back, some Idiot threw his sword at me while on patrol and slashed the area between my shoulderblades open a bit”

“You… do? What does it look like?”

He seemed to take a few seconds to register what the story meant but if he wanted to know what it looked like I could just show him.

I hadn’t really managed to get a good look at it myself as I didn’t own a mirror, and the rare times I managed to stare at my reflection were usually short lived.

“I can just show you, i can’t usually see it so maybe you can tell me what it looks like”

I turned my back to him, not something I would have done two weeks prior, and once again pulled my own tunic up enough that he should be able to see it.

There were a few seconds of silence before.

“I can’t see it, it’s covered in green fur i think you have to shift back”

Aww Fuck.

I couldn’t shift! The gems were stuck! What the hell was I supposed to tell him? I couldn’t lie.

Literally, as Faefolk, I was incapable of lying.

Damnit, maybe if I asked nicely he wouldn’t tell the other two.

“Well, you see, I kinda got the gems jammed? Like I have to turn them to shift but now they don’t work anymore?”

He just stared at me with an incredulous look.

“How did you even manage that? and why?”

I could at least answer those, maybe he’d even have an idea on what to do.

“I wanted to see if I could add thumbs to the green beast thing and turned both of the gems to a halfway point and now they wont turn back or forth.

Do you have an idea what to do?”

I didn’t expect him to have any clue on how to fix this but asking couldn’t hurt right?

“Uh, can I see the thing? Like up close, i might get an idea”

“Sure”

I held the arm with the trinket next to him and he began inspecting it.

“What exactly did you do again? And how does this even work?”

“Well to shift to the green beast i have to turn the lower gem of the vertical row clockwise, and to turn giant i have to do the same with the upper gem”

He let out a small hmm and continued examining the trinket.

“I have an idea, have you tried to turn both at the same time in different directions?”

I had not, the thought to do that hadn’t crossed my mind, besides doing that one handed wouldn’t be easy.

“No, i can only use one hand on this so i don’t think i could do that anyway, but if you think it will work we can try”

He nodded and stepped a few paces away, right randomly shifting while leaning against the wall might not be the best idea.

So getting up I went to the tallest part in the middle of the cave and lied down on my front with the bracelet arm stretched out.

I did NOT want to accidentally hurt Arthur, especially now that we were on good terms.

“Alright i guess you can try, just stay clear of me in case i get even weirder”

He nodded and went to work, slowly turning both gems in opposite directions at the same time.

He didn’t seem to be struggling to turn them now and after a few seconds I could literally feel the gems locking into their right places.

And not even a second later I was back to being a fuzzy green beast.

Well at least it was fixed now, and the fur would be practical out in the snow.

“Hoo, i forgot you could look like that, but hey i fixed it! And for once I wasn’t the one that broke it!”

Yeah, a well deserved victory, and it was Fixed! Now i wouldn’t have to tell Oakley that i fucked up!

Standing back up, now on all fours though, I shook myself like a dog not caring that Arthur was there.

God it was nice to not have mismatched bones anymore! This was way better!

Arthur has already gone back over to his spot so I went back to mine.

Having four legs was still weird as hell though even if I could move perfectly well with them.

Whatever, now we just had to wait till the next day so we could continue the journey and get them home.

I continued chatting a bit to Arthur and answered his questions on what being Quadrupedal felt like before finally Rikaad stood up, giving both of us a scare and me the mental image of a Vampire rising from its coffin at exactly dusk.

“Good morning, I see you are back to being covered in fur, did you finally get cold too?”

I shook my head.

“Nah, but you all will be so i can just act as a space heater like this”

He nodded and went to get out stuff from where they had put it next to the spring last night.

I looked around one last time, seeing Robin still asleep in his corner and then came face to face with Arthur again.

“Why need a clock if you have Rikaad”

He pointed over his shoulder to the man who was hoisting up all of our luggage onto his back and walking to the exit with it like it weighed absolutely nothing.

While he was busy with that and Arthur went to help him I decided to go wake up Robin.

He was splayed out across some moss and still snoring peacefully.

He didn’t yet know that I was back to being fuzzy, so he would be in for a surprise.

If he reacted as well as he did the first time he saw it he would be delighted.

I nudged him carefully with a paw but didn’t get much of a response besides some sleepy murmurs.

So I tried again, this time I nudged him until he turned over onto his front and whispered in his ear.

“Morning! Time to get up, we need to move”

He blearily opened his eyes and looked around confusedly.

When he saw me his face lit up and he scrambled into a sitting position.

“You’re Fuzzy again!”

He exclaimed and flopped face first onto the nearest part of me that he could reach, the top of my paw, and buried his face in it.

The sensation was kinda ticklish but we could have time for this later.

“I am yes, now come on we should move already”

I withdrew my arm from him much to his displeasure and walked to the exit where the other two were already waiting.

Robin trailed after me and together we went out back into the snow.

At least this time it wasn’t storming anymore, but I did wonder how much time we had lost while out here.

I had spent about a week with Robin alone and then we went on for a few days more before the tower thing.

That alone was about like two weeks, and then we went up to Oakley's place, another week or so.

And now we were walking back to Kamerasca through icy cold terrain, Almost another full week depending on how long I had actually stayed unconscious.

By the time we reached Kamerasca we would have been gone for about a month.

Huh, that was not what i had expected.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Robin tugging at the fur on my foreleg.

“Hey, can I hitch a ride? Please?

You’re big enough that I could sit on your back”

That was true, and I wondered why I hadn’t come up with that beforehand.

Maybe I could transport all three of them like that? I knew the other two didn’t really like being held but this was just hitching a ride.

No hands involved, which of course meant that they would have to hold on themselves, maybe Someone SHOULD sit next to Robin just in case.

“Sure, let’s ask the others if they want to hitch a ride too, I’m pretty sure it would be a lot faster, that was a really smart idea!”

A huge grin plastered onto his face at the praise and he turned around to tell both of them only to run face first into Rikaads chest.

“Ow”

He rubbed his nose and looked up at the man that had stopped and turned to face us while we had talked.

“Sorry Robin, but i do have to say the idea isn’t dumb, given that we manage to hold on of course”

Robin’s grin returned at the praise and he went to stand next to my foreleg.

“So we don’t have to trek through he stupid snow anymore?”

Rikaad nodded and Arthur gave a thumbs up.

“Hell yeah! We should have had that idea way sooner!”

The blonde cheered and then asked

“Wait, won’t that be awkward for you? Just having three people sit on your back? You’re not a horse”

Well i never had anyone hitching a ride like that so i wouldn’t know, besides.

“It can’t be much more awkward than… well… you all know, let’s just test it?”

At the mention that all three had been eaten at least once by me they went awkwardly silent pretty fast.

At least until Rikaad cleared his throat.

“So we simply climb on your back and then hold on, So how do you propose we actually get on?”

At least that was easy, just lying on the ground should let them step up.

“I’m going to lie on the ground so you can climb over my shoulder? I think that will work”

And I did just that, the snow made a crunching sound underneath me.

Both Rikaad and Arthur stared for a second, likely figuring out how to best climb on.

Robin pushed past both of them and clumsily leaped on my arm so he could reach my shoulder and get up top.

“I’m sitting in front! I wanna see everything!”

Despite all the things that went wrong he still had a very positive outlook on things, it was kinda adorable.

That and I would do the same if I could.

The other two followed his example, albeit a lot more gracefully and settled behind the ginger, bags secured on their laps.

“Hey, why do I have to sit in last place?

You’re taller than me, I can’t see!”

Arthur complained and tried to shift a bit so he could look past Rikaad who was sitting directly in front of him.

He WAS right though, having three humans sitting on my back was weird, their shifting weight made me want to balance it all the time.

Hopefully that feeling would dissipate with time.

“Alright im standing up so hold on i don’t want anyone falling off”

After the warning I gave them a few seconds to steady themselves and then slowly stood up.

Walking on all fours was weird enough even if this body was made for it, walking on all fours while having three people holding onto my back as I tried to stride as steady as I could was another level of weird.

It did work though, and since I didn’t have to slowly drag my feet after them we covered way more ground this way.

We really should have come up with this way sooner, it was faster and since the humans didn’t have to walk through the cold snow they weren’t at risk of hypothermia anymore.

Especially since my back was covered in thick insulating fur.

Robin had face planted into the scruff of my neck long ago and was just leeching of the warmth.

The entire walk was really uneventful, apparently nothing dared come close to a big green beast and the humans sat on its back.

While Robin decided to try and braid some of my mane I chatted a bit with Rikaad and Arthur, the latter of which complained of nausea after some time and demanded Rikaad switch places with him.

I was pretty sure he just didn’t want to sit last and tried any excuse to get a better spot.

In the end they did switch and I had to stop for a few minutes so they could trade places.

After that the journey continued and I kept walking over the crunchy snow that by now covered everything.

That certainly wasn’t normal for this time of year.

It had started to get dark after quite some time and they started to be on the lookout for any suitable campsite.

In the end we settled on the flat part of a slight slope, making a small fire to keep warm.

I stayed in the Ardua form, somehow it was more comfortable to lay on the ground in this form.

I was on my front with my forelegs crossed before me, acting as a sort of pillow for my head.

I wasn’t alone on the floor for long though, Robin came over and climbed over my arm to settle in the fluffy crook between my neck and shoulder.

I didn’t think he would be as cold as before while he was there, and he just loved fluffy things so it was not surprising that he cozied up to the fluffiest part he could reach.

If I were to put my head down it would even hide him completely from the world.

At a noise to my left I looked up again and saw Arthur standing there.

He looked a bit uncertain and glanced at Robin, who by now was blissfully sleeping what was left of the evening away.

“Wanna join? I don’t mind, at least like this nobody is going to freeze”

He nodded and i moved my arms so he could climb over them, doing my best not to disturb the ginger who was already there.

“Thanks, you know i’m really going to miss you when all this is over”

Yeah right, I had almost forgotten about this.

When all this was over I’d never see them again, but it was nice to know that they would miss me too.

“Yeah, i’m going to miss you guys too, you were the first actual friends i ever made but i do wish you luck with the guard stuff”

“Thank you, for everything, and who knows in the future i might turn a blind eye when i see a pointy eared thief”

He tried to be at least somewhat reassuring, and it worked.

Knowing that there would be a guard that wouldn’t go after Fae folk for fun was nice.

He curled up on the opposite side from Robin, so he had my entire left side for himself and left the Ginger boy some space.

He fell asleep not soon after, leaving me and Rikaad as the only ones awake.

He had somehow procured a short but thick log of wood and was whittling away at it with his…dagger…right, he still had that thing.

I chose to ignore how absolutely skilled he was carving the wood and slowly shaved the unwieldy piece into something smaller.

“What are you carving? Like what’s it going to be?”

He paused for a moment and looked at me.

“It going to be Quadrupedal, not sure about the other details yet, depends on how the wood grew”

I had no expertise on carving wood, but something four legged? I had an idea what he could carve out of that log.

“Maybe make a dragon? They look cool and a wooden one cant murder you”

A rare smile appeared for a brief second on his lips.

“I’m not going to make a dragon, if i did i would have to carve wings and i'm not doing that”

That was not unreasonable, the wings would be thin and probably break pretty soon.

“How far do you think it is to Kamerasca?”

He pulled out the compass Oakley gave us and checked it once more.

“I’m not sure, but i think we should see it soon”

“So then we go our separate ways soon?”

He threw some more wood onto the fire, making sure not to accidentally drop his carving into it.

“Apparently, and you are going back to Oakley so tell him my gratitude for the compass and his help in general”

“I will tell him that, he does seem a bit.. Uh.. unhinged though”

“I got that feeling too, but i do not think he is dangerous, it's more like… he revels in being a mysterious being”

I totally agreed with that, Oakley seemed like the type of guy that wanted you to know that he was very knowledgeable but wouldn’t tell you about what.

“Yeah, weird fucker-”

Before I could think to add anything to that sentence I saw what appeared to be a light moving in the distance, a lantern?

Lifting my head up as much as i could without waking the two that were curled up against me i tried to see what it was.

“What the hell is that? Rikaad do you see that?”

The man in question had stood up and was looking out into the darkness.

The light slowly got closer and I could now make out that it wasn’t just one single light but at least twelve, all moving.

Lanterns, but why would anybody else be out here?

“Wake the others, if this is a threat we have to be prepared”

He had begun stuffing everything that was scattered around into the bags so I went to do as I was told.

Gently nudging at both of them and telling them to wake up.

“I think we got company so get up and get ready”

I ignored their confused demands and stood up, the lights had gotten closer and were still continuing on their path towards us.

While the two sleepyheads scrambled to get their things Rikaad turned to me again.

“Put out the fire, they won’t see us very well if we do”

I looked at the fire for a few seconds trying to come up with a plan to extinguish it in seconds.

In the end I scraped as much dirt as I could over it and then stomped out the rest leaving us in darkness.

The lights got closer still, had they seen us? Probably as they were headed right for our position.

Nobody said a word and both Rikaad and Arthur had their swords out while Robin hid behind my arm, not very knightly of him.

I also stood in a battle ready stance, as much as I could with this form at least.

I’m pretty sure I ended up looking more like an angry dog than anything, but I did tense and flex my muscles.

The Ardua form had those in abundance under the fur anyway so I hoped it looked scary enough combined with bared teeth.

The lights came closer and closer and we could finally make out some human shapes behind them, all of which were wearing the colors and armor of Kamerasca.

There were about twelve men, all clad in the same armor except for the one on the front who had a slightly different and tiny bit fancier set of armor on.

He also wasn’t wearing a helmet, showing the face of a man I would put in his late twenties with well tanned skin and shoulder length brown hair that was tied into a knot at the back of his head.

He seemed to be the leader of this… expedition?

Whatever it was it was clear he was the one in charge.

I flexed my muscles a bit and moved my arm to hide Robin completely from their view.

What did they want? Why were they out here?

They abruptly stopped a few paces away, seemingly only noticing me now standing against the darkness and drew their swords out.

No one was moving, I barely even dared to breathe, but I did bare my teeth.

I knew what they did to Bastards, and I wasn’t keen on knowing what they would do to a beast like the Ardua.

The person in the front gave a hand sign, which I didn’t know what it meant but nobody shot me with a crossbow so I took it as a plus.

In the glow of his lantern I could see that he looked confused, gaze switching between me and the two humans standing in front of me that had gone into a defensive stance.

The leader of the group then decided to call out to us.

“I am Norrin Vaughan, head guard of Kamerasca,-”

Oh fuck, why was THE Headguard here? I was going to die, wasn't it? There was no way he’d just randomly pardon a beast, like the one that I was at the moment.

“-I am here to search for and Rescue Rikaad Drayton, Can you tell me if one of you is him? I can not make out any faces in this darkness”

What?

Why would they send out the headguard and his underlings just to search for one person? And why Rikaad?

The man in question however walked in front of all of us to stand before the guards.

“I am Rikaad Drayton, why am i being sought after?”

His icy gaze had returned fully and he stared at the knights, scrutinizing them.

I saw that at least two of the helmeted men were a little uncomfortable under his stare.

The leader, Norrin, was the one that answered him.

“I am here to Inform you that the king has died due to the cold and you are to take his place”

A chorus of surprised shouts echoed through the cold night.

I could almost feel the confusion that lingered in the air, either from what had just been told or the guards being a bit off put at hearing a big green beast speak.

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

[n0bluev]

I opened mystic messenger again just now.

It was a misclick, but ill call it fate: it made me realise, i think, i finally got over my mystic messenger trauma. So I might casually play again.

It was never the same after……. « the incident »…

=====

long story short (nvm not short woops, call it trauma dumping / venting (/lh lol)):

couple years ago the device i was connected on broke, it was very dramatic ngl but i wont get into that.

I was hella rich ingame, hourglasses everywhere i tell u! But the same could not be said about my friend, who also liked mysmes. We played at the same time sometimes which was fun, and when we had done most of the casual/deep routes, we got on my game to do secret story so she didn’t have to buy it and could focus on getting another story lol. BUT. At that time we were pretty busy, and it took time to meet up and play. Whatever, we had all the time in the world, no?

WRONG! THEN MY THING BROKE AND YOU KNOW WHAT? MY. EMAIL ADDRESS. ON MY MYSMES ACC. WAS WRONG! THERE WAS A TYPO IN IT AND THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO TO FIX IT, COULDNT CREATE THE EMAIL TO MAKE IT REAL, COULDNT NOTHING! so i lost my account. and all my progress. and i wasnt in the mood to grind mysmes again :(

So. I never finished the game. :,(

and ive been salty since >:(

CUZ I HAD EVERYTHING NEEDED TO FINISH THE GAME…. WORST! I HAD ALL THE PICTURES FROM THE CASUAL AND DEEP ROUTES TT! I HAD TO WORK FOR THAT SHIT! I HAD SEEN THEM GET THEIR LITTLE GLOWUPS! THEY WERE DEAR TO ME! I HAD ALL THE LITTLE GUESTS UNLOCKED TOO!

I HAD SO MANY HOURGLASSES LEFT I WAS GOING TO PLAY CAREFREE STYLE, BUYING THE 10H IF I MISSED A CHAT I DIDNT WANT TO MISS OR SUM,,,, I WAS AT THAT POINT WHERE I COULD AFFORD IT TT

anyways.

===

its time to grow past my dark past.

I havent played in years anyways (my big mysmes phase was in …. 2018? gosh……) so i might as well go through the story again as a little refresh………….. 707 ill make u happy again bbg dw..

Okay. Im down to play again. Fuck it 👍

[raid3r-r4bbit]

someone broke into my apartment. I havent been on because the only thing i have that i can access the internet on is my work computer ( i can get into trouble for using even spotify on that) and my switch ( just got it last monday. in another situation id be ecstatic about getting a new game system, but right now im just glad i didnt leave it out in the open)

Firstly, sorry if the formatting weird, im not used to my new phone yet.

Secondly im sorry for the people who wanted drawings from me, im gonna try my best to recreate them and post them.

Thirdly, this is really fucking long, tldr, someone broke it, let one of my cats out stole my tablet, phone, and a bunch of my games so thats why i was gone. read for details? I guess? I wouldnt lol.

also fuck you theres typos, of course theres gonna be typos.

SO…

small town does not equal no crime. After the (insert wherever the power comes from) was fixed, it has some issues and shut down again a few days later. idk why. My rm and i decided to walk to the gas station for lunch, they had power, music, cold drinks and food, and bathrooms that have functioning lights. Our landlord said it would only be a few hours, so we used our backup battery packs ( yes the ones we’re only supposed to use for work or incase of emergency) to power a fan and opened a window (the little net thing closed) for the cats and left.

because we were only going to be away for an hour, i left my phone (by accident) and tablet on the couch. in plain view of the window.

well, we have a lot of college students who walk directly by out porch ( i even had a girl threaten to call the cops on me for smoking… on my own fuckin porch) and two other girls who decided it was public chatting place and were upset that interupted them wheni asked them to leave.)

we dont know if it was a college student, or someone else, called the cops and got it all sorted there wasnt much they could do ( figures)

they came in through the window, and we think they either left it open, or that Patches, one of my cats, got out when the opened it, because she was gone when we came home, and she liked to hang out by the window. Thankfully, miso hates going outside, and katsu is scared of everyone and hides when people come over. we still havent found patches. im not worried about her, she didnt really like us, she isnt declawed, and she was orginally an outdoor cat anyways. we left out food and water and liter for her, but if she comes back she comes back. ive lost enough animals not fret over it. (tbh if it was on of the other two id probably sob)

but whoever broke in stole a bunch of my game stuff. we dont think they even went into out bedrooms, cause nothing was out of place. it took me realizing some of out stuff, the cat and the askew window (what the fuck is that thing called??) to realize we’d been robbed. ( well me actually, my roomate keeps all his stuff in his room which is fair because other than HBO i pay for all the streaming services, and i (thankfully still have) 4 consoles, which wont fit in my tiny ass room.)

they took my phone and tablet. (not worried about the phone, it was some dinky burner phone) a package off our porch ( it was mario kart, i got a switch like last monday, and the only game i have is animal crossing. very fun. thankfully, id left it on my desk.) they also took a few of my games, thankfully i have duplicates of most of the ones they took and digital copies.

ironically, the version of TLOU and FO4 (i have 4 copies of fo4 including the digital copy) were the scratched up versions, they did take my copy of infamous for the ps3. and they also took my unopened copy of RDR2. so like, pricey items but the only thing im upset about are my tablet and my cat.

for those wanting the drawings i promised, i will still get them to you, thankfully i had a warranty on it and its getting replaced after the police finish whatever it is they say they do. ( doubtful) so it may take a hot minute.

however it also means i have to completely restart my issue 2 of my comic, as i hadn't saved the final pages and the wips anywhere other than my phone and tablet. personally, im frustrated, but it gives me a chance to change a few wee details and try out a style ive been thinking on.

so im probably not going to be super super active for the next few (idk how long, im sorry) but i will draw what i said i would.

As for patches, i told my mom if she comes back pregnant ( again -_-) that we are going to yeet her into a rocket to live with the martians, and get a new cat. (or if she doesnt come back. we work best with a three cat ratio) if its boy we are probably going to name him garbanzo. (this is mostly a joke, but she was intended to be temporary as a friend of mine couldnt keep her anymore and we had been looking for a home for her. surprisingly, nobody wanted a super chill calico who enjoyed nothing but food and sitting directly on your trachea.)

anyways, im tired. ill be patiently waiting for my new tablet and trying to make my ACNH island as destroyed and apocalyptic as possible. (new squared? i got the other one for my birthday last year, so its been almost a year exactly. my birthdays on the 28th <_< >_> if anyones interested in knowing.)

sorry if this is a ramble. im high af and somewhere in between pissed off, depressed, and overly happy about tiny little animals and bells.

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

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warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion

song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰

its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰

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October 3rd, 2015

Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 

Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.

It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.

There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.

Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.

It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.

The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.

“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.

“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.

“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”

Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”

“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.

Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—

Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”

Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”

Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”

“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”

Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”

He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”

“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.

There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.

“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”

“James.”

Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.

“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”

“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”

Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”

“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.

—

Bucky’s up at 0500. 

He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 

It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.

So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.

His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.

While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 

Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.

He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.

That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.

He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.

It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 

He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 

The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.

Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 

The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 

There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 

He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 

Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 

The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 

Almost. 

There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.

This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 

Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 

She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 

He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”

“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”

“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”

This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 

He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 

By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 

“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 

Thank god. “Play it.”

“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”

His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”

“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”

“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 

“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”

“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 

“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 

The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 

He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 

Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 

He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 

That’s what Ma would have wanted.

—

Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 

This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 

“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 

She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 

“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 

She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”

“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”

Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”

“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 

“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”

Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”

“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”

“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”

“Mhmm.”

“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”

“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”

“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”

Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”

“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”

Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”

“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”

“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”

“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”

Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”

“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.

She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.

“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”

“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”

“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”

“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”

The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”

“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”

“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”

“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”

“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.

“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”

“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.

His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”

“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Does gross puss leak out of it?”

She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”

“And is it attached to your brain?”

“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.

She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”

His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”

“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”

“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”

“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”

He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”

Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”

“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”

It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”

Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”

Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 

“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”

It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”

—

She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 

It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.

It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.

So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.

There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.

Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.

May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.

It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.

She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 

He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.

Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”

The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”

“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.

He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.

Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—

He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.

At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.

Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 

His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.

Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.

Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.

He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.

None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.

He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 

“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”

The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”

“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”

“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”

“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”

“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”

Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—

His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.

That’s just how their brand of family works.

“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”

—

“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”

It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”

Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”

She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”

“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”

“And he made it your problem?”

“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”

“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.

“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”

“Report his ass.”

Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”

Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”

“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”

“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”

“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”

The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”

Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”

“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”

She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”

Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”

“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”

The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”

Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”

“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”

“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”

Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.

“The blush or the huffing?”

“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”

“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”

“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”

“Take-out picnic, got it.”

“And Italian donuts.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”

“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”

The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 

“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”

Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”

“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”

“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”

“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”

“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.

In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 

Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 

“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”

“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”

“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”

“He’s admirin’ the—”

“He’s working up the nerve—”

“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”

“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”

Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”

“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”

“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 

Some.

“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”

“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”

His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”

Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”

“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”

“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”

“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.

“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.

Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.

After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”

Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”

“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 

The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”

“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 

Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 

“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.

“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 

“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”

“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.

There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”

It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.

“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”

“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”

“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 

Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”

“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”

Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.

—

September 20th, 2015

Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.

The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.

Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.

Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.

Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 

Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”

Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”

One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 

It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 

“Do I strike you as an invalid?”

“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”

“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”

Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”

“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 

Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”

“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.

“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”

—author end notes—

idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?

im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe

and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰

[sirswooshnoodles]

Image descriptions: many many tags:

#as a jeweler: DEAR GOD WHAT HAVE THEY DONE #if thats actual garnet. why would you do that to it #if it isnt: ill kill you for lying #but from the photos alone: that isnt silver

#thats some mystery metal shit that you dont want touching your skin because why does it look like its rusting

#when silver us dirty even from soldering it doesnt ever look luke that

#AND ANOTHER THING! that prong setting? not even fully closed half those prongs are barely touching that stone that shits gonna be wiggling-

#and wobling scratching up that stone and being a nusiance to keep clean PLUS its gonna get caught on everything

#ALSO from the look of the stones in all of them #theyve been touched woth heat and are damaged. dont buy damaged stones theyre gonna break eventually

#but anyway those almost def arwnt garnet. from the look of the other settings id say a shitty quality cubic zirc because those are - #settings you can only do by casting (or gluing them in like costume jewelery)

#whoch makes me wonder what castong house would stoop That

Low

#all the canadian ones wont even take ur order without proof of professional trainin

#okay im done i gotta go to work

#sorry laz im back #THE VISIBLE SOLDERI G GOD

#i would have been ripped to shreds o the solder job alone if i tried to present that as even a first attempt at a prong setting

#WHY DIDNT THEY CLEAN THE FUCKING SOLDER BLOBS

#its kne thing if ur setting is fucked but to be visibly VISIBLY a shitty rush job with no clean up work #come ON PEOPLE

#this os all im going to think about for the next 7 hours of my shift i

‹now it

#its. so poorly made

#like they went throigh the effort of goving a fairly decent effort in the photography. AS IF THE WOULD HELP THE SLAPPED TOGETHER BULLSHIT

#im just #im astounded

#if this was practice work i wouldnt bat an eye

#BUT THATS THE FUCKING FINISHED PRODUCT #THATS WHAT THEYRE SELLING

#i would be too ashamed of the piss poor craftsmanship to even consider selli g that with my name attatched #im just. im just. why are they so dirty

#did you not even try to clean them nameless etsy seller????

#you can see the spots where they filed and sanded. but they didnt bother to clean anything. why is it so crusty

#they could be just ok. but there is ZERO finishing work done #like they skipped the most intensive part of the process #you cant just skip finishing work man

#like even if you dont polish them you dont have to polish them #but you need to clean. you need to tske off the solder blobs and you need to clean whatever scum is stuck to your metal

#laz tell me one thing what kind of metal are they advertising this as i need to know

#prev. the metal on all listings is Sterling Silver

#STERLING????? I THINK THE FUCK NOT

#first off. thats too dark to be sterling. SECOND. STERLING AT NO POINT STARTS TO LOOK LIKE THAT NO MATTER HOW DIRTY #it looks also like those have never NEVER seen a pickle pot let alone some soap and water

#sterling at no point becomes slightly yellow

#not even nickle silver (a common alloy people try to pass off as sterling) looks like that after soldering and nickle silver looks gnarly-#before you pickle it and do your finishing on it. like thats not even nickle??? unnamed etsy seller i have questions

#like. are they intentionally and willfully decieving people? or were they lied to by a supplier and dont have the training to know that??

#Also. the second to last ring. baby girl why is the metal itsself cracked. who hurt you

End of tags

Next image is a stick figure holding a box of popcorn with a speech bubble saying “damn”.

End descriptions.

I believe all these tags are from the same person but who isn’t shown so I’m not 100% sure.

Note: typos in the tags are from the photos I didn’t feel like fixing them

kinda obsessed with these, clearly beginner, rings on Etsy being marketed as garnet when i'd bet money that they are glass

the metal work is. certainly better than what i've ever made, so i don't want to speak to harshly. but uh. um.

[agayconcept]

.

[nyctarian]

not to be glib but i think a lot of people on this website’s minds would be blown if they learned that queer/diverse books are on trend rn the way dystopian/sff ya was for a while, and that it has been on trend for some time.

[onewingedangels]

i have a tlou side blog and i’ve been reblogging abby posts a lot lately and i got my first ask where someone ranted about how much they hate abby!!! it’s so annoying ohhh my god

Listen y'all, idc if someone dislikes her and I understand why, but if you're going to be a whole ass jerk and just make shit up about her to make yourself feel somehow better and make other characters look like innocent angels which they are not btw, they are all shitty people who've done similar terrible things just like her, and comparing her to cannibals, pedophiles, rapists, fascists and etc who've done worst things than she ever did, long story short basically fucking reaching....I don't need that shit on my dash and my blog, I will just block and not even bother anymore, I'm tired of this hate and I'm not wasting my time on it.

I've been posting about tl/o/u2 since I made this blog, I only tagged spoilers when the game was out but then stopped because everyone already played or watched the game, and no one complained to me to tag tl/o/u2 specifically, UNTIL I made some gifsets of Abby which suddenly someone decided to tell me how to tag my posts.

Anyway if you disagree with me on this, that's fine. But if you are too pressed about this, unfollow and block buttons are always free to use ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[spacexseven]

resend time! this works out just fine for me I get to fix my typo hehe. ok onto the aftermath of drunk dazai now. when he wakes up the next morning and manages to pick some memories out of the painful fog of his hangover, he’s BEYOND pissed. nevermind the fact that he was the one that trapped you in his desperate embrace and cried every time you left his line of sight, he never wouldve acted that way if it wasnt for YOU. where the HELL do you get off thinking you can humiliate him like that in front of his inferiors? stupid fucking dog. he’s been too soft on you lately, hasnt he? have you forgotten who you’re dealing with? he’ll make you PAY for this, you wont suffer this much if you live one million years, mark his w-

in the middle of his mental tangent about how much he despises you for making him feel things, something catches his eye. a tall glass of water with a few little white pills next to it. he doesnt remember getting himself that. he doesnt even drink water. he’s certain he doesnt have these pills in his cabinets either (he isnt allowed to have any medications in his home), what even were they? then he notices the note the glass was placed on, written in handwriting he’d recognize anywhere was “take these if your head hurts. try to drink the water as well, it might help.”

...ah. so, you left this for him, then? that’s… nice… of you… he runs his thumb over your lettering, trying to ignore the way his entire body trembled with excitement. you… you actually thought to do something to take care of him… you must have had to run out to the store yourself to get him these pills, right? you went out of your way like that just for him… you went out while thinking about HIM, nobody else. and you did it without being asked! you even wrote him something! now he has something with your handwriting on it FOREVER! hehe, he’ll have to find a special place for it. maybe he could frame it? no, keep it in his wallet! but oh, what if someone steals it? he wouldnt be able to let that slide, would he? stealing a present from his beloved… 

he cant help but break out into manic little giggles while his face goes from deathly pale with fever to deep red. he presses a little kiss against the note before setting it down so he can take the medicine you left for him. you left just a few pills for him instead of the bottle (for reasons you can probably guess), so he savors each of them as the idea of having something in his mouth and you actually touched with your hands coaxes a low moan out of him. he lays back down in a fit of giggles and crushes a pillow into his chest. he supposes he can let your behavior slide… just this once. as a matter of fact, he might even think up a few… rewards, for when he gets back <3

- 🩹

this is a bit too cute for subordinate au dazai But its ok

dazai isn't used to being cared for—he usually doesn't even care for himself. a small part of him is convinced the action was meant to be humiliating—you leaving him pills to take for a headache like he couldn't handle a couple of drinks—but the larger part of him, is a little touched.

more than a little.

knowing you went out of your way to get him medicine, even cleaning up the constant clutter in his room so he could find it easily...it made him feel a sort of happiness he hadn't in a long time. a warm, gentle feeling. wordlessly, he traces your lettering with his finger, relishing in the evidence of your effort. even your writing was so characteristic of you, and if he tried hard enough, he could imagine you crouched over the little table, scribbling out your message quickly on a paper you found lying around. did you use one of his pens or one you had on you? he couldn't tell, but he would have liked to hold on to the one you used.

still, when he swallows the pills you left, he thinks it's almost as though you're there. if he ignores the facts, he can pretend you're just outside, waiting for him to go out and greet you with a kiss. maybe, you were in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, or in the living room, putting away opened but unfinished books. he stares longingly at the silent washroom, thinking it would be nice to wake up to the sound of running water instead, knowing someone was in there, brushing their teeth or washing up.

but this was a start, right? the note, the obvious care in your actions. dazai, before he can think about it, places a light kiss on the paper. almost immediately after, he pockets the sheet, feeling oddly lightheaded. when he sees you again, he'll be sure to let you know he appreciated your feelings.