#hardest thing I've ever had to learn in life

[glowettee]

🕶 she ghosted the groupchat & built an empire

hey lovelies!! ✨

so i've been thinking about this a lot lately... like how we're all constantly connected but somehow feeling more drained than ever?? and it hit me that sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do is just... disappear for a bit??

i literally had to turn my phone off for three days last month because my creative energy was being sucked dry by all these group chats that were going nowhere. like, bestie, why am i reading 87 messages about someone's ex's cousin's new haircut when i could be building my dream life instead??

so here's my unfiltered thoughts on strategic isolation + how it literally changed everything for me...

✧ protecting your energy isn't selfish, it's essential ✧

let's be honest - we're all just walking energy fields. and every notification, every "hey girl, you free?" text, every random zoom call is either feeding your field or draining it. i started tracking my energy levels in this little pink journal (yes, elle woods style but make it productive) and noticed that certain people and activities were literally vampire-draining me.

some hard truths about protecting your time:

• not everyone deserves access to you

• "sorry, i can't" is a complete sentence

• your dreams require your full attention

• boundaries aren't mean, they're necessary

• your future self will thank you for saying no today

i started implementing what i call "ghost protocols" where i literally just... stop responding for periods of time. not forever! just long enough to recalibrate. it feels uncomfortable at first (i literally had anxiety sweats) but then something magical happens - you remember who you are without all the noise.

✧ digital detox rituals that actually work ✧

okay so everyone talks about digital detoxes but they make it sound so basic like "just turn off your phone lol" which... no. here's what actually works:

1. schedule your disappearance (sounds dramatic but it's just good planning) - i block off "ghost time" in my calendar just like i would a meeting

2. create a hyperfocus sanctuary - mine is this corner of my room with no wifi, just candles, my journal, and a vintage alarm clock. no devices allowed within 10 feet.

3. implement the 5/1/3 rule - for every 5 hours of deep work, allow 1 hour of connection, followed by 3 hours of integration time where you process what you've created

4. batch your responses - i only check messages twice daily now (12pm and 6pm) and i use templates for most replies which sounds cold but actually gives me more energy for meaningful conversations later

5. practice saying "that doesn't work for me" without explaining yourself - hardest thing i've ever done but most rewarding

✧ hyperfocus rituals that built my empire ✧

the truth that nobody tells you is that success isn't grinding 24/7... it's protecting your focus like it's the most precious resource on earth (because it literally is).

my non-negotiable focus rituals:

• morning pages but make them strategic - i write 3 pages about my vision every morning before touching my phone

• the 90/30 method - work in complete silence for 90 minutes, then take a luxurious 30 minute break (no exceptions)

• environment switching - i have different spaces for different types of work (creative work happens by the window, admin work at my desk, planning happens on the floor with a giant paper)

• sensory anchors - learned this from a few psychology articles online, stayed w/ it foreverrr -> specific scents, sounds, and tastes that tell my brain "it's empire building time" (for me it's this fancy bergamot candle + instrumental lo-fi + earl grey tea)

i know this all sounds intense but listen... while everyone was busy commenting on instagram posts and overthinking text messages, i built something real. something that matters. something that's mine.

sometimes the most rebellious thing you can do is disconnect in order to connect more deeply with your purpose. and yes, people might get annoyed when you don't respond right away. they might even talk about you in those same group chats you left. but honestly? that's just background noise when you're focused on building something meaningful.

your time is literally the only non-renewable resource you have. protect it fiercely.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. what's one conversation or obligation you could ghost this week to get closer to your dreams? i promise the world won't end... but your empire might just begin.

⋆ psst. i made a free workbook just for you. it’s soft, dark-academia, and full of real advice. get it here: deprogramming your trauma-coded ambition

[intrepidacious]

time after time [8]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.3k

chapter warnings: Angsty with a capital A; suicidal ideation and attempted suicide (within the context of ending a time loop); finally, some big conversations are being had. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i wasn't sure whether i really wanted to post this one tonight, but you know what? i've missed this story. so here you go.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

eight: edge of tomorrow

On the good days, life at the Compound felt like a dream.

The world was a mess, but you’d found your own little corner in it, and despite the long hours and the high pressure, you felt happy for the first time in ages. Trusting others did wonders for your confidence.

In turn, you felt like you had a good grip on your powers most of the time now.

Natasha was the one who helped you focus them the most. She seemed to understand something about them that you had never considered yourself, and the more you trained together, the more balanced you felt.

Your reaction time shortened. Your reflexes grew more instinctual, your fighting movements smoothened. It was a slow process, arduous and mostly the opposite of fun; learning that you were of no use to anyone when you were through all the resets you could manage had been one of the hardest lessons so far, especially since you could never predict when you’d reach that point.

But despite all that, you felt yourself getting better. Stronger, too. And almost never fainting after overextending yourself anymore.

You’d always had lots of time, but now, you also had people you cared about. It was a new thing again, a strange feeling, but good.

You’d do almost anything to keep it.

Most nights, you went to bed with a smile, but it vanished some time after you fell asleep.

Usually, your nightmares looked like this: You were walking through a bright void, and as you walked on, you realized you were surrounded by mirrors, an endless labyrinth of them. Each of your mirror selfs was turning a different direction as you walked, seemingly aimless, all of them chattering to themselves or each other, words you couldn't quite understand growing louder and louder until you were surrounded by a whirlwind of noise that shook you ever which way until you didn’t know up from down anymore.

None of you seemed to have any idea where you were trying to go, and slowly, your breaths grew more panicked as you realized that you still felt a presence, somewhere above you; something malicious.

And you felt it steering you like you were its lost little puppet on a string, around and around, until you felt the heat of flames licking at your skin and your world set on fire, the mirrors splintering into a million pieces.

You were aware that you should be in pain, but your mind was only set on dread, twisting its icy fingers into your heart and pulling. There was no space to feel hurt; this was a twisted torture chamber crafted from fear and living from fear and allowing nothing else but fear.

When you woke up, you’d be drenched in sweat and hollowed out, your throat sore even though you couldn’t remember screaming. Hell was an endless, empty place, and when you sat up in bed in the middle of the night, you’d have to give yourself a couple of minutes before you got out of bed on shaky legs and snuck outside.

You had been living at the Compound long enough you knew how to slip past super soldier ears and spy instincts unnoticed. The hallway seemed even emptier than usual at this time, almost like it had been crafted from another nightmare.

This one was dark, though, soft and gentle, so maybe it wasn’t as bad.

When the doors finally opened, you gulped down a greedy breath of fresh air, reality finally settling into you again. You sat down on the front stairs, wrapped your arms around your knees and looked at the sky.

It was cloudy, but every now and then, you could see the stars peeking through. It soothed your heart and made it feel sore at the same time.

You heard the door open behind you, but you didn’t turn your head. Light steps approached you, legs crossing next to where you were sitting, and half of a heavy blanket was wrapped around your shoulders.

"You’re like a living ice block," Natasha complained quietly as she bumped into your side.

You chuckled quietly, wriggling your naked toes. "Why are you up?"

"You’re not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Sorry," you said, tilting your head to the side so she could rest her head on your shoulder. "Did I wake you?"

"It’s alright," she yawned. "It was either you or Steve’s snoring."

The man did sleep like a locomotive. Neither of you were going to say anything about it, though. It was nice to hear he finally got some sleep again at all. Even if he might as well have put FRIDAY up to make an announcement.

You were nearing the fourth anniversary of the Snap. That fact alone was hard on all of you, but you felt guilty for another reason.

"Nat?" you said, and she hummed. "You know, my life’s been a lot better since … since I got here."

That wasn’t what you were going to say initially, but the truth felt too selfish. Too unfair. What did your happiness mean in the face of half the universe disappearing?

"You’re sweet," she mumbled, but you didn’t feel that way at all. What you felt was a harsh knot in your stomach at all times, because how was it you had spent the last couple of years? You’d found a new family. You’d laughed more times than you could count, found purpose in your powers again, learned to take up a space you considered your own, free of the burdens of anyone else’s rules or commands.

The only thing still haunting you were your dreams, and even they were easy to forget when you were awake. It didn’t seem right. How come you got to be so lucky in the face of all this tragedy?

"Nightmare again?" Natasha asked quietly.

"Yeah," you answered, staring out at the black lake. "You?"

"Yup." She sighed and stretched out her arms. "Wanna go get donuts for breakfast?"

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. "That’s the best idea you’ve had all week."

"That’s hurtful. It’s Friday."

"I said what I said."

It all felt too good to be true, and you knew it.

When was the second shoe going to drop?

* * * * *

"In other fun news," you tell Bucky as you are sitting cross-legged in the astral plane, on the edge of the bed he isn’t using, "apparently we have been underestimating our delivery guy."

He frowns in his sleep and you chuckle at the timeliness of it. Alpine whines at you.

"I know," you tell her earnestly. "Haven’t I always said that the wizard guys are bad news?"

You roll your eyes, continuing to flick through the pages of one of the ancient tomes that have come to live on the right side of Bucky’s bed. Ever since Strange’s disappearance, you’ve fallen into a new sort of routine, coming in here to conduct your research and feel at least a little less alone.

Even if you’re just fooling yourself.

Despite your best efforts, Alpine has proven not to be much of a conversationalist or particularly interested in magical theory. She’s mostly taken to flopping down on the bed next to you and falling soundly asleep as soon as the pretty green lights twinkling on your fingertips have ceased to be interesting. Honestly, you’re jealous.

"Anyway," you continue, uncapping your pen. "I feel like I’m on the right track, but I still can’t figure out why the last try didn’t do anything."

According to everything you’ve read, it makes no sense for a reaction of that impact not to have made any sort of dent on the loop. It’s possible that it simply is a case of a slower, gradual deterioration of its structure, but you’ve been stuck here far too long already. You are sick of waiting.

The fact that you’re only making tediously slow progress on your reading doesn’t exactly help either; but these grimoires are just so boring. You don’t understand half of the things written in them, and the rest of the time you have to literally catch the sentences before they are trying to slip away from you onto the next page.

Frankly, being a wizard full-time must be exhausting.

You’re not about to pity Strange of all people, though, especially not when a drawing of the time stone catches your eye before the ink has a chance to fade away. Quickly, you snap your fingers and create the tiniest of orbs on the tip of your thumb, leaning over the book.

In the emerald light, the illustration stays where it’s supposed to be, even though the lines blur a little in protest underneath your translucent hands. The words surrounding the stone appear to describe some sort of ritual, requiring all kinds of horrible-sounding ingredients and complicated incantations as well as—

You jerk the book away from you so violently it falls on the floor, missing Bucky’s head by a hair’s breadth. Alpine flinches, hissing miserably at the intrusion.

Bad news might have still been an understatement, you think as you try to breathe calmly again. This was a brush from the past you do not appreciate. Not at all.

"I don’t know how much longer I can do this," you say, hiding your face in your hands. "Maybe this reality is just doomed to collapse and I have to accept that."

Something soft bumps through your elbow and you sigh. Alpine has been uncharacteristically affectionate with you ever since you started seeing her in the astral dimension. Her eyes are somber when you look at her, as if in reaction to your distress.

"I’m quite a mess, huh?" you murmur, and she doesn’t even attempt to scratch you when you pat her head. She purrs quietly.

One glance at the alarm clock tells you it won’t be long until Bucky gets up. Those last couple of minutes before he wakes are the worst for him, muscles twitching with the visions his nightmares are putting him through. You wish you could make it any easier on him, but there’s nothing you can do.

"I think your dad was tagging the other day," you tell the cat.

Of all the recent tiny changes in the loop, the absolute worst ones are what you’ve dubbed the TAGs—temporary awareness glitches.

They never last more than a couple of minutes, but that doesn’t make them any less painful. Hearing the words, "Haven’t we done this before?" from a random stranger at a crossing made you almost topple over the first time. Then, there are the murmured "I think I’m going crazy"s and "It’s just a dream"s when you pass people in the street; not every day, and never the same person twice, but still more often than you’d like.

The whole part with a certain Peter Parker telling you that he knows all of you and you’ve simply forgotten him because of sorcery—only for him to not recall any of it the next time he delivers food to your doorstep—doesn’t exactly help this maddening situation, especially not when Sam squints at you in the ring one morning and says, "Something’s weird."

He’s forgotten about it all again by the time he gets out of the shower, and fuck, you think you might be going green with envy.

It’s the TAGs that make you double down on your studies, because even more than unexplained celestial phenomena and little time skips here and there, they seem like a pretty tell-tale sign that your universe isn’t holding up so well.

You keep scratching Alpine’s head with one hand while picking up the book from the floor with the other, suppressing a shudder going up your spine as you flip the page over.

You manage to scrape together a couple of measly notes on energy flow and general power recovery, which you then copy to your own sleeping body’s naked arms before bringing yourself back into the present. The notes are still there in this reality, and if you touched your skin, the ink would smear. It’s a mystery to you how the timing of it all works out, but it’s not one you’re going to waste your time and focus on.

Especially not because it’s already way later than you usually wake up.

Cursing, you stumble to your feet, slipping out of your loungewear and pulling on your combat suit. This is usually how it goes these days, with you telling Sam through the door that you need "just a couple more minutes" while already being fully dressed, letting yourself catch your breath and shut off your mind for the mission to come.

You’ve been doing this too damn long.

With a last tug at your gloves to make sure that your rings aren’t getting stuck, you flop down on the edge of your unmade bed, ready for the knock to come.

Except … it doesn’t.

You keep looking at the clock with a frown, as if that would change the fact that it’s almost five now and the hallway stays silent. At 5:04, you risk a look outside despite your get-up. Everything is dead quiet, even though you normally leave in precisely seven minutes and Bucky is notoriously noisy when doing his final weapons check.

"Guys?" you call out hesitantly. No one answers.

When you make your way downstairs, the shield is no longer leaning against the kitchen cabinets, and there’s an empty spot on the shelf where Bucky keeps his combat boots.

You have a terrible feeling about this.

Your hands are starting to get clammy, so you pull the gloves off impatiently, dropping them on the couch table. This time, when you look at your phone, there’s a new message.

Cap 🫡: New lead re lab. Taking J and the grump, u rest up!

You turn and run back upstairs.

At the end of the top floor hallway, there’s a narrow metal staircase leading to the private roof. It’s not very interesting; the space is cramped due to the solar panels that power the last remaining quinjet in the small hangar. Most plants you’ve tried growing up there have long since died, the wind relentlessly tearing at hair and vines alike. The latch is kept closed at all times unless someone is up there.

It’s open now.

When you burst outside, you’re still hoping against all odds. Expecting the jet gearing up for take-off, or Bucky and Sam loading the supplies into the back, looking at you oddly, the exhausted "did you jump again" look on their faces.

But there’s nothing there, not even a dark spec of the craft in sight against the beautiful sunset.

They’re long gone.

* * *

You don’t know what to do.

You can feel yourself spiraling, your heart racing as you stumble back down the narrow stairs, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to fix this.

This isn’t just a small, inconsequential glitch like all the others have been; this is a shift in the narrative of the entire day. If you’re not with them during that mission, all kinds of things could happen. Maybe the white jacket from that very first time gets him again, or maybe Riff finds a new target for their knives, or maybe …

Or maybe it means Bucky will live.

Maybe that’s the possibility you’ve never dared to consider; that you might have to take yourself out of the picture entirely for him to have a fighting chance. Give up what little control over the situation you have left and let them try to get through this without you.

It’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before.

Your feet find their way to Bucky’s room faster than you can consciously catch up with them, and even though you expect it to be locked, the door swings open easily.

The astral plane couldn’t have prepared you for this: it smells like him in here. Warm and safe, just like you remember his embrace. The way the room feels to you is a vast contrast to the way it looks; the walls are even paler when they’re not warping around the edge of your vision, Bucky’s absence emphasized by the fact that he hasn’t put his mark on anything in here at all.

There’s a cat-shaped indent on the right side of the bed, and a couple of white hairs on the carpet. Even Alpine is gone, though. The whole apartment is uncannily quiet, in a way it’s never been on this particular Friday.

It’s almost like it used to be before anyone but you lived here, and you hate it.

You sit down on the floor next to the bed and lean your head back until it touches the bedding, hands twitching for your phone. There’s never been a reason for you to call him before; you’ve mostly had one-sided text conversations about picking up dinner and taking out the trash. You’re not even sure what you’d want to tell him. Don’t die without me?

This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t even try.

There’s a clicking sound when he picks up, and then more silence. Breathing. You can hear your own heartbeat rushing through your head.

Five seconds pass, ten, maybe more. Neither of you says anything, as if both of you have run out of things to say long ago. Maybe there’s nothing left to say today.

"Please come home."

The word seems unfamiliar on your tongue, but it’s never sounded more true. Despite time repeating endlessly, despite the empty walls and untold truths. Home.

There’s an admission hidden inside its four letters that feels, to you at least, a little like removing the mask you’ve been wearing, even though there’s no one here to see, even though he won’t get it.

You can hear Bucky exhale slowly, almost like a sigh, and then he hangs up. You throw your phone across the room, watch it break as it skitters across the floor, and then you cover your eyes and you hope.

What an ill-placed sentiment.

Your head is jolted forward and you sit up in bed with the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and you don’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. Minutes pass, days, weeks. It’s still July 4th. The green band of symbols is still slowly winding across your wrist.

Not going with them didn’t change a damn thing about his situation, and now you’re going to have to pretend all over agai—

There’s a pounding at the door, but before you can call out to Sam like you always do, you hear a different voice from the hall. "Open up."

You stumble out of bed, more falling over than walking to open the door. Bucky is standing on the other side, his chest heaving, blue eyes refusing to meet yours but narrowing at the sight of you. Alive.

Again.

The shock of it is enough to make you huff. It makes something flicker in his eye, but you can’t make any sense of it. Your heartbeat is way too loud to focus on anything at all, anything but the sweat on his brow and the harsh tick in his jaw, his teeth grinding so hard it must hurt.

"What the fuck," he says quietly, and your hand flies to your arm. It’s still covered in smudged pen markings, barely hidden by the shirt you wake up in.

"What?" you say, trying to sound normal. You miss normal.

Bucky’s hand tightens around your doorframe.

"I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I want you to stop." His voice is low, dangerously low. You can’t tell whether he’s furious or sad or disgusted or in pain; the wall has closed up over his emotions and he is as unreadable as ever.

Tell me.

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice cracking a little.

"For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you know exactly that I keep dying," Bucky says, finally looking at you. You stop breathing. "You know it shouldn’t be Friday anymore, but it is, over and over again, and I know it’s because of you. You’re the one doing this."

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

You’ve really thought it couldn’t get any worse than the short glimpses of awareness you’ve seen people go through recently; it couldn’t possibly get any worse than being witness to Bucky’s death every single day for weeks. But this—this is different.

That look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and it doesn’t feel like a glitch.

He moves towards you and you involuntarily take a half-step back, your fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. For a moment, something vulnerable flashes on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by that unreadable wall.

You barely even notice yourself shaking your head. "It wasn’t—Bucky, I didn’t mean to—"

"Then what is that?"

He’s staring at your wrist now—no. At the green symbols dancing around your wrist.

Only now does it occur to you that you haven’t done anything to camouflage them.

"Nothing," you say reflexively.

"Bullshit." He catches your arm before you can hide it behind your back, his fingers closing tightly around it. The emerald runes reflect dimly in his eyes, giving them an odd shine. "What is that?"

"It’s a time loop," you say quietly. "The one we’re both stuck in."

Neither of you moves, the truth hanging between you as sharp and painful as a knife. You want to reach out, cup his face in your hands and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But you’re frozen to the spot in your doorway, and you can’t lie to Bucky Barnes.

"What did it?"

Of all the questions you’ve come to expect from previous times you’ve told him, this isn’t one of them. "What do you mean, what did it?"

"Well, something must’ve set you off. Or do you regularly decide to kill people repeatedly and you’ve only just gotten to me?" He drags a hand across his face. "God, I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid."

You’re sure Bucky must feel your blood boiling through your pulse point. "Is that what you think of me? Do you think this is—what, this is fun for me? This is my idea of a holiday special?"

"If you asked me on Thursday, I’d’ve said no, but weirdly enough, I’m not so sure anymore now."

He might as well have cut you in two.

"Wow." You snatch your arm out of his grasp, ignoring how your wrist gives a painful throb. "You know, Barnes, I know you hated me when we first met but I thought we’d moved past that in the last few months. Good to see that you still think so little of me you’d have me be capable of being that cruel."

"Then tell me I’m wrong." You hate the way he yells it, almost like a plea. Almost like a prayer. It makes you want to curl up into a ball and scream. "Tell me you don’t have any clue what’s happening here or why, and that this has nothing to do with you and me."

You want to lie. You want to lie, you want to take it all back, you want to get out of this day.

Useless.

"I can’t," you whisper, and you try conveying all the things you’re not saying through your eyes, because there’s too much to say and you don’t know where to start. It’s not enough.

A slow nod washes his features with ice. "I thought so."

You feel a bout of panic rising up. "No, Bucky, please let me explain—"

"No, I am done with this. Do you hear me? I want you to make it stop. Now. Today. And until then …" He drags a hand through his hair, his jaw locking again. "Just—stay away from me."

Your throat is constricting, his name barely making its way over your lips before he’s gone, his fists still clenched tightly. There’s a hand-shaped dent in the metal frame of your doorway.

"Okay, would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

You manage to shut the door in Sam’s face and lock it before your knees give in.

* * *

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes. Everything is so quiet around you that at first, you think the world must have stopped around you, blissfully holding its breath just for you.

Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe your powers are finally returning.

But when you open your eyes, there’s no mistaking the warped shapes and colors around you, and despite everything else, the letdown still tugs at your heart.

Still not good enough.

These past couple of times, with Strange gone, you’ve almost started to appreciate the weird quietude of this place; the blurred colors and washed out edges that distinguished this reality so much from your own started to look almost beautiful. It’s a space nearly out of time, just as much caught in liminality as yourself, but in a slower, much more refined way.

There’s something calming about existing somewhere far, far removed from your actual life with nothing and no one but a cat to disturb you.

It doesn’t feel like this today.

Today, everything has been heightened to look too sharp, too kaleidoscopically technicolor. The air feels thinner without your physical lungs processing it first, and you gasp so much you send yourself into a coughing fit.

Your sleeping body’s eyebrow twitches. She doesn’t know shit yet.

But Bucky does.

There’s no way this is the same as some of the TAGs you’ve encountered before. None of those lasted longer than a few moments, as far as you could tell, and absolutely none of those people came to any logical conclusions about your involvement with the creation of the loop itself. No, this is something different, something huge, something …

Shit.

It must’ve happened when you tried to change the loop. It must have reset it in a way, made him aware like you, except he’s the one who’s actually dying every day and—

For fuck’s sake, it’s been days. Days, and he’s only coming to you now.

I am sick of you pretending to fix stuff.

He doesn’t look any different in his sleep, and yet you don’t feel any of the usual calm looking at him. Something cold and sharp has taken a hold of your insides, gripping them tight.

You swallow down your nausea and grab the first book from the pile, blindly thumbing through it as you recall exactly where you went wrong during your attempt to dissolve the loop. Your mother always used to tell you to be careful what you wished for; clearly, the lesson still hasn’t sunk in.

This isn’t what you wanted.

You blink through the blurriness and catch part of an illustration just before it bleeds through to the other side; something green and gold and repulsively familiar. You quickly turn the page before the drawing evades you completely.

The Eye of Agamotto stares at you menacingly, and something in your stomach churns.

The remainder of the page is covered in the same small, slanted handwriting you’re already familiar with, spiraling around the Eye in its center at a leisurely pace that speeds up when it notices your attention; you hate spell books so much.

Part of the passage stands out to you, anyway, like something big and ugly and exactly what you’ve been looking for.

"… deliberately loop segments of time through the formation of a literal energy loop over the wielder’s wrist. Upon the wielder’s death, the timeline will …"

The words drip off the edge of the page before you can take in the rest of the sentence, and when you flip it over, they’re gone. They refuse to reappear, no matter how many times you flip back and forth.

The timeline will what? Move on? Repeat anyway? Disintegrate?

You groan frustratedly, throwing the book across the room as a rush of power floods through you, making your hands flare up. You push the useless green light away from you, and a ball of it forms in the center of the room, bathing everything in an eerie emerald shine.

Something very heavy settles in your chest; the knowledge of what might well be the only way out of this loop, after all. The one possibility you haven’t really allowed yourself to consider because you promised not to do anything stupid and this would be stupid, probably.

And you’re afraid.

It’s ironic, really; you’ve been trying to find a solution for so long at this point, and now you don’t like the one you’re presented with. You’re selfish, after all, and you don’t want to die. You’re terrified of it, just like you are of all the things that you have no control over.

But is it worth more than Bucky’s life?

If there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that he’ll make it out of this, that he won’t have to go through this anymore once you’ve left the picture, shouldn’t you do it anyway?

I want you to make it stop.

"Bucky …" you start, trailing off just as soon as you take a closer look of his face again. That familiar frown, and that light smattering of freckles on his cheekbones.

There’s nothing you could tell him here, anyway. This reality doesn’t help anyone; it’s as inconsequential as your actions so far.

You wake on the floor of your bedroom on the last July 4th and for once, there’s no blood on the bed. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do next. You don’t know how to do it. Your gun is kept in the safe, and you’re not sure your hands wouldn’t be shaking too much, anyway; plus, you don’t want to leave any more of a mess than you already have.

You sit up slowly, staring out of the window. "FRIDAY?" you say hoarsely. The A.I. jingles to life pleasantly. "How high up would you say we are?"

"You are on the 92nd floor, or about one thousand, one hundred and twelve feet above ground."

"That should do it," you mumble. You’re feeling very light-headed somehow.

This would either work to end the loop, or you’ll wake up on Friday the same way you always do. Either way, Bucky doesn’t have to die again. The more you think about it, the more sense it makes. Why on earth you haven’t thought about this for longer than two seconds before is beyond you, really.

It has to work. You’re the one who inadvertently created the loop, and you’re the one maintaining it. Take out the head, and the whole thing goes down. Right?

It feels strange to pull your door closed behind you, not knowing if you’ll be back after this. You wonder if you should leave something behind, just in case. For Sam, maybe. Bucky will put it together, anyway.

Don’t do anything stupid.

You push the memory of his voice away. That was a different, long-gone version of him, one that didn’t really understand what was going on in the first place. One that was wrong.

Something whines at your feet. Alpine tilts her head at you when you bend down to pet her behind the ears, letting out a little sigh. Her fur is so soft.

She indulges you for a moment longer, and then she sinks her claws into your shin.

You yelp, staggering a half-step back and instinctively pressing a hand to the scratches, eyes stinging at the burn. Alpine looks at you haughtily.

"You really are a hellcat," you mumble. "And here I thought you were starting to like me."

You’ve never seen a cat stare at anyone so disapprovingly, but somehow, she manages.

* * *

One thousand-odd feet looks even higher than it sounds. You can barely see the people on the streets all the way down, barely hear the sound of traffic over the wind and your own rushing pulse.

There’s a certain kind of calm that comes with the clarity you’re experiencing.

You don’t want to do it; of course you don’t. But even apart from your determination to save Bucky, the thought of it is somehow … tempting. You’re so tired. Everything stays unchanged, no matter what you do, and you just want it all to stop.

Your hands are clammy around the railing. The midday sun is absolutely merciless, and for a moment you wish you’d changed out of your sleep things into something else. What would be the point of that, though?

It would just take a couple of seconds, at most. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out from fright before you hit the ground.

Your naked toes inch closer to the ledge.

You’ve never been scared of heights, but usually you’re not planning to fall. You lean over a little more, forcing your fingers to let go, one by one.

Right hand. You tuck your necklace under your collar. Maybe you should’ve taken it off. Slowly, carefully, your grip loosens completely.

"What in the—"

You flinch, and you let go.

This is it, you think, closing your eyes shut as you lose your balance, it’s actually happening.

Things slow down again; there’s a split second of regret panging through your heart, followed by a surge of something through your lungs, something you haven’t felt in this reality for quite some time, and then—

A painful jolt goes through your entire body and you yelp as someone grabs your hand and you are hauled back onto the roof, your hip slamming into the railing.

You stumble into him, making a desperate sobbing sound as your knees buckle for the second time today.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

There’s a raw edge to Bucky’s voice that only your fucked-up brain could come up with. He’s still pulling you into him tightly, his arms like a life raft around you.

"Let go of me."

"I can’t."

"Bucky, if I die before we go on that mission then you won’t have to. Either it’ll reset or the loop will be over."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? You said it yourself, you know—you know this is my fault. I have to fix this."

"Not like this." You can feel his heart thundering in his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer. "Never—not like this."

So you cry.

You both sink to the floor of the roof and you cry and you sob and you curse in Bucky’s arms for the second time because it simply isn’t fair.

"I don’t know what else to do." You take a shuddering breath. "Maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. Maybe I’m just doomed to make everything worse forever. Maybe the only way to get out of this mess is to take me out of the equation."

"You’re wrong." Bucky exhales onto your neck.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do. We’ll find another way." He swallows heavily. You can feel it, just like you can feel his thunderous heartbeat. "I—I’m so sorry."

"Why the hell would you be sorry?" you say quietly.

"Because this isn’t what I meant."

"I know. Do you think I haven’t tried? To stop this?" You hiccup. "I’ve been trying to do that for weeks."

He stiffens. "How long have you been stuck here?"

Wordlessly, you pull up the leg of your pants a little to reveal the tally marks you’ve been making; one for each loop.

Bucky just stares for a very long time, long enough for you to start squirming under his gaze. When he finally does speak again, his voice cracks at the seams. "Please tell me you’re joking."

"Why, are you going to laugh?" You miss his laugh. But how could you tell him that?

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his thumb ghosts over your skin as if he’s trying to count the days he’s missed. His other arm tightens slightly around you when he finally averts his eyes.

"I know, right?" you almost laugh, but it’s so nice not to pretend anymore, even though everything hurts and you hate him seeing you like this, but you don’t hate it as much as you used to. And you just can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

You still can’t bring yourself to move away from his touch, either. He might have to pry you off him at some point, as soon as he’s done feeling bad for and indulging you.

"Why did you come up here, anyway?" you ask at some point when your breaths have finally calmed again under his fingers soothingly rubbing circles into your back. Your thigh.

Bucky’s hum is like goosebumps down your spine. "I was on my way to find you. Alpine sat on the top stair and kept screaming her lungs out."

"Oh," you exhale. You rub your cheeks, slowly, contemplatively. "I’m sorry, Buck."

"You don’t have to apologize—"

"Not just for …" You nod your head at the ledge, cringing. "I mean, I am—I didn’t think you’d be …" There? Shocked? Giving a damn?

"You scared the shit out of me," Bucky says quietly.

And you don’t know how to respond to that. You can’t look at him, can’t find the right words because suddenly they all taste wrong in your mouth, too overwhelming or and too small at the same time.

I’m scared for you all the time, you think.

Finally, you settle on, "I’m sorry I got you stuck in here." It doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re trying to say, but it’ll have to do for now.

He shifts in front of you, and you realize that his shirt is basically soaked through. Between the sun burning down on the roof and you sitting so close to him you’re basically in his lap, he must be unbearably uncomfortable.

So you swallow heavily, and you retreat a little, your eyes downcast. "I’m okay now," you mumble. "You don’t have to keep touching me."

It seems like Bucky hesitates for a moment before he pulls back completely. "Right."

He gets to his feet again and your heart tugs uncomfortably, but then he reaches out his hand to you. You stare at it for a second before taking it. The metal has warmed slightly, but it’s still cool to the touch. Cool and familiar.

He lets go of you almost immediately to glance at his watch. "We should probably get downstairs. Sam’s gonna start looking for us."

"Stay," you whisper, before you think about it, before you can try not to sound so damn desperate. "Stay here, just this once. Please."

You meet his gaze again. There’s something different in his eyes now, something other than the pain and the pent up anger you’ve seen earlier, softer and more focused at the same time.

There’s a pause.

"Let’s go downstairs," Bucky says, that determined tick in his jaw returning. It makes your heart sink.

"Bucky—"

"If I’m not going, you’re not going," he interrupts before you can finish your protest. "But Sam’s gotta know. And you have to come downstairs with me."

You blink at him as something unfolds in your chest. "Okay."

* * *

By the time the sun starts to set, your head is aching almost as badly as the bruises on your side.

Honesty, as it turns out, is surprisingly exhausting, especially after you’ve spent all this time keeping your cards to yourself. It takes a long time to untangle the web of near-identical days that you’ve accumulated, to explain the mess of notes and references scattered on your skin. All the things that have happened, the research you’ve conducted, the different attempts you’ve tried to stop this day from ending how it always does, it all comes out in a blurt and terrible diagrams.

It’s familiar, in a way. You’ve done this dozens of times, after all, with Sam pacing and Bucky staring and your coffee getting cold on the living room table.

Only now, there’s a kernel of hope mixed into the same old sense of underlying dread. Perhaps, it whispers, this could be the last time you’re recounting all of this. Perhaps there is a way out for both of you, now that someone else remembers this whole shitshow happening in the first place. Perhaps, if you don’t lose time to explanations every single day—

"So, just to recap," Sam says, pinching his nose. "You’re both stuck in a time loop."

You nod.

"Like Groundhog Day," you and Sam confirm.

"Or Doubled and Redoubled," you and Bucky offer.

"What the hell’s that?" you and Sam ask.

"It’s a good story," you and Bucky say.

"Still isn’t, by the way," you tell him. "And don’t ever make me say that again."

His gaze hasn’t left you once, swooping over you repeatedly, like you’re a flight risk. It lingers, sometimes, on the scratches across your arm, or the smeared ink on your legs.

"No one’s forced you," he replies and you roll your eyes.

Even though you’re already starting to fall back into your usual patterns, something has irrevocably shifted, that small glimmer of hope being overshadowed by a vulnerability you’re not used to.

Awful or not, in a way, the loop has given you the same sense of relief your resets usually provide. Now that you know Bucky is just as aware as you are, you can no longer hide in the knowledge that he won’t remember a thing as soon as the day starts again.

Of course that means you no longer have to carry everything that happened on your own anymore, but you won’t be able to predict his reactions to the things you say or do either. And while that’s been the case for every day that wasn’t this damn Friday before, there’s one last thing that he doesn’t know has changed since today’s started. One last memory you haven’t shared, sitting in a park with the sunlight catching his smile, your heart pounding wildly.

I take calculated risks.

Now’s not the time.

"Alright, that was upsetting," Sam says, bringing you back to the present. "What I don’t get is why we’ve all been doing the same sorta stuff every day, mission and all, when that’s clearly not working."

You bite the inside of your cheek, but when you glance at Sam, he’s frowning at Bucky. Not for the first time, an entire conversation appears to happen between them in complete silence, one that ends with Bucky almost imperceptibly shaking his head.

Sam’s jaw clenches. "Fine," he says. "Have it your way, but you gotta sort your shit out at some point." He looks back at you. "What happens if we don’t go on that mission at all today?"

"I don’t know," you reply. "We only managed that once, and Bucky died anyway. And earlier than usual."

You don’t mention the roof. Neither of you has, even though you feel like it still clings your skin, making every inch of you sticky with shame.

"Alright," Sam says, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I’mma call backup and try to buy us some time. You two stay here and don’t invent any new dumb ways to die."

"You sure about this?" you ask warily. "We’ve never tried this before."

"Neither have I," he says, a tired grin flitting across his face as he grabs his jacket. "It’ll be just like old times."

Can’t say that, bud.

"Sam," Bucky says and he halts for a moment, hovering, "be careful."

You cross your arms in front of your chest as you watch Sam’s shoulders square up. He doesn’t turn back around, so it’s impossible to tell whether the sound he makes in his throat is a laugh or a sigh.

"What’s the worst that could happen?" he asks.

Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

"Now what?" Bucky asks when you sit down on the couch opposite him, leaning your head back  and wrinkling your nose when the motion pulls some of your strained muscles.

"You heard the man," you say. "We’re gonna sit here and not move and hope the ceiling doesn’t drop on your head." You blink one of your eyes open. "Thinking about it, maybe you should move away from underneath that lamp."

"Very funny."

"Oh, I’m not joking."

With an exasperated sigh, he crosses over and flings himself down next to you. His thigh brushes your knee, and your stomach makes an annoying little swoop at the contact.

You force yourself to lean back again, like you don’t even notice. Like you can’t feel his gaze on you.

"Are you planning on ignoring me now?"

As if that was ever an option. Your heart gives a painful tug.

"Oh," you say, ignoring it, "did you want to pretend that we’re good at having a normal conversation?"

"What’re you reading?"

You do open your eyes, then, and find him already thumbing through your book; you must’ve left it on the couch table this morning. It feels like that was lifetimes ago.

"No worries, be my guest," you say dryly. "You’re not the kind of person who dog-ears other people’s books, are you?"

One of Bucky’s eyebrows lifts with a crooked grin. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

"Give it here right now," you say, trying to grab it from his hands; he holds it out of your reach so quickly you can barely see him move, and you huff exasperatedly. "Bucky, I swear—"

"What, you gonna learn me?"

It’s more than the tone of his voice that makes you sit back on your heels; it’s the faint glimmer of a smile as he gently flicks through the pages, like someone who’s very familiar with their contents. "Have you read it?"

"Only several hundred times when my sisters wouldn’t fall asleep. They liked the part about it being 'not the sorta night for bed'."

"I can’t imagine why," you say quietly as Bucky continues to skim through the book, lost in his memory. It makes you ache a little. "Three sisters, huh?"

"Yup." He absent-mindedly traces the frame of an illustration with his right thumb. "I’m the oldest. Was."

There’s a dull sort of grief in that single word, one that makes your fingers twitch. Not because you want to reach out for time, but you want to reach out for him.

Instead, you let out a light laugh. "I don’t see it."

He puts the book down. "What, me growing up with a bunch of little pests?"

"You being nice enough to read them the same story every single night."

"Because I’m not nice?" There’s no venom in his voice, just vague amusement.

"You’re not patient," you answer.

Bucky raises a single eyebrow. "I can be very patient if I want to."

"So you just don’t want to, usually?"

His jaw ticks. "I really don’t."

Something hums in the air between you with unexpected ferocity, making your head swim with the confusing mixture of feelings you’ve gone through today. This loop in particular has left you hollow, too bone-tired to examine what this new, different tension might mean. At least it’s no longer pure animosity.

You think.

You clear your throat. "We’re both gonna have to be for a couple more hours. If we make it to July 5th, it might finally get us out of the loop."

"What, we’ve never tried just sitting around before?"

"Oh, I did. But you wouldn’t, whether I told you about the loop or not." This is the first time you’re both on the same page; at least the first time you’re both aware of it.

The gears are turning in Bucky’s head as he lowers it, frowning at the floor as he’s putting something together. You put your book to the side again and pull one knee up on the couch, waiting for a moment.

"Say it," you prompt him gently.

He lets out a slow, measured breath. "Do you think there’s a reason why we’re stuck in here?"

An involuntary laugh comes out of your throat, joyless and sudden. "You’re talking to it."

"You’ve reset things before, though. What makes it different now?"

"You died," you say quietly.

"Exactly." An angry flush washes over his cheeks. "So what if this isn’t about you and your powers at all? What if there’s something that I still need to do?"

"You think your unfinished business made the time loop? Like the universe intervening or something?"

"No, but … I don’t know. It feels like this is happening on purpose. Not because of you," he adds hastily. "More like, because of everything I did."

His voice catches on the last word, and the urge to reach for his hand becomes near overwhelming. The one closer to you is the vibranium one, though, and you’re sure he doesn’t need that reminder right now.

So instead, you let him sit in the silence for a moment. His head is probably loud enough.

"How long are you going to try punishing yourself for things you had no control over?" you finally ask.

Bucky scoffs. "You’re one to talk."

It’s not really a fair comparison, but it still makes you want to roll your eyes. Then, you remember something.

With a triumphant hum, you reach between the couch cushions. Every day, Sam loses his sharpie in there, and most of the time you’re too tired to remind him.

"Give me your arm," you say, gesturing over his lap.

He frowns. Of course he does. "Why?"

"Just trust me for a second."

Apparently, that works. His muscles flex involuntarily at your touch and you bite the inside of your cheek.

"How are your hands so cold?" he mumbles.

I just run cold. "Hold still."

"What’s that supposed to be?" He cranes his head. "I swear, if you draw a penis on me—”

"No. Self. Deprication," you interrupt him, underlining the words on his arm before capping the pen. "You got it? This was your idea originally, so you should like it."

Bucky stares at you, and you realize your heads are very close together. His eyes are sparkling with something like wonder and hope, and for once, you don’t feel like it’s suffocating you. It makes your insides flutter.

You move out of his space so hastily you startle Alpine, who hisses at both of you before jumping off the couch.

"I’m sorry," you say. "About earlier. I didn’t want …" For him to see you like that.

Bucky nods, finally looking away and closing his mouth again. You can’t help but follow the movement with your eyes.

"No, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to think that—that that was what I meant when I asked you to end this."

"I know that," you say, frowning. "I found something in Strange’s books about time loops—did you think I would just throw myself off the building because you were angry with me?"

"Of course not." It comes out a little too fast.

"Well, for the record, I wasn’t. So stop that." When he continues twisting his fingers, you slap at his hands, immediately regretting it when you hit the metal with a little too much force.

"What did you do that for?"

"I don’t know!"

"Idiot," he mumbles, catching your hand and frowning at it.

Just then, there’s the sound of an explosion outside, and you both flinch, heads whipping around to the window.

It’s the fireworks.

Crimson red, cobalt blue and bright white sparkles illuminate the night sky. You’d both missed it for the past todays. You’ve never made it this far.

Your look returns to Bucky again, because he hasn’t let go of his hand yet. He’s staring outside, his shoulders rigid, his fingers softly twitching around yours when the next pyrotechnic round cracks thunderously through the night.

"FRIDAY," you say, looking up. "Could you turn on the soundproofing?"

A blinking light around the windows indicates your command is being executed. The next colorful explosion outside is no louder than raindrops on the window.

Slowly, you tug your hand out of Bucky’s only to reach for him again properly. Your fingers slot between his, and he sighs quietly. You’re not looking at each other at all; you’re just watching the lights.

You know there’ll be music outside, parties going on all over the country, but in here there’s only the view of the night sky and the silenced cracking of the fireworks.

An unexpected wave of sadness hits you as another shower of light explodes outside. You think of your last New Year’s Eve at the Compound, of sharing a bottle of champagne with your friends as you watched a soundless firework display much like this one. Nat kissed you on the cheek when the clock hit midnight, and Steve stared outside with a look of apprehensive wonder on his face.

None of you were in a particularly cheerful mood, not after five years of not knowing how to bring everyone back, but still, there was a sense of calm that washed over everyone. The serenity of new beginnings, you supposed. With the familiar sight of Nat demolishing a bowl of leftover Christmas chocolates and Bruce humming Auld Lang Syne. You could only ever remember the chorus.

"We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne …"

"I have a good feeling about this year," Natasha said, leaning her head back against the couch with a tired smile.

Steve nodded, thumb continuously rubbing his old compass like he always did when he had that lost look in his eyes. "Yeah, me too," he said.

Not for the first time, you wonder whether they’d already known it would be your last New Year’s together. Whether they’d felt it in their bones somehow. You certainly hadn’t.

You would have tried to change it if you had.

Bucky exhales deeply when the wave of fireworks dies down. His thumb is absent-mindedly tracing light patterns on the back of your hand and you try your best to suppress a shudder, rubbing the tears from your eyes with your other hand.

"You okay?" he asks softly, not turning his head. Neither of you are ready to break this spell quite yet, caught up in the moment after resurfacing from the past.

"Sometimes, I miss the Blip," you answer.

Immediately, there’s the familiar ache of shame and longing. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the patterns continue.

"I know it’s stupid, and terrible," you continue. "I know I shouldn’t. But I—that was the first time I felt like I had a proper purpose. I had people I cared about and who cared about me. I could just disappear from my old life, and no one would even think to look for me. They’d just assume I’d turned to dust, like all the others."

He knows the broad strokes of this, of course, but it’s not something you’d usually talk about. You don’t like thinking about your brush with genuine power all that much; it still makes you sick to your stomach.

"I was always told that I didn’t deserve my powers. That I was useless, that someone like me shouldn’t even exist. And that’s true, in a way, but it’s not like it’s my fault. I didn’t ask for them. But this … the only thing that I can do is trying to use them to help others, and now I can’t even do that anymore."

"I know what you mean," Bucky says. "But you’re wrong. You’re not useless, you never were. You were still the one in control, even though you didn’t feel like it, then. Your powers knew."

"I don’t feel like I’m in control right now."

You’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about your powers. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

"You know what else is stupid?" you say. "They keep promising rain. On the radio. They say it’s 'a blessing we’re stayin' dry on Independence Day, but on the weekend, it’ll start pouring down," you imitate the woman from your local station. "Sometimes it feels like it’ll never rain again and it’s my fault."

"You hate the rain," he says, and you hiccup a laugh.

"Do I? I can’t even remember."

Bucky hums. "Were you ever going to tell me about the loop if I hadn’t confronted you?"

"I told you so many times," you reply. "You always forgot."

He sweeps a finger across your knuckles. "I’m not forgetting anymore."

"I know that now." You’re not breathing. You should breathe.

"Why did you stop?"

You pull your hand away and a shudder runs down your spine. "Because it fucking hurt."

He turns to face you, then, his eyes molten. "Twelve …"

"I don’t mean to interrupt," FRIDAY says with a tinkle. You flinch as the television flickers on all by itself. "But there’s news coverage coming in from the last pinged location of Captain Wilson."

They might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over the both of you. All the softness on Bucky’s face freezes over, showing something else entirely.

Fear.

"Turn the volume up, FRIDAY."

"—yet unclear as to whether these explosions were also set by the organization. There are eye witnesses placing Captain America still inside the building, as well as at least thirteen civilians that have been trapped by the flames."

The footage from the scene isn’t anywhere close to the lab, but you recognize the building, anyway. You pass it about halfway through your daily mission flight, a highrise with an interestingly shaped roof. On screen, flames are licking out the windows.

This has never happened before. Then again, you’ve never made it far enough through the day. Was this always bound to happen or did something glitch again? Your heart is thundering wildly as the reporter continues.

"First Lieutenant Joaquín Torres, better known as the Falcon, has been transferred to Elmhurst Medical Center. His condition is still unclear."

"No," you whisper.

Bucky has gone white as a sheet next to you, his fingers gripped around the edge of the couch. "Is this …"

"This is new," you confirm shakily. "Fuck, Sam—"

"This won’t be it," Bucky says, standing up with a jolt.

"What?"

Alpine chooses that moment to jump onto your lap, and you struggle to pick her up to hurry after Bucky.

"This can’t be the one that sticks, alright? I won’t have it."

He’s taking the steps two at a time. At first you foolishly think he’s headed for his room to get changed; to try and make it there, help out, come up with a plan. Instead, he reaches under his pillow and your heart drops.

"Let’s talk about this for a second," you blurt out, plea, shriek, you’re not entirely sure. You’ve come so close. The magazine clicks into place. "Bucky!"

"Sam might not have a second," Bucky says, not turning around. It comes out pressed, like he’s forcing himself not to shout. "We don’t know what happens if he dies before I do, do we?"

"Well, no, but—"

"No but. I’ve lost too many people, I’m not going to lose Sam, too, alright? Not if we both know I can prevent—"

Alpine jumps onto his shoulder.

You stagger backwards with the force of it, and so it takes you a moment to realize that her claws are fully extended and she’s hissing into his ear.

To see him caught off-guard is still such a surreal occurrence, but not more so than his cat acting anything but affectionate towards Bucky. He’s cursing, arms flailing as he tries to push her off him, and within a split second, you have his gun in your hands.

"Damn it, Y/N!"

"Listen to me." It feels strange to point his own weapon at him, especially considering what he was just attempting. "We’re the closest we’ve ever been to midnight, which means this day is nearly over. I’ll get my powers back and we can fix whatever is going on with Sam, I promise you. It’s going to be fine."

"You don’t know that. Even with your powers, we might be too slow." Doubt churns heavily in your stomach as Bucky takes a step closer. His hands close around yours, pointing the gun straight at his heart. "Just do it."

You shake your head without looking away from his eyes. "I can’t."

His fingers press down on your knuckles. "We’re running out of time, Twelve."

Old anger bubbles up at the very core of you, and just before you’re forced to squeeze the trigger, you twist around in his hold. The shots go through the window instead, smashing the glass into a million pieces as the thunderous clash of the fireworks returns. You squeeze your eyes shut as the shards slice into your skin. Your ears are ringing with the sudden noise of it all by the time the gun drops to the floor, the magazine emptied.

For a moment, you both just stand there, breathing heavily. Somewhere behind you, you hear a disdainful meow.

"Geez, I hate you," Bucky murmurs, his voice vaguely pained. Your eyes fly open right as he leans in.

It all happens so fast.

He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he lets go of you and leaps towards the ruined window.

And then he’s gone.

Too late, a startled cry falls from your lips.

You’ve seen him die so many deaths, but somehow, the intentionality of this one feels worse, much worse. You feel sick with it, the feeling spreading through you like poison, a quick thunderous rush of pain.

Then, you jerk forward and sit up in bed, the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

* * *

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass ki—ooff!"

You slam into Sam’s chest before he can even finish his sentence, wrapping your arms around him tightly. After a moment or so, he hums and settles into it.

Sam gives really nice hugs. It’s not something you’ve consciously noticed before, but then again, it’s not something you usually do. This time, though, he seems to feel that you need it; or maybe some part of him does as well.

Apart from you clinging to Bucky on the roof and in some other bygone version of today, it might be the longest time someone’s hugged you in years, and it makes your heart ache just a little.

"Maybe I should tell FRIDAY to wake you up more often."

"Don’t even think about it, birdbrain," you mumble, squeezing him one more time for good measure. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

"I’m fine," Sam grins, still slightly perplexed as he steps back. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Something," you say. "Have you seen Bucky?"

"Not yet, why?" He falls into step next to you. Easily, no tension in his shoulders. Same as always.

Your heart twists a little when you glance at him. For dozens of loops now, you’ve tried so hard to forget that your situation has any impact on anyone else; like you’re really just stuck in a game, the only real person that gets to make decisions, that gets to leave an imprint, however temporary.

Finding out that Bucky’s started to remember as well makes you remember that you’re not, though. This is just as real for everyone else, maybe more so, because it’s always their first run-through. It’s not the TAGs that show you glimpses of who they are; it’s moments like these. Seemingly inconsequential ones that never are, that no one who hasn’t seen them a hundred times would pay attention to.

Like the fact that Sam’s humming that odious song when you slow down, not bothered at all by your silence. He holds the door open for you and meets your gaze with a merry look in his eyes that makes another flood of relief rush through you.

He’s alright. And he has no clue that if this were any regular kind of universe, it would be Saturday and he’d be dead.

"Just wondering."

After all this is over, maybe you’ll make him another pie. Doesn’t matter that he won’t remember he deserves it.

Doubt creeps in again during training, though.

Yester-today was different. Even if Bucky says he’s been aware for a while, who’s to say that wasn’t a fluke as well? What if, despite everything, that was your one and only chance not to have to go through this alone? What if—

"Jesus, shit."

Pain sears through you as you drop to the mat, something warm and wet dripping down your chin. That’s what you get for being distracted, apparently: more blood.

"I’m so sorry," Sam says when he comes back into focus. "I didn’t mean to hit you that hard."

"S’okay," you mumble, your eyes stinging as you feel for your nose. At least it doesn’t appear broken this time around. "I jus’ … I gotta lie down for a secon’, I thing."

"You sure you’re fine?"

"So fine," you say, giving him a slightly shaky thumbs-up. "Honestly, I needed that."

"You are such a weirdo," he says, still not looking entirely convinced. "Get some ice on that soon, okay? I don’t want Buck to scalp me."

"Yup," you say, your head still swimming enough for the words not to make any sense. Maybe you should close your eyes and just wait here for a little while, you think as the gym door shuts with a click. You’re fairly sure the bleeding has stopped.

"You know, I hate to say it, but you look like shit."

At this point, you should have gotten used to the instant comfort the sound of his voice brings every day. You haven’t.

"You’re a damn bad liar, Barnes," you say, sitting up. "I’m a fucking treat and you know it."

He’s not sitting with his back to you, like he usually would, instead leaning against the side of the ring with his arms crossed. His hair is still damp and curling up at the front; his cheeks are stained pink from his run.

"So," Bucky says, tapping his nose. "Wanted to convince yourself that it worked?"

Another weight falls off your chest. He remembers.

"I know you," you say lightly. "You’re big on physical proof of timefoolery."

Your gaze flits to his arm. The writing has disappeared. Pity. Would’ve been a nice confirmation of your point.

He rolls his eyes. "Come here."

Gentle hands hold up your chin to wipe your face with a cloth he produces from … wait a second.

"That’s not your dirty arm rag, is it?"

"It’s clean."

"You’ve not done laundry."

"Neither have you."

"Please get that thing away from me."

You put your hands on his chest to shove him away, but you can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and your usual instinct to antagonize him vanishes. There it is again, right there, against all odds. Steady and strong.

Alive.

"Hey. Look at me."

You do, and for some reason, he’s grinning. Tiredly, but still grinning. Like he’s onto something and you’re not.

"What?" you say breathlessly, and his smile widens like he wants to rub it in, too.

He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls them away from his chest, and maybe you’re still a little dizzy, and then he says, "I never hit the ground."

* * * * *

On the bad days, you often found yourself sitting alone in the darkened briefing room, having FRIDAY show you the pictures of the Vanished over and over and over again.

If you had been there, a nagging little voice in your head kept telling you, Thanos might never have gotten the stones. If you hadn’t taken yourself out of the equation …

Might not. Should have. A lifetime of them.

Echoes of memories had started invading your sleep again, too.

"Where are you, impossible child?"

You didn’t appreciate being reminded of that part of your past and so, when your dreams insisted on it, you tortured yourself with all the things you did, theoretically, have control over; even if it was too late for that now. It had been storming all night, raindrops still drumming against the windows.

You reached for the pendant around your neck, absently tapping it against your lips as the photos flashed across the wall opposite you.

The light switch flipped on and you found yourself blinking in the sudden brightness of it all. When the stars cleared from your vision, you recognized Steve in the doorway.

"Long night?" he asked.

When you didn’t answer, he pulled up a chair, for once not commenting on your feet on the table. Instead, he threw something into your lap.

You almost fell out of your chair.

"I had to fix up the pages a little," he said. "Took longer to dry than expected."

You stared at the cover of the old, well-loved edition of The Wind in the Willows that you thought you’d lost forever over a week ago. The colors had been touched up, the smallest details carved out anew with skilled hands and precise memory.

It looked better than the day you got it, and it still smelled the same when you opened it up.

"How," you whispered, your voice thick with wonder.

"It looked like something special."

"It is." You looked over at him, gratitude welling up in your eyes. "Thank you."

Steve didn’t comment on your uncharacteristically emotional outbreak, didn’t ask any questions, but you felt like you needed to explain it nevertheless.

"When I was younger, my powers used to be a lot more unpredictable than they are now, if you can believe it." You rubbed your cheek with one hand. "I used to get stuck between moments for hours on end, usually when I was somewhere new. Unfamiliar."

It had been the scariest part of your powers, then, before you’d learned to live with the unexpected silences.

"I always say I got it from the library, but really, I just picked it out of a donation box and started carrying it around with me. Then at least when it happened again, I’d have something to read."

It felt strange, now, to try to put it into words, how much comfort this little book had brought you in those long, dark hours.

There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worse of all, no way out.

But there was a way out, in the end. There was a way, and a door, and a warm, safe space waiting at the end of it, and no matter what happened, things turned out alright by the time you reached the last page.

It was pure coincidence that had brought this story to you at the right time, but it had always felt a little like destiny, looking back. And the fact that Steve had brought it back to you?

To say you owed him a favor would’ve been an understatement.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you said.

"There’s a date stamped on the first page. I think it’s from when the library accepted the donation?"

You blinked. Nodded. You knew it well, even though you hadn’t stopped to look at it for years, usually preferring to skip the front matter and diving right into the story.

His next question came out softer. "How old are you?"

You’d always aged weirdly. Probably part of your powers, you’d supposed. Time had never passed for you like it did for everyone else, and it had been a living nightmare to try to keep up with it.

"I’m not sure," you said, your thumb playing with the edge of the pages. "I was ten when I got it, I think. It’s been a while."

You knew your birthday, but you’d been skipping through the timeline since you were in diapers, and so there was no way of knowing how long you’d actually been alive. How much did people age when they were stuck in limbo? How much did they age when time reversed, or sped up? Your body didn’t change when your powers activated, it never did, but that just made any clear answer that much more impossible.

Maybe you’d always been a little out of time, too, in your very own way.

You sat in silence for a while, staring at the ever-changing pictures on the wall. You were so sick of them, but you could never stop watching; you’d made yourself remember their names and faces, even though you weren’t sure what kind of penance you were getting out of that.

Nick Fury. King T’Challa. Maria Hill. Sam Wilson. Scott Lang. You glanced at Steve when Bucky Barnes’ photograph appeared, but the sadness in his eyes had hardened to a constant layer of ice by then, and his face didn’t change anymore. You had a feeling that the two of you had similar pastimes when sleep wasn’t restful.

"What about your family?"

"Don’t have anyone left," you said.

"Me neither," Steve said. "Not apart from everyone here."

You almost smiled at that, but he didn’t. "How do you bear it?" you asked instead. "Again?"

He shrugged, his eyes closing in grim resolution. "We try to fix it. That’s all we can ever do."

You couldn’t help but silently agree. It was the most hopeful you’d felt in a while, that night, surrounded by pictures of the past you were still trying to save.

That was a few weeks before Thanos happened again, and everything good in your life disappeared into thin air.

chapter nine

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

[housemdork]

so. i know that fighting on the wilson defense squad is a little taboo around here...but i still want to share the germ of a thought that i've had, which i'll definitely expand on in the future.

does anyone hear me when i say that so much of wilson's work is silent and unseen?

i mean this, first, quite literally regarding his practice. it's a rarity, seeing wilson interact directly with his cancer patients without being called in for a consult. we hear about his patients all the time, just not often by name. but whether because we're in house's POV, or because the show aligns with house's belief that "cancer is boring," we don't see wilson practicing oncology that much in the grand scheme of things, even compared to the snippets of ER and surgery life that cameron and chase move on to, respectively.

house pokes fun at wilson's oncology all the time, and pretty definitively in 2x04 when he makes fun of medical specialists. to house, things are simpler for them; house views them as existing in a box, much smaller than his grand purview over things. wilson's work is relegated away from the main text of the show; he operates in isolation, which hurts in the long run.

wilson's own cancer experience is profoundly impacted by the pain of loss he's endured over the years, watching his patients die. he rattles off their names, their cancers, their ages, and the dates they died to house from memory. we never saw these patients. house probably never did, either, so we can only learn of this pain afterwards. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

finally, the work wilson puts into his friendship with house is often invisible. i won't ever paint wilson as the ideal friend - that would completely ruin any interpretation of his character - but i find it disingenuous to ignore the strain house puts on him, however self-inflicted. what starts out as trickles of jokes and subtle hints (the loans), evolves into the season 3 medical license debacle, which evolves into wilson's repeated responsibility for house's mental health (which isn't even mandated by house, but by those around wilson and house), which finally evolves into house attempting to control wilson's last wishes. repeatedly, wilson is nominated, especially by dr. nolan in season 6 and foreman in season 8, to be house's steward, and who else would do it, but him?

big example: we never see the decision for house to move into wilson's place, but all the energy in the world is put into wilson asking house to leave. it's first presented as a natural assumption, then a mortal sin.

unlike the other characters surrounding house, the origins of wilson and house are usually only hinted at. their history unfolds across the entire show, and that includes the good and the bad parts that are only heard about in passing and in retrospect. at the start of season 5, wilson, at his most honest, breaks the hardest news to house yet - that he's leaving PPTH because of him.

"i've enabled it for years. the games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls...if i've learned anything from amber, it's that i need to take care of myself."

again, we learn of this long-term pain afterwards, once house takes a beat to digest it. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

say what you like about what wilson asked house to do in 4x16 (it kills me, personally). i cannot completely fault wilson for telling house this ^. as much as house needs to change, wilson does, too. amber was right about that. we can gauge the strain that house has in his relationships based on how many work out long-term: one.

and later, funny as it is in the moment, wilson is the one to go to physically check in on house in 7x01 when it was VERY apparent that he should not have gone home alone (not to dismiss foreman's attempt in 6x22 to be there for him, though). house's fake voicemail message attests to this: "if this is wilson, i'm fine, not suicidal, not on drugs, coping very well with the loss of my last patient, so feel free to go about your day without worry."

i understand why he crawled through that window! after six seasons of this, i would have done the same!

i argue the same about house that i do about wilson - these 2, despite how messed up they are when it comes to human goodness and love - could not do what they do if they did not have the capacity to love. they're both rewarded in their own, twisted ways; house is gratified that, if nothing else, his brain sets him apart and preserves his sense of self, while wilson gets to feel loved in the way he can never quite fulfill elsewhere. does that cancel out the lives they save and soothe along the way?

all of this is to say that it's easy to brand wilson with a red "morally corrupt guy who pretends otherwise" stamp across his forehead because i think that's what house md tempts us to do by mandating how, when, and what we see of wilson's life. trust me - i'm trudging through season 2 right now and fast approaching his rendezvous with grace. but over time, i think the show invites us to treat him with sympathy and nuance in the same way it does house. if we penalize wilson too much for returning to house, and for needing his neediness, that may just imply that house doesn't deserve that sort of love. and we know that isn't the case.

isn't there more poetic irony than the oncologist getting cancer at hand? what about cancer as the silent-killer? what about cancer eating at every part of the body, slowly, over time? unseen and unheard?

[likeumeanit9497]

introducing...

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

notes: this has been one of the top 10 hardest secrets i have ever had to keep in my life. i started writing this series MONTHSSSSS ago but didn't want to even hint at it until i had really worked on multiple chapters in case i got a major case of writer's block. the fact that i hit a major follower milestone for me today (thank u all again ugh i can't believe it) was the final push i needed to spill the beans. i hope you all love this series as much as i've loved writing it. <3 you foreva

୨୧ chris’s intro

୨୧ eleanor’s intro

୨୧ chapter one

୨୧ chapter two

୨୧ chapter three

୨୧ chapter four

୨୧ chapter five

୨୧ chapter six

୨୧ chapter seven

୨୧ chapter eight

୨୧ chapter nine

୨୧ chapter ten

୨୧ chapter eleven

୨୧ chapter twelve

୨୧ chapter thirteen

୨୧ chapter fourteen

୨୧ chapter fifteen

୨୧ chapter sixteen

୨୧ chapter seventeen

୨୧ chapter eighteen

୨୧ chapter nineteen

୨୧ chapter twenty

୨୧ chapter twenty one

୨୧ chapter twenty two

[weather-mood]

Jacob Anderson on Louis

Some selected quotes from the TV Insider interview (x)

"I just have like a few sort of truths in my head that I always have on me about Louis about Louis, that I'm like I know that this is something that he cannot let go of until he does at the very end, which is like I am a more vengeful, rage-full, bloodthirsty creature than I can ever admit to anybody so I have to overcompensate constantly, that’s like a thing that I, at least for me, like I always hold on- I always held onto- for both seasons. I'm gonna like come across as this vampire that's like moved beyond the needs of most vampires, I’m a vegetarian vampire, I eat animals, I don't hurt humans, I have no desire to hurt, I find humans interesting, but then Rolin said something to me early on as well that like Louis’s relationship to humanity is quite anthropological, it’s quite which, I guess it's you know anthropology is the study of that, but like he doesn't see himself in that way. He kind of he does see himself above humanity so like that is always there I always carry that with me and then just fight against it constantly."

"One of the things I love about Louis is that he's constantly learning, like I don't think… he's not a closed book. I think you really… when he tries to be a closed book he really fails at it, he’s really bad at it, he over-over overcompensates you know, like at the end of episode one in season two where he and Armand come in like ‘we're a team now’ and then in episode two, he’s so cruel- he's really fun to play- but like it’s- he's just not very good at it. He's not very good at closing himself off, I think, so yeah, he's he has to keep- I’ve completely lost my thread- but like he has to keep learning from Daniel and from himself and from Claudia, and that’s like the hardest part of it, really, for Louis is to learn who he was through Claudia. I think he read those diaries when he was in a very different place and probably in the grips of like a sort of like… hubris, you know like ‘they took her from me’ ‘I've been wronged’ and now he's a state like in season- throughout season two- he's in a state of ‘hang on, that, this was me, like I did this, I wronged her, I hurt one third of my heart. Yeah, I think he learned and I love that about him, it’s a therapy- it is a therapy session, you know, with Daniel."

"I talked to Rolin about it a lot that final, the final moment, where the vampires are all threatening him. I was like Louis found such a level of peace and has like has reconnected with Paul and with Claudia and has taken accountability. I just did not want that moment to be violent, I didn't want it to be about Louis becoming a badass, it had to be about him like for the first time in his existence accepting himself and I found that really emotional." [...] Like it holds him somewhere that you can you can feel episode one you feel that guy that pulled the knife and just so clearly hates himself [...] and because he hates himself he takes it out on everybody else and I wanted to see him like breathing and not holding a million things in his head and feeling peaceful and, so conversely, I did that and Jacob was holding a million things in his head, on like, for Louis, on Louis’s behalf."

"When he and Lestat see each other again, I think that is more about him accepting vampirism as a gift, that's what that is about more than it is about Claudia’s- it is about Claudia's death- but I think it's more about like we're both still not okay right? Like you're still not okay with with what happened, you still miss her, you still think about her constantly, and then the reconciliation is more about like my life began when I met you, you know, this version of my life began when I met you and I didn't appreciate that until this moment so thank you for that."

"I survived but I have to remember her, I have to keep her here, I can't keep like trying to push her out of my brain for self-preservation, I have to hold space for her and for Paul."

[onlycosmere]

Brandon Sanderson on the length of Wind and Truth

PumkinFunk:  I appreciate Brandon being self-aware about the fact that he will struggle immensely to keep the word counts down for this series.

KiwiKajitsu: If only he had a better editor

PumkinFunk:  I know this has become a common criticism since Rhythm of War after Moshe Feder retired, but I don't think it's true. One of his editors for his books is Devi Pillai, the head of Tor Publishing Group. The Secret Projects were edited in-house and generally were good. He has a lot of people giving him feedback, both in-house and outside.

jmcgit:  If Brandon wanted to work on revisions for an extra 6 months to refine and streamline the book, he could do it. This is a Brandon thing, not an editor thing. What was Brandon working on up until the last minute before he had to turn the book in? He was working on making the book bigger, squeezing in more content that he wanted to add. Brandon will tell anyone who asks that he likes to write, and dislikes revising.

When an author gets big enough, the publishers and editors lose their ability to rein in the author or make certain demands. Brandon will do what he wants, and if Tor doesn't like it, they can cancel his contract and Brandon can self-publish.

Brandon Sanderson: I realize it's difficult to see behind the veil of publishing, and much is opaque, but this isn't what I was doing during the last few months--I was cutting the book significantly. However, rough draft didn't include Interludes or Epigraphs, which is why it got longer after I cut it down. This draft lost over 60k words, but then I added in the interludes and epigraphs (along with a few key scenes I decided were needed.)

So, let's be clear about a few things. No editor has ever--in my life--cut my books down. It's not what they do. They largely haven't suggested it. Every editor, Moshe included, has always suggested things to change or add--they don't do much trimming. That's all my job, and always has been. Yes, there is a line edit, which does help trim--but I haven't stopped taking those suggestions, and usually go much, much further on a page-by-page case than they suggest.

I dislike revision, which is important for me to explain because I want people to understand that even for someone who loves their job, there are parts I don't like. But I DO it. I do A LOT of it. It's the part I have to force myself to do, but I am very good at it--and if you follow my stories about learning revision, you'll find that I very clearly explain that I didn't get published until I mastered the thing that was hardest for me. I consider my it, perhaps, my greatest strength as a writer--my ability to look at feed back and apply it to improve books.

If they get long, it's not because I've lost an editor. Moshe's strong suit was always diction, not trimming--and Gillian (who does that job now) is quite accomplished at both. She's Joe Abercrombie's editor.

I realize it's odd, because "to edit" means to trim, but an editor doesn't usually trim books--they offer suggestions for changes on the larger scope, and sometimes do a line edit pass to clarify.

Stormlight books are not big because I can't stop writing. You can pick any number of my shorter novels and see I'm quite capable of doing something at a normal book length. Stormlight books are big because that's the art I want to make--and they are not, and never have been, out of control. I am perfectly willing to accept that the story I want to tell has not appealed to some in the last installments! But don't blame my editors. This is an artistic choice of mine, and their job has never been to change the art. I get the same amount of editing now as I ever have--and I take largely the same amount of their feedback.

Note: don't take this as a direct condemnation of you or some of the things /u/KiwiKajitsu said above. It's more that I want to be very clear about my goals, and the process. My stance is one of explaining, not arguing against your opinions, as those are valid and perfectly reasonable ones to hold.

I realize that a long comment reply isn't the best way to prove I can be brief, but I sincerely think the trope of "He got big so he lost the ability to be edited" is not one that I fall into--I am, if anything, the most edited person at the industry, and see more criticism and feedback of my books prepublication than any other author. Editors and beta readers collectively wrote some 800k words of feedback for me over the last two years, which I incorporate. Not just the, "Add this" but also the "this sequence feels slow or unengaging." I am extremely passionate about listening to, and incorporating, editorial feedback.

It's fine to not like what I do. But don't blindly make the argument that I write it, kick it out the door, and don't pay attention to the revision process while ignoring editors.

jmcgit: Hey Brandon, I appreciate the insight! I regret that my post may have come off as if you carelessly "write and kick it out the door", as I know how hard you and your team have been working on the book over the past months and years, and how passionate you are about getting it right.

Brandon Sanderson: No problem and no offense taken! I just see a lot of confusion about these things.

I am edited far, far more now than when I was when I started and nobody cared. Though, admittedly, I think the most editorial scrutiny I ever got was on A Memory of Light a decade ago. I probably get less now, but I also have way more extensive beta reads.

It's just a complex process. And, you also ARE right in your initial post that I could go over it again and again, and some authors do. I'm middle of the road on the number of revisions I do, by my experience. Not as many as someone like Pat R. does. More than a lot of authors. I do not subscribe to the Heinline philosophy of only editing when required by contract that is very popular these days. (This philosophy believes that your initial artistic instinct will be right, and you shouldn't undermine it later on. I am not a fan, even if some people I respect follow this philosophy.)

Anyway, your initial post wasn't far off; I just wanted to offer some more context for this thread.

[truths33k3r4]

(I got this idea from a few other artists I follow like @brightonstudios!! Thanks for the idea guys!)

Here's my own 2024 art recap. :)

This past year was... one of the hardest I've ever had in all honesty. There were so many things that happened- and they were a large mix of both good and bad. I had to face threats, physical ailments, almost losing my job, my family getting sick over and over again, my Memere and Pepere moving away to a different city, my anxiety was the worst it's ever been, (I didn't feel safe at my own church. I didn't want to leave my house. My anxiety worsened my fainting spells), and finally... I went through my first loss with the death of a friend.

God pulled me through. It wasn't easy and wasn't pretty. (Still isn't.) But He pulled me and my family through.

But not all changes this year were bad. I went on a couple of really fun trips with my sisters, mother, and friend. (One of the trips being a road trip all over the country!) I learned how to say no to things, (or people) that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. I started monetizing my videos and being able to pay rent again! I made so many wonderful friends here on Tumblr and Youtube. HECK- I MET someone in PERSON from Youtube and now we're close friends!! I've never had so much energy and excitement to create as I do now. God has used my comic dubs, my TMNT story, and my art to help others through their battles, just like He used their art, stories and friendship in mine.

And I'm so thankful. <3

This past year was one shell of a ride. I've never been in and seen so much pain, but those horrible valleys only gave light to really uplifting conversations and hugs between my friends and family. God used that darkness that surrounded me to really shine the many glow-in-the-dark stars that He has put in my life.

So thank you to all those stars that unknowingly helped me through this year <3 Whether it was through your art, your stories, or our conversations, God truly used you in my life.

@indieyuugure @allyheart707 @poetique823 @nyaboshi @exhaustedwriterartist @phoebepheebsphibs @howtotrainyourdragonprince @bowandbrush @brightonstudios @sarathrwizard @angelmichelangelo @imagionationstation @somerandomdudelmao @cokoweee @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast @pezhead @risebabyx2 @chaosborb @pinkiemachine @carrots-bear @trilobitepunch @boxfullaturtles @mrabubu @kathaynesart @heckitall @star-sparkler @2aceofspades @hatekawa @intotheelliwoods @abbeyofcyn @happyfoxx-art @disastertwins9000

Thank you, guys, for being such huge lights with your hilarious or beautiful art, your captivating and tense stories, or your overall kind and bright personalities. You helped me in ways I can't explain. :)

To God be the glory.

~ love, Melissa

[ouroborosorder]

as a game dev, one of the hardest ideas i've ever had to grapple with was something someone said to me when i first started out. I said I wanted to make a game in ___ genre, and he said "If you are working in a genre, you need to know it. You need to be effectively a scholar in that particular thing."

and you know what? fuck that. that shit was wrong as hell and it's taken me this long to unlearn that idea. that one guy is the reason i've been crying myself to sleep about not being able to make my shmup because i can't even 1CC Zeroranger and how can i dare think of making a game i'm passionate about because i'm a poser loser who doesn't know anything about what i love

because like. there's no responsibility or no obligation to be The Truest Understander before you start. that's not true in anything I've ever done ever in my life. You learn by the process of doing, ya know? If you want to understand a genre, nothing helps you understand it more than trying to make one yourself, running into every pitfall and then going "okay how did the others solve this," then doing your research. if you wanna become a scholar, deconstructing specific elements is the best way to do it, and lemme tell you. there's NOTHING that makes you deconstruct specific elements quite like trying to make a game and having to ask yourself shit like "does 3.75 movespeed feel better than "3.725?"

obviously, know the genre decently, do your research eventually. otherwise you're just gonna be the asshole making Funny Ironic Dating Sim Visual Novel #5023712 and if you use my argument to defend yourself for doing so i'm going to seal your soul in a garfield rotary phone and throw it into a volcano

all i'm saying is that if you also feel the same way then i officially give you permission to start making a game even if you don't know shit. become a scholar through the act of doing it anyway

[copperbadge]

Hey Sam!

I recently purchased a second hand bread machine, and I know you like to bake! (I got King Authur's Flour per your recommendation.) I was wondering if you have any recipes or tips and tricks for bread making? I don't have an oven in my apartment so sadly that's not an option for me 😔

Without an oven, a bread machine is a great acquisition! You can often also make rice, oatmeal, and sometimes even yogurt in a bread machine, depending on the model. If the machine didn't come with a manual, try googling for it, or googling the model name and "recipes" to see what else people have done with theirs. It's great you bought KA flour, because materials really do make the difference -- good flour and yeast are key. Freshness can matter with yeast so buy something with a long expiration date, and keep the yeast somewhere cool, dry, and dark.

For bread making, there are two main things I always think about: you are nurturing yeast, which is a living thing, and you're forming gluten (presumably, if you're not cooking gluten-free). The yeast wants to have food and be warm, so you want to use pretty warm water (most machine recipes say something very specific like 115-125F or similar, but it should be warmer than your skin and not so hot it hurts your skin, that's how I measure it). Sugar helps feed yeast, so often there will be sugar or honey in a recipe even if it's not a "sweet" bread. If you're using older yeast, adding a bit more sugar can help it work. Meanwhile, protein helps support gluten formation, so milk or milk powder are common ingredients often listed as optional but which are very helpful. If you have a stove, you can even make milk bread, which is one of the best, fluffiest kinds -- google "hokkaido milk bread" for recipes. Nearly any bread recipe that doesn't have a super long rise or need to be shaped can be made in a bread machine, but often (especially on the King Arthur site) a recipe will include special tips for adjusting it for a machine.

Specifically for bread machines, the bread can stay warm in the pan for a bit, but the longer it cools in the pan the more likely it is to form condensation, which leads to moisture on the surface of the crust in contact with the metal. That dries out pretty quickly if you leave it out for a bit, but moisture reduces the shelf life of homemade bread a LOT (moisture feeds mold). Your best bet is to remove the bread as soon as it's cool enough to handle -- it used to be the hardest part of making machine bread was getting it out of the damn pan, but they may have gotten better since I had one -- and wrap it in a tea towel or leave it out to cool completely before putting it in a package of some kind. I used to keep mine in the fridge because without preservatives it can mold quickly. These days most breads I bake included a few spoonfuls of King Arthur Bread and Cake Enhancer, which is a mild preservative and worth every penny -- it makes the bread softer, with better crumb, and it stays good for longer. There are other brands you can get cheaper on amazon, probably, but I've only ever used KA so I can't speak to their efficacy. It's generally not sold in stores.

Okay, two last things: one, I always put the bread machine on the floor when I was making bread in it, because it rocks back and forth a bit when kneading and I have had machines "walk" off the counter before. The floor or a wide table are best. Two, bread is difficult and even a machine for making it isn't perfect, so you may fail when you first start out. Even if you don't fail the first time, you may not get a good loaf at some point, and that's the nature of yeasted breads. Don't take it personally -- and don't give up! After a while, you start to notice if something seems "off" but it takes time to learn that sense.

Happy baking! I hope it goes well for you.

[vxnillabxn]

hii, i love your work!! and blog!! wow super pretty 🙂‍↕️ i luv the layout! can I request Zayne's pov seeing mc for the first time again after he moved away in their childhood? i don’t remember this being established canonically and there’s no one talking about it??? i'd like to know what is your vision about it.

anyways, i hope you keep writing for a long time, i love to swipe over the account in the morning like a newspaper lol (also I hope everything made sense??? english is not my first language and it’s like 3 am my brain isn’t braining </3)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ painfully, agonizing angst! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚okay! i finished the main story like… two weeks ago, and i'm still navigating through the memory cards, the myths and the tender moments to kinda grasp the storyline, lmao. BUT !!! i’ll write this pov based on some of the things that have been mentioned and my own personal input! —pardon my inaccuracies— hope i make zayne's mind justice. also, i’ll keep this gender neutral, and thank you for the request and the compliment! ♡♡♡ (btw, your english is fantastic, angel. it isn't my first language either, so i gotchu!) ♡

all my life.

all my life dedicated to fixing one huge mistake.

almost hurting them.

it was willingly; always willingly. not the accident, but my decision. i never once doubted the path i took, nor did i ever plan to turn back.

ever since i learned what happened to them, —to their heart— i knew what choice to make. and it wasn't hard.

if anything, the hardest part was distancing myself from the only person who truly mattered; the only person i was afraid of pushing away.

yet i still ended up doing exactly that, long before i finally left.

even then, there wasn't a single day i didn't pour every effort into becoming the best help, the best tool.

the best doctor for them.

and i never cared when people said i made it look easy, or when that same people claimed it seemed effortless, detached.

in the end, i knew they would see it. they would notice. and that was the only thing that mattered. the only thing that kept me going.

until i finally came back, under the promise of caring for them. i had to; it was the trust placed in me.

i spent years perfecting myself.

it wasn't until i wandered into a familiar café that everything came rushing back. gentle chatter, smiling customers, the warm scent of coffee mixed with caramel as people took their paper bags and left.

and then, i saw them. grown. taller, more confident, more… mature.

their toothless grin was replaced by a gentle smile as they thanked the cashier. their hair was different; their body looked as though it had endured so much.

their eyes, though… still held that same curiosity and determination, even in a calm, tranquil setting like this.

would they recognize me, too? had i changed just as much? maybe they'd see the scars i barely remember getting. maybe they'd assume i lost control again.

do they remember me as someone dangerous? or do they know why i came? do they even remember what happened at all? do they know that my only purpose is to care for them?

all those thoughts fade the moment our eyes meet.

and there it is. that bright smile of recognition.

should i allow myself to savor how their eyes light up? how they approach slowly, as if bracing themselves in case i'm just a stranger who happens to look like an old friend?

“zayne?”

a quick nod from me. i have to remember my role.

i will be their primary care physician. despite the tangled past between us, i must keep it formal.

even if it hurts.

had they reacted coldly, would it hurt less to keep this distance?

a short “how have you been? you look so different! you're so tall…” from them, and an even shorter “i've been busy” from me, and the conversation soon dies down.

they keep smiling, say goodbye, and hope to see me soon.

i stand there a moment longer, letting myself feel the weight of that meeting.

but not for long. not here. i'll allow myself to process this in the solace of my place.

right now, i buy a sweet pastry and quietly leave.

later, i let myself recall it all; my feelings, the warmth in their gaze during those brief seconds.

they didn't remember.

that warm gaze belongs to old friends, to a memory from childhood, or to someone who earned their trust back in the day. and they offered it to me so easily, so readily.

and even if i'm unworthy, i will selfishly take it as a sign to care more deeply, in the only way i can.

or rather, in the only way that won't bury me beneath the weight of my own longing; a tight, overwhelming love meant to suffocate me.

i won't indulge in what i desire. i haven't earned that.

not until i fulfill my true purpose.

protecting them with everything i have —even if what i have feels like nothing.

or rather, protecting them from what i can't give to them just yet.

if i don't end up pushing them away again once again, that is.

[nectardaddy]

oh captain, my captain | single dad! meian x teacher f! reader notes: yes the math is mine :), this is the cutest thing I've written in my life, trying out drabbles more bear with me, everyone thank @nekozaki for hyping me up <33

The woman took a long, deep breath as she sat back against the chair she occupied. It was almost six-thirty, close to dinner, and papers and pencils scattered the table in front of her. She knew she had to clean it up soon, but felt the motivation slowly drift from her body at the very thought of it.

“You look tired.” The low voice that sounded next to her pulled her from her thoughts, or lack thereof, and her eyes flickered over. She was met with a familiar face and dark green eyes, a tall man that seemingly towered over her as she stayed seated. But she gave him a soft smile regardless of the difference. He dressed comfortably, sweatpants and an MSBY t-shirt, juxtaposing her own semi-professional attire from work - which he offered her clothes time and time again.

“I am tired.” She groaned and let her eyes drag down him as he took a seat next to her; watched as his eyes flicked to his daughter - who now sat on the couch in the far corner of the room, crayons and paper in hand - and back to her. She felt her breath hitch in her throat a moment when his eyes locked with her own, an intensity in them she believed she would never get used to.

“You didn’t have to help her tonight, y’know?” Asked rhetorically through a small smile. It wasn’t out of the norm for her to help the man's daughter when she was over, frankly, it was out of character if she didn't. A hushed relationship between the two, oftentimes coming and going from each other's homes, that always involved the rowdiness that the smallest Meian - whom she adored - always gave. “You do that enough during the day, take a break.”

“Well, she asked,” spoken nonchalantly with a shrug. “Who am I to tell a girl who wants to learn no?” The woman returned the smile, yet let out a breathy laugh upon thinking of the man trying to help the girl himself. Second grade math, although incredibly easy to an adult, was the hardest thing ever to a small child. It was even harder to explain a concept one knew for years, memorized through mental math and countless practice, to a seven year old that had no clue where to start. “Besides, when was the last time you did division like this, anyway?”

He scoffed while he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a small breath. “I know how to divide, thanks.” His tone was riddled with sarcasm, but a smile still fought its way on his lips. A cheeky undertone that made a silly smile appear on her features. The man had a way with his words that made her stomach so flips; she would never get used to that either.

“Long divide, too? When’s the last time you did that?”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I know how to long divide?”

She chuckled at his reaction and watched as the smallest of pouts formed on his lips at her laughter. But his lack of a straight answer was an answer in itself. “I know you don’t.”

A breath of air passed through her nose as she heard a dramatic sigh leave him. “Ye of little faith,” he groaned. “Give me the paper.” He sat up a little straighter in his chair, a little more defensive as he motioned for her to slide the paper her and his daughter had been working on earlier - the man's folly was never being able to decline a challenge, no matter how small.

With a chuckle, she compiled and passed him the paper - littered with scrawled handwriting and her own in pen. “Give it a shot, babe.” She let a laugh bubble out as she gave him a pen, “I'll even let you use my good pen.” To which he shot her a dry look, and it only made her laugh more. “You still haven’t answered my question though. When’s the last time you did long division?”

His eyes cast downward, looking at the paper before narrowing his eyes - she could tell he had no idea what he was looking at. But if it was one thing Meian Shūgo was not, it was a quitter. “Can you ever forget how?” A subtle sentiment to try and cover up his own lack of remembrance as he rewrote a problem.

“If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

He lifted his eyes to look over at her and paused, an exasperated expression on his face with his brows scrunched. “I can’t believe you just used a teacher quote on me.”

She stifled another laugh before shifting her chair closer to him. It was closeness that felt right with her, an ease to it that felt natural - like home. So she didn't mind when her arm brushed his own as she looked down at the paper, and didn't mind the warmth he gave off despite a cool house. “And I can’t believe you put the numbers in the wrong place.” A quick retort laced with sass, “can a big number go into a small number?”

He rolled his eyes once again, but felt a smile creep up to him at her reply. This was a usual back and forth they found themselves in, no matter the topic or time of day, countering each other with insincere jabs. Always competing for who exactly was better at their retorts - he would never admit it, but he knew she always won by a landslide. “Don’t be a smartass.”

His words landed a little too loud, and she watched his eyes widen just before he turned to the couch where his daughter, Himawari, sat. Coloring to her heart's content, but always listening whether the pair at the table were aware or not. “Don’t repeat that.” The girl didn't look up from her drawing but giggled in response before a small ‘ok’ followed.

The snort that came from the woman beside him made him turn his attention back. But his gaze lingered, settled on the woman beside him as all he could do was stare for a moment - to appreciate. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the paper in front of him, and she looked at him softly. There was a care within her eyes, mingled with playfulness, that made his heart warm, and he smiled when he finally chose to look back down at the paper.

“If you don’t remember how, it’s fine, y’know?” She tossed the cheeky sentiment in the air with a hum followed by a chuckle, pushing him further into wanting to do it (and hopefully do it right as a cherry on top.)

He let out a breathy laugh as he continued to work on the problem. “I know how to long divide.” A faux confidence dripped with every word, and he hoped it would be enough to convince her - it was not.

“Ok,” she shrugged with a smile. There was something toyish about the way she spoke, like he didn't believe him; hell, he didn't even believe himself as the number in front of him seemed to blur together. “Is that why you're short dividing then? Because you're so good at long division?”

He couldn't help the laugh that left his lips, and couldn't help but put the pencil down and silently admit he had been bested by second grade math as he did. “God,” spoken through a laugh as he flicked his eyes over to her. “What the hell is short division? Am I that bad at this?”

There was a moment of pause, where his laughter settled as they both looked at one another. Her eyes flicked between his own, searching for a sense of insincerity in his words, and she covered her mouth with a hand to stifle the loud laugh that wanted to leave upon realizing he was serious. “Oh my god-”

He found himself laughing with her, despite the fact she was laughing at him, and felt content with the feeling regardless. There was something mundane about laughing together, but it was a simple enough action that made his heart feel like putty - putty that was in her hands, and he knew for a fact it would forever stay that way.

“The answer is twelve, by the way,” she spoke through giggles.

“Thanks, I thought it was ten.”

taglist (open, send as ask)

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

@wyrcan @honeekyuu @wakashudou @wolffmaiden @eggyrocks 

@yogurtkags @bakery-anon @totallytatum @mollyrolls @aozui 

@jadeoru @hyunteru @kameyyy @nekozaki @sandwhitches 

[milkamel]

My Queen. My gorgeous. Love of my life. My prettiest girlfriend. Happy birthday, my dear <3. I know that you're shy and not gonna admit what I'm gonna say (and probably gonna scold me for not sleeping cuz unfortunately Tumblr doesn't allow to schedule asks), but trust me, you're the best person I've ever met. You're The Perfection. Not only you are creative, you're also inspiring. Supportive. Compassionate (omg Pure Vanilla Cookie reference?!). Understanding. The kindest. Always so honest about how you feel. Without you I'd never become a better person, I'd never improve in arts, and would probably harm not only myself, but also people around, for even during my hardest times, when I literally had no hope left that things will get better, you were there for me, tried your best to support me — and did support, in fact! Taught me so many important things. Let me look at myself from completely different angle. You're literally the only person who made me feel loved, needed, who made me see that I'm much better than I think I am, even with all my flaws and shortcomings. And I am forever grateful that you exist. That we met each other back then, almost 7 years ago. I am grateful that you are who you are. I'm not lying when I say that I always wanted to be like you in some way — not only in arts, mind you. The way you treat others has always fascinated me. You're always so kind to everyone, and it is really what I wanna learn from you. Your patience is what I never fully understood (only cuz of my anger issues ngl), but what I always wanted to have. And you still inspire me to become a better version of myself, even after all these years. It really hurts me when you ask for what I love you, because there is indeed so much for what one might love you!!! It also hurt me when you said that you're not as perfect as I think you are.. because even at your lowest you're still the most astonishing, the most astounding girl ever known to humanity. I swear, Aphrodite herself would envy you! You and your both inner and outer beauty. Your laughter, your eyes, your smile, your voice, your hair, your hands, your face, your thoughts, your mindset, your eloquence, your skills, your creativity, your ideas, your jokes, your sense of humor, your ability to notice the smallest details about everything around you, and especially things you love, your love and care towards both comfort characters and people around you — all that not only fascinates me, but also proves to me that my girlfriend really is a perfect person. YES, I KNOW THAT YOU'RE GONNA LIST YOUR FLAWS NOW, but who said that "perfection" = "absence of flaws"? Your flaws make you perfect as well, my darling. They show, that you're a real person, show, that you can also make mistakes and learn on them. Show, how determined you are to make up for what you've done wrong. I love you. Dearly. Literally teared up a few times while writing this-. Don't worry, those were tears of happiness, actually! Happiness and immense love towards you. Thank you for stealing my heart twice. And for allowing to steal yours <3. Please, never give me back my heart, it's all yours now, my Radiant Queen, my prettiest, the dearest thief. The one who always motivated me and will, for sure, motivate in the future. I'm afraid I won't be able to finish in time everything I planned to, but, trust me, you're gonna love what I'm working on <3. Mwah! Ich liebe Dich. I love You. Я Тебе кохаю. Я Тебя люблю. Мин ��ине яратам. Please, never go bald, ehhehehe ^w^

- Your humble boyfriend 💘💘💘💋💋💋

Now yours- the best for last right?.. I got this ask yesterday literally the moment the clock turned 12 AM in my time zone- (I DO NOT APPROVE YOU STAYING AWAKE UNTIL LIKE 5AM YOU'RE RIGHT ON THIS ONE) but I could only find the strength to properly reply to this now because I wanted to give it justice it deserves (ngl I'm still tired it's been such an eventful day my social battery dies quickly-) because I CAN'T SKIP something like this-

This is just insane in the most positive way possible. You're doing so much for me I feel awkward- if only I could express the half of affection you give to me because it's just so much- I don't think I ever felt this appreciated it still shocks me how much you do and write love letters for me- Seriously I'm so lucky I have no idea how I got a person like you to be my bf?? Still can't comprehend this.

Seriously- You're being too kind and sweet it's kind of hard to believe you view me like this- YEAH I DON'T FEEL PERFECT- but your words make me believe that maybe I am truly too hard on myself sometimes.. Thank you for all of this, I don't think I have enough words to express how thankful I am and how much I love you.. thank you sweetheart <3

You're literally the best mwah mwah 💞💞 THANK YOU FOR EVERY SINGLE WORD I LOVE YOU!!

[wolves-and-stars]

Beginner's Guide to Wolfstar (Long Fics)

(here's a list of my top 10 favorite long fics ranging from 259k to 59k words)

Momentum by children_of_the_shadows (ao3) 259k

If you have to ready any canon compliant (mostly) marauders through the years fic, this is the one, Children_of_the_shadows is one of the best writers ever, Top 3 fic authors.

2. Text Talk by merlywhirls (ao3) 141k

Everyone knows text talk, it's basically wolfstar bible, Non Magic AU where the boys meet by accidently texting the wrong number.

3. Time is a Fine Invention by bluepeony (ao3) 105k

Brilliant university non magic au, with the most imperfect and human characterization of both Remus and Sirius, read it if only to humanize the both of them and their relationship. Insecurity in a relationship and Coming of age and all the thoughts accompanying it are perfectly described in this. so much foreshadowing if you read it carefully enough.

It'll make you hate and simultaneously empathize with both characters.

4. Slughorn's Sanitarium for Troubled Boys by MelloPie 65k

TW: discussion of mental health, SA, institutionalization, ab*use, s*icide, self h*rm.

Non-Magic AU, set in a mental institution, where both noys have to share a room. Its one of the first long fics i ever read, so maybe i have a soft spot for this one, and every other fic on this list.

5. The Lad That Loved You. by MollyMaryMarie (ao3) 81k

I've said this once and I'll say it again, mollymarymarie is one of the best writers out there, another top 3 author for me, all of her fics are amazing, obviously including dear you holiness, we can pretend, the only living boy in new york, i might have to do a separate recs list for that.

But, if you had to read just one, i would say The lad that loved you is the perfect one, set in their 6th or 7th year? of hogwarts, they hide their new relationship by acting like they hate each other, and let me tell you, they are exactly, perfectly themselves in this fic, and by that i mean exactly how i imagine them.

There is not one single thing about this fic that i would change. Perfection.

6. Discards by picascribit (ao3) 76k words

I can't make a fic rec without picascribit. Cure for nightmares changed my life. Non-magic AU, Remus meets Sirius in the library he goes to study at, real love isn't always perfect and doesn't involve perfect people, is what i've take away from this fic.

7. ten reasons (to go to michigan) by greyeyedmonster18 (ao3) 59k

Top 3 Fics. If you had to read any wolfstar fic, it would be this one. I've read 100's spanning from 2016 - till date, and this is the best one ive ever read.

Remus is newly divorced, and he meets Sirius Black.

If you've ever lost someone one and had to re-learn how to live without someone you never thought you would have to live without, this fic will encapsulate the gist of it in words.

In one of their notes the authors says something close to 'the hardest thing about losing someone is finding out that the earth keeps spinning and you have to keep living'

8. Dating Remus Lupin by Children_of_the_Shadows (ao3) 83k

Top 3 fics. I can't explain this fic in any words, the writing style is brilliant, the characterizations are unique and wonderful and perfect. Everything about this fic is brilliant.

Set in Year 5, Sirius Black wants a boyfriend and James tells him about the only other openly gay boy in in their year, it just happens to be Remus Lupin. Much to his disdain.

9. Remus Lupin's Guide to Successful Courting by Children_of_the_Shadows (ao3) 87k

Non Magic AU, Remus Lupin finds harry in his yard having escaped from school and return him back to Dr. Sirius Black, who's new to town and coincidently doesn't have an inkling about Remus's past, his eyes clear of any judgement are what make Remus fall for him and pursue him, court if you will.

I again cannot explain this fic. Children_of_the_shadows is the most talented writer, i will make a separate fic list for their other brilliant work.

10. Sex Pistol by ArtificialAorta (ffnet) 86k

Musicians AU, Remus is punk rock, Sirius is akin to the prince of pop, how can they not fall in love?

[starberry-cupcake]

SURPRISE BONUS POST!!!

I finished my recaps last time, but I wanted to pop back in once in a while, because I need to keep you on your toes, if you're still there *crickets* you're gonna have to put up with me on these tags once in a while.

Also, I've been looking at posts now, which is wild!! After so much time blocking them!!! Link me to your favorite fanart of coronabeer as a fellow fat girlie because I need more of that!! Or cool camilla stuff!!

For this bonus, @lady-harrowhark shared with me this ask game by @puffywiz and I thought I'd do it without waiting for anyone to ask me stuff, because nobody ever does and also I do what I want in this sacred space. If any of you want to do it and link me to your answers, please do!

⚔️ Fav Gt9 quote?

I think that "One flesh, one end, bitch" lives rent free in my head. I wrote it in the blurb I made for this gift I sculpted.

It encompasses Gideon to me, but also a turning point for her, and a moment in which she makes that vow her own, because she means it when she says it and she'll mean it until the end. It's a declaration, in the most Gideon way possible, and I really like it.

💀 Fav Ht9 quote?

I think I have two that I like from Harrow.

There's: "Nonagesimus, you hating me always meant more than anyone else in this hot and stupid universe loving me. At least I'd had your full attention" which was a punch to the gut and a half. I mean, damn.

But there's also a Crux quote, believe it or not: “you saw what you saw, Lady, and the only thing you control now is your reaction thereto” which is relatable af to me. I mean, more observe than control, but still. It's hard to do it some days, but we do what we can and continue on. Crux is an asshole but also a better support system than most have.

🐕 Fave Nt9 quote?

Probably "Life is too short and love is too long." Especially in the context of camolive.

They have a wonderful qpr dynamic, from where I'm standing, and I thrive on qprs that show the depth love can have, also when it's not completely romantic and/or sexual. I think it's so powerful that they get to find the balance nobody else has found in this kind of lyctor-ish situation, because of a love and trust so powerful they're able to meet in the middle and discover the path to it together, rather than trust what has been told by others blindly. There aren't tricks, backstabbing, lies, sacrifices at the expense of oneself...there's understanding and a love so deep that it doesn't need to be traditionally labeled. And I think that quote shows all of that and it's the cornerstone of their new identity together.

🏰 Fav House aesthetic?

You all know I'm a Sixth House girlie through and through. If I were to choose a House, I'd choose Sixth any day. I think my skills would be appreciated there.

Also, didn't realize at the time, but maybe this post I made about the esoteric book collection I tracked down can also be included in my Sixth House application.

Working silently by myself while having to sort things and find them their proper spot, especially archival stuff, most especially academic entries where I can learn new things, sounds like a dream job to me. It's this or the Magnus Archives.

👯 Which twin is worse and why?

THIS IS THE HARDEST QUESTION OUT OF ALL

On the one hand, from the start, I was more supportive of yandere twin, because she was ostracized and mistreated and had to live under the shadow of a sister who was unwilling to admit she wasn't the one doing necromancy. She was also a bit kooky and I liked that.

But then she became a lyctor and was pretty insufferable, especially next to Augustine, who is also insufferable. I'm not gonna judge the murder of Chad or the lyctorhood of it all, to each their own, but there are so many horny jokes I can take before I snap.

Also, I lost it at her when she helped dr reverend emperor john when we could have gotten him killed. I got very upset at that and some people didn't like that in the recap because she's their blorbina and I understand that.

Now, she's combining her personality with freakin' Chad, of all people, which sounds like a nightmare.

coronabeer twin (formerly known as regina george twin) I didn't like initially because she was too señorita perfecta and didn't admit to her sister being the one doing the stuff, which I don't respect as a sister myself

I also think she got way too fast on the BOE train and went on with that without really thinking of what that would mean to her sister, the people of the Houses, Camilla and Judith. I think she was less into it because of what they were fighting for and more because they would let her fight, which is what she wanted to do in the first place.

I can't judge her for that, though, she's finding her footing with who she really wants to be, regardless of the propaganda from either side, and also I love her relationship with Judith, which makes me like them a bit more as a combo than individually.

If she's really truly (as nona would say) also a fellow fat girlie, then I do have to support my people.

So, idk. I think initially I thought coronabeer was worse but now I think yandere twin is worse, but it's neck and neck.

✍️ Of the supporting characters, who's POV would you be most interested in reading?

I think Abby Pent. I really grew to like her a lot in the gideon-less au of Harrowcita and I would love to learn more about her life before Canaan. It seems, for what has been said, that her being married to her cav was not a usual situation, kind of unorthodox even, and she seemed like a very smart and determined woman who knew what she was about and wasn't afraid to create her own path.

She seemed like a sort of Deanna Troi and you know I love love love me some Deanna Troi. I'd love to hear more about Abby's past and how she got where she did before things went down at Canaan.

🔬 Who is your fav lyctor and why?

Ugh, Lyctors.

Out of the og lyctors, I think I've said my favorite was Cassiopeia, because she had a ceramics collection and then it was also revealed that she was a good cook, so we can vibe. The fact that she created the Sixth House is unrelated and I found that out after, I promise I'm not biased.

✂️ What is the best hair length on Harrow?

I like the short bob situation she had at the start. The buzz cut is also ok. Long hair is a no. A no-na

*gets shot*

💙 Did any parts of the books make you cry? If so, which ones?

No, but it's not easy to make me cry with a book, or media in general, it does happen, but not that frequently.

The closer I got I think must have been with camolive's last conversation before the paul atreides of it all, that was intense.

🔮 Which one of Harrows AU's do you find the most compelling?

The coffee adept AU for sure.

Where did this came from in Harrow's rolodex of scenarios, idk but I'd love to hear more. Gotta love an author setting up her own aus for fans to fill in the blanks.

🥀 If you could have chosen one character to survive Canan House, who would it be?

My immediate thought is to say Palmolive, so that maybe Camilla and him could have survived being themselves individually, but that doesn't work narratively, so it's just me being selfish and wanting Camilla to still be around as herself.

As much as I love Abby, I think her and Magnus had to go out together, I don't think there'd be any other way for them to be.

So yeah, I'll say Palmolive, narrative needs be damned.

🛡️ Which Cavaliers would you wanna see fight 1V1? Who would win?

Camilla can fight everyone, at the same time, and win.

Specifically, I really wanted Camilla to kick Chad's ass tbh, that one almost happened. It would have been glorious to see that. I got Palmolive defeating yandere twin intellectually instead, but man did I want to see Camilla kicking Chad's butt and making him cry.

🧪 Which Necromancers would you wanna see fight 1V1? Who wound win?

I'd like to see Abby kick yandere twin's ass just as a revenge for her calling her useless in the last story. I think Abby was very under appreciated just because she wasn't absolutely deranged like every other necromancer is. They thought that because she was cordial and nice and had a good balance of professional and private life she couldn't kick butt, and we saw in Harrow that she very well could handle a tough situation when others couldn't. Yandere twin could have used Abby slapping her in the face and telling her to grow up, at the very least.

I'm realizing I'm just making people fight the Third lmao

🤹 Which meme would you want to see make it into At9?

My entire collaboration with this fandom has been memes, so take your pick lol after the ice cube barbie situation, the only thing that could surprise me the same amount would be a meme I used being coincidentally referenced.

If ice cube barbie wanted to do a m3gan dance while murdering dr reverend emperor john, I wouldn't mind. Killer dolls and all that.

Well, this is it for now! I'll pop back up once in a while, I think, while we wait. If you guys have a good "which character are you" tlt quiz or any other recommendations for this space, I'm all ears!

(for anyone finding this in the wild and wondering what is up with these nicknames, this is the overall tag)

[cbedfordart]

First of all!! Holy guacamole the music for SWC is phenomenal!!! I have some of the songs on my gym playlist they’re perfect for when I workout!!

Secondiy, how long did it take you to make SWC? After playing it I started thinking about making my own game but was curious how the process went for a two person team like yours

Gosh I miss going to the gym ;;! But thank you! In terms of time, we start the project at the end of 2020, but most of the development was between 2022 and the 2024 release. We had full time work still while tinkering away in 2020 - but when we signed with the publisher which allowed us to work on it full time, we were able to expand what the game could be and really focus on it - it would have been a completely different experience had we stayed working with other jobs, that much I'm certain. The process was difficult, and I think especially trying to make something this size our first time around for a commercial project. We did do some game jams in 2021, but that's a different thing all together. They are fun and absolutely worth while to experience a bitesize version of how it feels to finish something, and it may also be a good indicator to see where you might struggle if things become stressful during production (do you try to work till 4 am? Do you avoid the project all together and abandon it? how would you handle people who suddenly can't commit to the project anymore? etc) It's hard work, like, this is the hardest I ever worked on anything in my life - and that's because I really cared about it! But there's so many interconnecting parts, there's so many opportunity for things to break, and when it's all said and done, you have to go through the meat grinder of seeing people struggle with what you've made, dislike parts of it, even if they love it overall that's still hard to see. When your game goes out there, people don't see the developer who's worked 60 work weeks and ate one meal a day in the last three weeks because they didn't have time to eat just to get it done. We are very grateful that people enjoy the game, and I really worry what my mental state would be if the game wasn't received how it has been. Make your own game, but do not make something the size of SWC lol. Not for your first time. And be very realistic about how long it will take, and be extremely realistic about how much work needs to be done. I could write an entire dissertation about what I've learned, what I'd do differently and the whole experience itself - but I can't do that here lol. There are more tools and resources to be able to just get up and make a game - I want you to read this and feel encouraged and feel a fire in your heart burn to make the thing you want to make, but I want you to know it is easy to burn yourself and you must take care of yourself, and you must look out for your health. After the release I was very much thinking "Could I do this again? I don't think I could ever do this again" But there's the drive to want to create and it is hard to extinguish. I hear a few seconds of the Space Channel 5 soundtrack and I'm ready to throw myself to the wolves of gamedev all over again. There are too many worlds in the mind that I must create so that others can occupy them! I must share these worlds, it would be selfish of me not to! So we must be sure to take care of ourselves. If you ever make that game, I wanna see it!!!!

[yeah-sure-amanda]

Who is John Sugden?

Like everyone else, my blog has risen from the grave at the first sight of Robert showing back up in Emmerdale. I have been watching Emmerdale quietly from afar while I went full-blown Corrie fan for a while (sniff Paul double sniff), but Robert's return has brought me back into the fold. It also got me watching Emmerdale again while I play catch-up. Britbox has had mid-February to current days so I have been watching.

However, there are some that stayed around and continue to watch. Commenting on the show. Commenting on Aaron and John. This new, long-lost Sugden appeared in 2024. I've been reading through those posts and my brain woke up and started wondering. Formulating.

What is up with John Sugden?

This question occurred to me when I came across a post that provided a general timeline of what had been happening with Aaron since 2021. As I was reading it, John just appearing jumped out at me. So, I took a deeper look and looked up his journey. Read up a little.

I keep hearing that the John/Aaron romance plot is very much a watered-down version of Robert/Aaron's romance, minus a few factors, but the signs are there. Doesn't it all seem targeted? Like, John needed to hit certain things to get there with Aaron, Victoria and be accepted into the village. Maybe he planned a few chance meetings and the rest he just got lucky but he has seemly filled right into Robert's role (minus the sass and general personality...other than angry...John is very angry). He just slotted himself in and even Robert kind of commented on it. Everyone is just going with it.

It's weird. No? I am missing a lot of information (obviously) but it triggered an idea in my brain.

What if Jack did know about John and rejected him. To get back at Jack (who is long dead...obvi) he decides he is going to be part of the Sugden family, through Robert.

This line keeps standing out to me.

"How did you know?"

"I checked the socials..."

I feel like Robert is the type to put EVERYTHING up on his social media. Aaron might put up cars or pictures of family members, but generally not good with the social media thing. Robert on the other hand, always felt like a 'look at my husband! Look at my kid! We said yes with a picture of the layby in the background with a description below" What I'm saying is Robert is an emotionally slutty person and after years of hiding things, is very open about it now. Proud to share. Which is how John learned the finer details of the Robert and Aaron relationship. Was about to recreate certain things he learned about via Robert's social media.

So, John Sugden comes in with Aaron, which gets the Dingles on board, which in turn brings in Victoria, and then the entire village. He has the life Robert had and is accepted, screw you dad. John now has the final say. He has the control to exist. However, he needs to keep things up and running and continue that so hence the murders and hurting people, to save them. Continue to assert acceptance in the village. He is a hero!

What he didn't expect was Robert Sugden being Robert Sugden and showing up. He is going to fight again for that life again. Robert has already clocked that something off...

What does he know? Obviously, if he knew more, he would have said it but Robert was being a bit...elsusive. Yes, he was messy and very 'heart on sleeve' but he didn't bring up the kiss to John (which normally he would have) and he was trying his hardest to stop this wedding. Other than wanting Aaron...he knows something is wrong with this guy? This half brother. Another brother that the village accepts over him.

It could be part of a bigger story of the Sugden family. Robert's ever lasting goal of just being accepted by family and the place he called home. John getting all that and Aaron? Something weird about that.

OR

This means nothing. They were setting up a love story for Aaron and just decided to have some fun with certain things, hoping fans wouldn't notice (they did by the way), and when Ryan signed back up....something changed drastically. I hope the show makes it messy and twisty and a lot of fun to watch as we get closer and closer to that Robron reunion. Lets get an affair 2.0 in there (Robert as the other man for once). Let's get some jealousy, secrets, and then having to save each other. OR give Robert his own story where Aaron is in the background (because...come on...they will always be in the background of each other's stories) but Robert gets to interact with new and old characters as he sets up his life again. I'm team give Robert a best friend that won't turn so easily on him. Victoria needs to not be his best friend. She isn't consistent. (LOL)

Either way, this has made my brain go into hyperdrive with possibilities for stories and it was been so much fun thinking of this instead of *gestures off* everything else. Excited to see what comes next and I'll be watching! (I'm almost caught up so, let the fun begin!)

(Side note: I'm still laughing at Joe STEALING A KIDNEY AND EVERYONE IS LIKE...COOL. LETS TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DID TO NOAH. WHAT ABOUT CALEB?!?! I don't see the point of Joe right now and I still adore Jimmy and I have a crush on Mack.)

*Whew...that was fun! Lets do this again sometime!*