#i hope so bad that we learn more about her. so bad

[dior-luxury]

Can we get some headcanons for Deuce when he gets a girlfriend for the first time?

New Boyfriend Deuce HC'S

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] deuce spade

- [𝐩:𝐬] deuce being the best boyfriend ever. Fluff-heavy romance . Mild secondhand embarrassment . Emotional vulnerability .

Note: Guys... I got a LITTLE too carried away with these headcanons (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) Anyways these headcanons are so cute like- ahahsiken. Let me know if you guys would want more characters!

Deuce never thought he’d have a girlfriend in Night Raven College — he was too busy trying to be an honor student, avoid trouble, and stay on Crowley's good side. But when he meets you, something shifts. You're kind, but not a pushover. You encourage him to study but also tease him when he gets too serious. You’re not loud, but somehow, when you're in a room, he feels it. His heart jumps a little whenever you laugh. At first, he writes it off as admiration. Just friends. That’s all. But then he finds himself lingering in the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of you between classes. He starts sitting in spots where you’ll pass by. His cheeks flush whenever you smile at him for no reason. He realizes it when Ace smirks one day and goes, “You’re seriously down bad for her, huh?”

Confessing is a nightmare and a half. He doesn’t want to mess it up. Deuce goes full-on prep mode like he’s cramming for a Spelldrive match and a pop quiz at the same time. He practices what to say in front of the mirror, muttering lines like: "Would you maybe want to—uh—do the thing—no, wait, not like that—"

He’s red as a tomato by the end of it.

He writes you a letter. Handwritten. Old-fashioned. Filled with crossed-out words and nervous little doodles in the margins. It ends with: “I think you’re amazing and I want to be someone you can count on. If you want… would you go out with me?” When he hands it to you, he bolts. Just. Takes off. Won’t even look you in the eye until the next day.

When you say yes, he’s stunned into silence. Then his face lights up like fireworks and he gives you the most genuine, pure smile you’ve ever seen. "R-Really?! I mean, I’m really happy. I’ll do my best—I mean, I’ll be the best boyfriend I can!”

Deuce is so earnest it hurts. He Googles “how to be a good boyfriend” and takes notes. He shows up to your hangouts with little things you mentioned once in passing. If you said your favorite color was lilac? Expect him to wear a tie in that color next week. You mentioned you liked strawberry tarts once? He’ll try to bake them (and ends up covered in flour, calling his mom mid-way for help).

He’s not very smooth, and it shows. One time, he tried to do the whole "cool guy leaning against the locker" thing and misjudged the angle, falling sideways into the wall. He laughed it off awkwardly, ears pink. “Nailed it,” he said. You giggled, and he practically melted.

He tries to play it cool around others, but Ace teases the hell out of him. “There’s your girlfriend, Deuce! Go get her a flower or something!” “I-I was going to anyway! Shut up, Ace!”

He loves walking you back to your dorm. It becomes a quiet, meaningful routine. He listens intently when you talk about your day, and he’ll offer to carry your books even if you insist he doesn’t have to. He’s not touchy at first — not because he doesn’t want to be, but because he’s terrified of doing something you’re uncomfortable with. The first time you held his hand, he short-circuited. Just blinked down at your interlocked fingers and looked like he was trying not to pass out from happiness.

Being with you pushes him to grow. He starts reflecting on how he communicates, how he reacts when he’s upset, how he can show love without overwhelming you. You catch glimpses of the rougher Deuce sometimes — the one who’s a little hot-headed, a little impulsive. But he’s learning. With you, he wants to be the version of himself that he's proud of.

One time, he got into an argument with another student who disrespected you, and he was this close to throwing a punch. But then he remembered what you’d say. He breathed. He walked away. Later, he apologized to you, looking like a kicked puppy. “I just… I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

You tell him you’re proud of how far he’s come. His voice catches when he answers. “That means a lot. I… I used to think I had to fight to prove myself. But now, I want to grow for real. Not just for me. For us.”

He takes you on a “date” to the botanical gardens on campus, and it’s surprisingly lovely. He’s not great at planning fancy things, but he puts in so much heart. He brings a picnic lunch he made (not bad, actually!) and sets it all up under a tree blooming with pastel flowers. “I wanted you to have something peaceful. You always make me feel calm, you know?” he admits.

On your birthday, Deuce panics about what gift to get you. In the end, he hand-crafts a small charm — something simple, with your initials and a lucky star bead from his hometown. “It’s not perfect, but I wanted you to have something that’d protect you.”

Rainy days are his favorite because you’ll let him lend you his jacket — which is oversized, warm, and smells like the citrus soap he uses. You wear it and tease him: “Boyfriend privileges.” He blushes but beams. “I’ll give you all the privileges you want.”

Deuce might act tough sometimes, but he’s soft when it comes to you. He’s the type to text you “Did you eat today?” or bring you your favorite snack after a long class. If you’re ever sad, he listens. Doesn’t always know what to say, but he sits beside you, lets you vent, and quietly offers his hand to hold.

He’s so gentle when he’s with you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Smiling nervously before pressing a kiss to your forehead. His affection is shy but real.

One night, you two stayed up late talking — about dreams, the future, things that scare you, things you hope for. Deuce looked at you and whispered: “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you. I don’t wanna take it for granted.”

[jyn-mother-fucking-andor]

Thinking a lot about the ending of Andor and my own little head canons.

Honestly, the more I sit with it the more I think that both things can be true in that Cassian loved Bix but also is at peace with how they left things. Of course he misses her. Of course he thinks about her. Of course he wonders what their life could have been. And yet, once she’s gone, he just seems so much lighter.

There’s no question that they loved each other deeply and that he was devastated when she left. How she left. But ultimately so much of their relationship was him “saving” her or trying to protect her from the empire, from her trauma, from herself. The poor man was exhausted and was desperately clinging to the idea of a life with her that he couldn’t see the life they actually had. How isolated they were together, even on Yavin 4. While I take some issue with the way Bix left him, the “I’ll wait for you” speech, and the pregnancy… I’m grateful that she took that step back. Sometimes the most profound act of love towards another person is to let them go. She loved Cassian but I think she was also honest with herself about what their relationship had become. That ultimately they were not in a space to be healthy together.

When we see Cassian about two years or so after she’s gone, he’s more relaxed than we’ve seen him in the entirety of when they were together. He has built a little life for himself, a community, a home on Yavin 4. Maybe isn’t exactly what he envisioned, but it’s the life he needs. Sure, he’s lonely but he also just seems to be at peace. When Vel tells him to reach out to Bix, he shrugs. He says maybe but it feels like he’s saying no. Why? Because he’s moved on! He’s finally feeling like he can let her go, that their story is over. I’m sure he still has love for her but it’s shifted into something else and he’s found peace with her on his own way.

Then Jyn comes along.

She’s so different from Bix and yet the love she feels and the heart she brings to the rebellion reawakens something in Cassian. Hope was fading away, then there she was, bringing it home. It knocks the wind out of him and you can see it in every look he gives her. He’s impressed and terrified and transfixed. She’s a walking hurricane and yet she’s his mirror. She’s the echo in his shadow. Jyn’s the partner he needs to make that last push against the rebellion. As Luthen said, they burn for a sunrise they’ll never see and it’s a beautiful thing that they can hold each other when the end does come.

In that final scene, we learn Bix’s fate and see that she also found a home and community as well. She gets to take solace in knowing that in making the choice for her and Cassian, she saved him in a way. She saved herself. She finally found her peace. I like to think she met someone and that they reignite something she felt was long gone or that she’d never have after Cassian. I hope she was able to move on too and that they help her raise her baby and that she feels seen and cared for and loved. Of course she’ll tell her child about their father and the legacy he left behind with the rebellion. But at the same time, I have no doubt that that child will grow up in a better world because Bix left.

Who knows, maybe if the Rogue One team had lived, maybe Cassian and Bix would have reconnected? Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think that if they had, it would be as friends. Sure, their family wouldn’t be the most conventional and there would undoubtedly be some awkwardness in the beginning, but they’d find their way. They’d co-parent and I do honestly believe that Jyn and Bix would have a lot of respect for one another and would be great friends. Jyn would love that child like her own and would be a bad ass step mom.

All this to say, at its core, Rogue One and Andor (pretty much all of Star Wars for that matter) is all about hope. Hope through rebellion. Hope through friendship. Hope through love in all forms.

[losver07]

eyyy dw there's not a "late" for answering things :)

thanks for the luck<3 i've decided that i'm going to repeat this year and take it easy cause my brain cannot cut it anymore lmao

also the "i hate vampires theyre so evil" is so funny jxbckdbsk

"what am i drinking? oh, just lil potion not to turn into a beast. it's a full moon, ya know? i'm fucking kidding gilderoy, it's for my fucking knee alright? yeah cause of the limp you won't stop asking about. fucking prick."

i think The People™ are going to label this as their fave book from now on ngl

fuck em honestly, they're together again. (they might not be tomorrow tho, it's a russian roulette). oh and yes she tries to give me feminist speeches and im like..... okay but you're the opposite of that. okay but people don't transition to "steal your rights". okay but if me shaving is social pressure, where do your blonde highlights come from? idk she's a hypocrite but she puts up w my dad as a divine punishment so there's that

uuuu matt groening is the guy who made the simpsons!! (and more stuff, but im guessing you know the simpsons)

mine are gold gold :) actually fun fact my best friends little sister copied my glasses when she had to get ones (shes such a cutie i love herrr)

oh yeah i've been learning a bit abt genocide and uhhh she's definitely trying to start one and she's sort of succeeding at a minor scale, cause she (and other people like her) are demonising and villianising a group of people and making the rest of the population set them apart, like labeling them right away just for who they are. idk in my humble opinion we should go to her house mansion whatever with torches and pitchforks and burn the w(b)itch

uuuu that explains why this week my head is empty. hope the kid is having fun at yours

shes the most adorable living creature on earth 😭😭

oh yeah i get that, last year i had to learn like?? four diff poems/monologues??? in a week?? i don't even make scenic arts it was for my lit class bro. now there's a whole emily dickinson poem stuck in my brain forever (not complaining tho)

I HAVENT LISTENED TO ITTT😭😭 you know what ima do that as soon as i post this!!!

oh yeah very true, some things just stop clicking. im working on a band au now tho and im having fun so that's neat :)

that. is. so. cool. i think my neighborhood mascot would be the fucking garbage truck man

waitwaitwait there's a thespian fest?? like??? wow okay didnt know that. and omg i used to collect feathers as a kid too (we lived near a garden centre and they had peacocks n stuff) but uhhh we moved and my mum threw them all. in hindsight it was probably not sanitary lmao. anyway yeah i love my lil crystal collection :) and my pins n stickers too :))

yeaaa actually he got me an ammonites ring yesterday (he felt bad cause im depressed 😋) so that's cool too (every time he feels bad he gets me fossils jewellery idk it's a long story lmao)

that sounds weird?? but so cool???? honestly i think most of my mental health stuff comes from seeing images in my brain so at least you won't be getting that. oh and i could not function without a monologue. i think it's the only reason why im good with languages tbh (i couldn't be talking to you rn if the lil voice didn't pronounce the words for me. fuck english phonetics so much)

i can't sell you one at a distance but i'm sending you good vibes instead :) and yeah uhh i will never forget that fateful day

nope, i have two mother tongues, so spanish and basque :) tho at this point i think im better at english than basque tbf and it pisses me off a bit :(

also mandarin???? a friend of mine has been studying it for like 10 years bro why is it so complicated?? 😭😭

YESSSS cute bird pics 😭<3

oh true, i think there's something in the hellsite's water tbh

"my child is fine" ma'am your child prioritises memorising every single full moon that happened in 1975 over their schoolwork

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

ngl I got so caught off-guard by Silver's Relaxation Room outfit-

like they just supersized Aurora's face, slapped it onto the sweater and called it a day 😭😭

It doesn't look bad though, the colours are soft and complement each other mostly well. Though now I do wonder what the backstory of it is; correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this is the first time we see a Disney Princess image explicitly in the game, as opposed to vague references/anecdotes?

is she another revered figure, or a famous film character in the in-game universe? I do hope Silver's vignette will acknowledge his PJ origins 😅

I was expecting a sweater on Silver for his Relax in Room card, but not that particular design... I find it sorta ugly (colors are fine, but that design is no for me), but in that somewhat endearing way?? Like how people find ugly Christmas sweaters fun. It also very much fits Silver, who doesn't have much fashion sense (though the voice lines confirm it's a gift from Lilia, which also makes sense, given his penchant for cute, novel items.

And nope! This actually isn't the first time we've seen a Disney Princess depicted outside of references and anecdotes. There has previously been furniture items that outright show the princesses and/or heroes, such as the limited time A Firelit Sky statue, "Fireworks Admirers" (although there is no story or history attached with the statue).

More explicitly, the Platinum Jacket series of vignettes shows multiple Disney princesses and heroes in addition to villains via paintings. Often times, the NRC boys will comment on the artwork and/or talk about a brief story related to it.

The Three Good Fairies appear in Trey's vignettes:

He notes that it is a depiction of "fairies gifting magic to celebrate the birth of a princess of a certain country." However, we cannot see the princess in question from the shot of this painting.

All of the Diasomnia Platinum Jacket cards do feature Aurora in some way though, and 3 out of the 4 of them very clearly show her face. Lilia sees the same painting as Trey did, lamenting that the fairies blessed the princess with beauty and song instead of the strength to break her own curse.

Sebek witnesses a painting of Aurora in her peasant dress, before she learned of her birthright as a princess. He describes the artwork as "a human chatting with some animals [...] about her dreams" and says that he saw this scene in a book his grandfather gifted him.

Malleus sees a painting of Prince Phillip and Princess Aurora dancing at the ball. He recognizes her as "the princess blessed by diurnal fae" but doesn't state more about her history than that. So it seems like the story of Princess Aurora and the Three Good Fairies are recognized to be from the same tale.

Finally, we have Silver, who sees the same painting as Malleus does. He implies the painting is "well-known" and that it depicts a scene from a storybook that he often read as a child. (So both he and Sebek mention seeing this princess in a book; is it the same book, or different books based on the same material?)

Silver also characterizes Phillip as someone who fought bravely. Because of that, he came to admire the prince and aspired to be like him someday.

At this point in time, all that we know about Aurora's standing in the Twst world (not counting anecdotes; these are strictly tied only with visual depictions of her) is:

She is a princess blessed by diurnal fae at her birth

She danced with a brave prince

She speaks with animals about her dreams

Her story is written in books

Aurora must be an important historical figure in some way, as she is depicted multiple times in the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art alongside the likes of the Great Seven and their henchmen. It's not too strange that she has storybooks about her; we know thanks to Tapis Rouge that it seems normal for people to make creations based on Twisted Wonderland's historical figures. For example, the Fairest Queen has had an animated film and now a live action made in her name and the Card Soldiers were similarly in a children’s book from the Queendom.

In case you were wondering, Silver's Relax in Room vignettes do not talk about the princess or the character depicted on his sweater. It's just the usual bedtime + morning routines and responding to the school survey that have been depicted in all previous Relax in Rooms.

[runecatwrites]

Hi! Hope ur having a good day.

What are your thoughts about the swordsmanship skill level of each link? Jojo mentioned in an old post that sky is the best cause of motion controls, but I'd like to hear ur opinion on the others, esp 2D links like the traveller and vet.

Hi anon! Ooooooooh this is a great question. I’m not quite sure I can put them all in quantifiable levels but I can definitely yap about their proficiency and style!

Best swordsmen: Sky and Hyrule

Least proficient swordsmen: Wind and Twilight

The rest fall somewhere in between, and of course there’s nuance involved. More under the cut!

The best swordsmen

Okay, so taking Jojo’s statement about Sky into account, I do accept him being the best as canon. Sure there are the motion controls, but also, Sky went to military school in a society where knighthood is seen as a highly respected and sacred profession. He’s presumably had sword forms drilled into him from an early age, intertwined with religious teachings that make sword fighting not just another skill to learn, but something to devote both his earthly life and his spiritual soul to. Even before he had the Master Sword, I think it’s likely that he would have viewed a sword not simply as a weapon or a tool but an extension of himself. That deep personal connection would have solidified even further when Fi came into the picture. Fi was made specifically for him. In his eyes, she has become part of him. That coupled with his extensive training are what make him so formidable with a sword.

Next up we have Hyrule, whom Jojo has allegedly said is right behind Sky in terms of sword skills. I agree! For some background: I remember reading somewhere that at the time of starting LU, Jojo supposedly hadn’t played his games yet and some people in the fandom attribute his early “just a humble traveler” characterization to her not knowing how brutal his games are. These fans say that she has apparently played them since and his characterization has reflected that. Now, whether that’s true or not, I personally think that Hyrule’s initial characterization is perfect for him. Of course he thinks he’s just a normal dude when he comes from a ridiculously dangerous world where everyone has to fight as hard as they can to survive! Like Sky, he’s probably had a sword in his hand from a very early age, but he wasn’t learning to wield it within the confines of a cushy academy. No, he was out there using that thing to stay alive. He most likely lacks any consistent formal training and has learned mostly through experience. He certainly has a lot of it, after all. Hyrule’s style would be nowhere near as polished as Sky’s albeit still very effective, and he wouldn’t be afraid to play dirty.

The least-proficient swordsmen

I put Wind in this category because the others - especially Time - have praised him on his progress after a few fights, indicating that he was in need of improvement when he joined the Chain. He’s not bad at swordplay per se, but he is a young teenager going through puberty so his body is actively growing and changing. That can be hard to keep up with. Plus, his sword instructor at home is a weird old dude in a loincloth who I’m pretty sure is a bit senile, so while he had enough training to get through his adventure I think the quality of that training is questionable.

Poor Twilight. Time The Hero’s Shade really didn’t mince words when he called him out on his lackluster sword skills during his adventure. The only experience Twilight had with swordplay before that was swinging a stick around with a bunch of kids. He learned some moves from Time The Shade and got pretty okay at using them, but that’s far from a comprehensive training. In LU, we consistently see that Twilight prefers to fight by means other than the sword. Wolfie seems to be his go-to for combat, and when that’s not an option he throws his crazy strength around. In the most recent update, he got flustered and used his sumo skills to yeet a monster off a ledge. I get the idea that he’s actually not very confident with a blade.

The others

For this group, there is no actual ranking - they all just fall somewhere ambiguously in the middle and have differing styles.

Legend was raised by a former knight, so I think it’s safe to assume that he received some instruction as a child. The basics, at the very least. During his first adventure, he didn’t hesitate to take up his uncle’s blade, indicating at least some familiarity with it. He would have built upon that foundation as he gained more adventuring experience, but although I’d say Legend is certainly more proficient than Twilight, he too prefers to fight using other means. His plethora of magical items are testament to this.

Even though Wild has amnesia as far as his conscious memory goes, I personally think that his subconscious mind has remained fairly intact. He was pretty weak at the beginning of his adventure, but he still knew how to fight, indicating that all of his military training is readily accessible in that brain of his - he just has to dust it off. He doesn’t remember the circumstances of how he learned his skills, but he can definitely utilize those skills. I think his style would be a mix of neat-and-clean technique as well as savage attacks learned by fighting a lot of monsters.

Coming from a family of weaponsmiths, Four probably knows more about swords themselves than anyone else in the chain. He knows the science behind the materials, the structure, the balance, etc. but that doesn’t necessarily translate to actual fighting skill. Since he’s such close friends with his Zelda, he may have had a few lessons from the royal guard but personally I think he had to mostly learn on the go during his adventures. His knowledge of swords definitely would have helped him teach himself how to hold his own. Four’s style would be very technical, but lacking polish.

Warriors comes from a hack-and-slash game, and I feel like that would have a huge bearing on his skill set. He’s used to fighting tons of enemies at once, so he’d be very good at crowd control. Although he would have had dueling training in the military, I don’t think he would have had much field experience with it. He does great against monsters and he’s an excellent tactician, but I think he would be in a bit of trouble if he had to fight an experienced swordsman one-on-one.

Now, Time is a bit interesting. I think his preference may be influenced by the Fierce Deity, who wields that giant helix sword. In LU, he favors the biggoron sword which is absolutely humongous. Perhaps he’s more confident in the slower, more methodical and calculated movements of larger blades than the flurry of smaller finesse ones. We do see a penchant for wielding weapons two-handedly in his games with his jump slash, so it could be that he feels like two-handed weapons are more effective. He, like Hyrule, would have learned to fight out of necessity at the beginning but he likely received actual training later on in his new timeline.

[mariacallous]

The Joke I tell that no one laughs at goes like this: I picked a pretty rough time to actually want to be alive; in retrospect, back when I wanted to die, things were not actually all that bad. In the office of my therapist, this formulation elicits a heavy sigh. Among friends, it prompts a look of concern. I can’t locate the punch line, even as I type it out. The joke is that I was once heartbroken enough to invent my own apocalypse. The joke is that I stayed alive long enough to witness a few real ones. The joke—and this is why I suspect no one laughs—acknowledges that we are perhaps coming to a collective understanding that there is a door closing, more quickly for some than for others, and that most of us are on the wrong side of it.

I am part of a support group made up of people who’ve gone through periods of wanting to die and who, like me, are constantly working through how to actively engage with a world that can feel relentlessly untenable, like a shoddy amusement-park ride accelerating into the sky and attempting to eject us all from our flimsy seats. The group is informal but long-running. It existed well before a beloved elder hauled me to a session eight years ago. It is a place where we laugh at one another’s jokes about death which are actually jokes about living but are also, of course, jokes about how everything around us is crumbling. It is a place where, among other things, we can luxuriate in sometimes being wrong. The group members occasionally call me out for hyper-cynicism, and, because it’s them, I am eager to be corrected. Some of them have survived their internal battles for almost as long as I’ve been alive.

Each group session has an appointed leader. The privilege of leading depends on where you are in your journey—once it’s been five years since your last attempt on your life, you are added to the queue. I led my first meeting this winter, around Christmas, over Zoom. At the start of it, I made a joke, which is a variation on the other Joke: I guess you all get me tonight, because I’m not dead. The audio crackled with sparks of laughter, the sounds colliding until they sounded like a delightful bit of radio static. We’re all alive—what a trip.

We open each meeting by asking a simple question: What is keeping you alive today? This allows us to revel in the sometimes small motions that get us to the Next Thing. Yes, I did not want to get out of bed this morning, but there was one single long shard of sunlight that stumbled in through a tear in my curtains, and the warmth of it hitting my arm got me to that first hour of living. There was my dog, who, on the mornings I do not want to get out of bed, will rest silently at my feet and wait for me to slowly emerge from under the covers, and seeing her reminds me that I do, in fact, have only one lifetime in which I can love this animal. As far as I know, we will love each other only here, for a while, and that is worth seeing what I can make out of a few hours, even when I’m wrecked with despair.

I say despair in lieu of any other word because I like the weight of it, the way it both sounds and feels. Depression and anxiety are clinical terms, the terms doctors see when they search charts to learn about my afflictions. But despair feels like something one can sink into, even comfortably, to a degree; I can be consumed by it while still engaging in my quotidian activities. I bring up my little group, my small Island of Misfit Survivors, because it is one of the rare places where I feel secure in an abandonment of hope. Hope is something I get asked about more than I would like to. During stops on my recent book tour, people asked me what I’m hopeful about, and what words I can offer as a salve for the feelings of anxiety and uncertainty that many people have lately been immersed in. In interviews, my interlocutors sometimes lean in and say, “But it isn’t all bad. . . . Is it?” And I laugh a little bit and shrug. I’ve realized that most people believe in this strange mythology, which I may have had access to once but am not interested in locating anymore. The propulsive moments that some might consider signs of hope I have renamed necessity. Hope means both everything and nothing at all, and yet it is always purported to be within reach. Hope is the fluorescent bird. The bird makes no sound. It is in a cage. No one can find the key, and no one has seen the key in a very long time, and they aren’t sure that they’d even free the bird if they found the key. And yet, collectively, people must keep asking for it.

I often consider the flexibility of language, in a very literal, unpoetic sense. Its uses are pleasureful, treacherous, devastating. For example: I am writing about the beauty of sunlight and the sight of my beloved dog’s face in the same language that a Department of Homeland Security head uses to call for more rapid and “efficient” deportations, an “Amazon Prime for Human Beings.” When it comes to horrors given shape through the functions of language, even this does not haunt me as much as a press conference held by children in Gaza in 2023, during which they pleaded in English for the world to protect them, despite the world’s prolonged and ongoing failure to answer that call. Language fails at the feet of an empire’s violence; language fails to scale the ever-growing wall between who is and isn’t deemed worthy of a life. Yet I am trying to use this same failing machinery to communicate how, for the sake of my own fragile heart, and sometimes fragile brain, I remain more committed to honesty than I do to optimism.

The Joke that I tell works, in my head, because in my late teens and early twenties I felt, selfishly, that the worst parts of the world existed only in the small radius of my various heartbreaks. And, to the credit of those heartbreaks, some of them were worthy of that lie. What I love about the heart is that it’s capable of breaking in infinite ways; may we never live long enough to experience all of them, but may we live long enough to experience the ways the heart can repair itself for subsequent breakings. The cycle of rupture and repair is a requirement of living, a cost of surviving, something that goes hand in hand with another reality of survival: that, throughout your life, you may not only lose people but also gain them.

Eight years ago, when I first joined my group, I couldn’t stop orbiting my own pain. After three weeks, I was pulled aside by the elder who had brought me into the fold in the first place, and he told me something that has defined a not-insignificant part of my living ever since. He said, “Your pain is unique, because it’s yours. And you get to have that. But, when pressed up against all of the pain in the whole wide world, it isn’t special. It can be unique, but it can’t always be special.” I had to age into seeing past my own desire for an exit, which was fuelled by a wish to, quite simply, not feel the way that I felt anymore. I don’t mean that I adopted a basic “it could always be worse” mind-set. I mean that, through an endless cycle of breakage and repair, I’ve built up a renewed depth of feeling, and my world view, cynical as it might be at times, is informed by that accrual. I have lived long enough to operate almost in reverse, starting with the broadest scope. I can say that I have seen the state of the world and that I am not optimistic any population can return from some of the lines people have collectively crossed, either willingly or owing to the complicity of, say, paying taxes to a violent state. I do not think that there’s a newer and better world that can be built with the knowledge of a genocidal campaign being carried out on a live stream for a year and a half and counting. The world at large is seemingly fine with what we are witnessing, and I think that suggests the irreversible unwellness of a people, of a society.

I most commonly hear despair framed as an end point, a feeling that affixes itself to exhaustion, or to a level of despondency that cannot be overcome. But it doesn’t have to be so. I have Black elders in my life whom I love dearly. I am not related to them, and we don’t maintain the façade of age-based hierarchy that can come with blood ties. We’re part of a community of equals. We play cards. I listen to the good gossip from the nursing home. If time has its way, and it always does, many of them won’t live to see the world become significantly worse than it is now. They may witness the groundwork being laid for its worsening, but not the most damaging results. These are people who firmly understand that they are counting time in units of a few years, or a good handful of months, and yet they worry about the world. They ache for it, they are displeased by what they see, and still they organize, in the small ways they can—by donating clothes, or by ordering a bus to take them to go and vote. I won’t claim to know exactly how they would define their range of feelings. But my heart is broken and repaired by them, in equal measure. They are aware of the limited time they have left, and aware that their time on earth may stop while the time of their grandchildren, or children, or anyone younger than them whom they love, will continue on—and what a shame to see a world growing more undeserving of their beloveds each day—and so they spend at least some of whatever time they have left stitching together small pieces that, eventually, might make something big enough to be meaningful.

I think of those folks when I am working to shape my relationship with despair into something proactive. When I return to the Joke that no one laughs at, what I’m actually saying is, What a shit situation, that this is the world that I’ve got to try and stay alive in. The tonnage of our reality weighs on me now, but it doesn’t crush me entirely, and I believe that this is a question of my relationship to time. My past indifference to my own living has afforded me a kind of hard-earned inventiveness. I know how to get through a hard hour, a hard day, a hard week. I know how to pull myself from one minute to the next, in large part because I find that my depths of despair have afforded me a newfound curiosity. I am no longer wired to catalogue and sift through only my own internal horrors, and so, by the mercy of simply looking up and looking around, I can see that there are people willing to love me, and that I am willing to love them, and, yes, I cannot believe that this is the world we’ve got, but I am chasing the tail of the world’s end, imagining that if I catch it (by way of tidying up my own spirit, my own heart, and also my own material communities), there might be something better than the present.

I hold a monthly workshop for high-school writers, many of whom are preparing to go off to college. We have recently been talking about poems of joyful accumulation—poems that begin with some small affection, which leads to a sort of snowballing of pleasure, of happy revelation, even if the revelation begins with a slight ache, a memory of someone who is no longer here, or a place that is not what it once was. We are reading Ross Gay’s “To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian,” which finds the poet strolling through Philadelphia. It is “a city, like most / which has murdered its own / people,” he writes, but the poem turns slightly when he describes grabbing some figs off a tree that has grown rich with the fruit. First, he grabs the fruit for himself, and then for others, who gather around to access the bounty. The process of accumulation is defined by the arrival of the people, with their own desires, and, finally, by those desires being met. We are also reading Aracelis Girmay’s “You Are Who I Love,” in which the speaker unfurls a list of people they love, people they want to see survive, people doing what those not committed to close and tender attention might call the daily tasks of living: a person stirring a pot of beans, a person selling roses out of a cart, a person crossing a border, a person carrying their brother home, a person singing Leonard Cohen to the snow. You, reader, do not personally know these people, but their motivations spark a familiar feeling—here is someone trying to survive in a world that can render a person unable to get out of bed. You, too, may love a person who cannot get out of bed, which is why you cherish the things that convey, I am trying to stitch together enough small moments to have a life for a little bit longer.

When my class read this poem aloud, I was relieved to realize that I was not the only person brought to tears—not because I harbor any self-consciousness about public weeping (lord knows, I am well versed) but because it helped me feel that we had achieved a collective understanding of a poem that says, My heart is connected to your hearts. I am reading poems of accumulating affections with brilliant young writers who are about to leave a city we all love, and go to various elsewheres, and I am doing so because I want them to consider the responsibilities of the heart, responsibilities that the world will attempt to detach them from in the name of individualism, or the ever-growing realities of isolationist attitudes and power’s contempt for community. I am asking them, as I am continually asking myself, to imagine a heart that feels a connection to the hearts of others, even others you do not know. I would like to think that this is what nudges me forward, more than some mythological concept of “hope.” In the silence of a room after the reading of a poem, when the only sounds are small gasps and sniffles, I can say to myself that we are all carrying a unique ache, or a unique memory, or a unique desire that the poem ignited. And I would like to know about it. I would like to know what few inches of the wretched world can be made into an adequate space for you to mourn, or to make a plate of food, or to dance in your living room, or to bury something you’ve finally decided to put down. ♦

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call or text 988 or chat at 988Lifeline.org.

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! Living is messy and we all make mistakes. Try to find the things worth saving in all the mess. Now let's go make some more mistakes!

@saffronandperi - Season 2: This season we got to hear our favourite fairy godmother and djinnia (and friends) play around in Wonderland! Poor Tristan does seem to attract trouble like crazy, and then everyone being affected by goblin shenanigans? So much going on! And to end on such a cliff hanger! Saffron and those innocent dragon eggs better get back safe. 🧚‍♂️

@monkeymanproductions MTO Phases Story 5 - Nima: This month's story is one that gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes the first time I read it. Hearing it brought to life by Serena Rahhal, the original voice of Nima, made it that much more impactful. Returning to Palestine, to Jerusalem, to where Nima used to live... In particular, the mention of Rafah in the 20s, which is happening right now. MTO has always been about hope and resistance, and that comes through loud and clear. 🌘

@morrowforge Mage With a Mic Ep1 - The Warehouse and Ep2 - Creaks & Crones: A new AD where Mage Doughball, who's been sentenced to be the head of tourism for Thither, reports on different locations, events and people around the realm. I enjoyed the first two episodes so far, especially Doughball's snark – you can definitely tell he did not choose to be there. The world-building and the small bits we've heard of how the magic systems work sound really interesting and I'm looking forward to hearing more! 🎤

@vestaclinicpod Episode 24 - Chromatophore: Another Xael episode! And this time with the company of our special boy Sec! I did not realize that Xaelest harboured resentment towards Sec but I completely understand where she's coming from. Especially with what we learned this episode about why she stopped performing surgery... And then to hear that the scenario the examiners gave her was the same? How awful. And now she'll have to go back to the form she had when it happened in order to help NOSL11. Someone (Faye) needs to give Xael a hug, though I doubt she'd readily accept it.

As an aside, I absolutely love how descriptions are done in this show, how the expressions used feel so real. This particular line stood out to me this episode: "they tugged their forearm against the sky of their stomach". Isn't that such a gorgeous expression, knowing that ceresaurs' skin runs from milky blue to the rich indigo of twilight, and that star maps of their flights show up on their skin? Just beautiful. ⚕️

@forgedbondspod - Chapter 18: I've said it before and I've said it again, I want to punch Zeus in the face so bad... He was being his usual, awful, manipulative self this episode, and I hate how he, as king of the gods, keeps getting away with it. I don't trust him for one second. Poor Hera, dragged back into his terrible influence. No one even knows she went with him – Hera, tell someone, please! 💍

@monkeymanproductions Waiting For October S1 Episode 8 - Back Together: Season finale! Karo and Vonnie are back together for a much needed conversation after their solo adventures. I love how many different characters popped in as they were trying to find someplace to talk, and then October springing Halloween on them! The conversation was tough, but their love and trust was evident through the whole thing. Especially in the story that Karo told of how they make things work. It definitely had me tearing up. And then the ending!!! Let's go back to the mooooon!! 🎃

@re-dracula Week 2: Jonathan discovers lizard fashion and explores the castle. We all knew there was some creepy shit going on at the castle, and Jonathan was a little weirded out by some things, but now he knows about the creepy shit for sure. Seems like the new goal will just to be stay alive... 🦇

[wackywatchdotcom]

What do you think Queenie was like when she was around? What do you think about the HC of her potentially being on the spectrum?

i dont have a super concrete idea, but i do imagine, true to kingers word, that she was very funny and creative!!!

ive mentioned it before but i dont think she was actually an entomologist- just someone invested in it! (the only way i could see her being an entomologist is if, for some reason, c&a wanted an entomologist on board for... something? but thats a very biological field so i dont think this is the case). at most i think shed worked related jobs in the distant past, but nothing recquiring a degree in the field

despite this i do think she was just as weird as entomologists are. because theyre all weird and its great. every entomologist or person DEEPLY dedicated to entomology ive ever met has been eccentric in some way. i think she was like this. what this entails is ambiguous

(id use myself as a source but i think im closer to kinger in terms of knowledge on entomology, in that its above standard knowledge of insects but still not nearly as much as an actual entomologist has)

also i think she was bad at completely dialing down talk about insects. i think shed try but as she talks itd gradually veer right back into just her saying her own thoughts, complete with abbreviations and ento terms that no one else but her knows

she was definitely very funny and probably in like. a very goofy way. i think she was generally pretty composed but had a very lighthearted sense of humor. i think with her general like... demeanor of Knowing What Shes Doing that shed just Say Things that would catch people off guard in a very silly way

in terms of creativity, i dont imagine she was an artist (or if she was i think it was a recent skill she was learning- maybe gangle was teaching her...) but i do imagine she had a very good ability to problem-solve and generally had a really good grasp on methods of doing things. creative is the best way to put it again. she was clever!!

i do think she was probably the more grounded of the two, less jumpy and more prone to thinking about the situation the two were in (what with how kingers personality ties into his chess piece being a king, i like the idea that hers ties in too). it gave her more of a tendency to really think about it all which contributed to her abstraction :(

i dont think she waas TOOOO much more serious than kinger though... i think they were both huge goofballs and it was sweet

tbqh my idea of her is ALSO influenced by my favorite tadc fic that i read a few weeks back and am still obsessed with (metamorphosis by beepborpdoodledorp!! its REALY good). i like to imagine she was like how she is in this!!!!

in terms of her being autistic i am ALWAYS a fan of interpretting characters as autistic. i looove the idea of entomology being a special interest of hers (especially bc i can certainly relate), and even w the minimal knowledge we have of her i think it works really well. i think i could come up with more elaborate details abt this other than the surface level stuff but id need to think on it more...

(i myself try to avoid hcing a character as autistic and then just making it about having special interests since thats only one facet ofc, though w the little info we have on her its one of the easiest things to point to... i would love to have more ideas for it)

though, i know its implied to be an abstraction thing but i DO like the idea that she found bright lights overstimulating. i could see her finding MOST things in the circus overstimulating. if she were around to meet pomni i think theyd be able to connect over that (considering i hc pomni as autistic too but i dont wanna derail this w rambling abt that HAHA). the humor thing may have created strange moments though since i think pomni has very little sense of humor- or at the very least, a highly specific one that is hard to hit. maybe queenie could have managed to make her laugh...

either way i REALLY like the idea. autism entomology combo WIN!!!!!

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

Rings of Power S2

Spoilers

Arondir: *stabbed*

Me: NOOOOOOOOOO 😭

Adar: *prettified by Nenya and has possibly his conscience restored, his thirst for vengeance cooled down, alludes to an older name, and has VIBES with Galadriel*

Me:…*remembers that Celeborn was supposedly killed off centuries/who-knows-how-long-ago*…wait. WAI-!!

Adar: *also stabbed*

Me: NOOOOOOOOO(dangit there goes my headcanon)OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😭😭

Arondir: *alive actually*

Me: …wait wut

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[precalamity]

the talos principle 2 will be out on november 2nd. what will I even do. what will become of me. you will not hear from me for three days at least.

[dandyshucks]

okay stressful event done, hopefully i can be calm and normal again starting tomorrow 🙏

everyone put your lucky clovers and horseshoes together for me to hope that I did not get covid because I was the ONLY PERSON IN THE ENTIRE VICINITY WEARING A MASK. OUT OF 200 ISH PEOPLE. FUCK !

[werewolfdog]

I find another reason of why M's familial attitude and treatment towards me are impacting me so deeply much is the fact— taking this in now— that while I had a dismissive and emotionally distant father who pulled the abandonment card when I was thirteen, my mother is never as truly caring and understanding as he is.

[walking-loather]

Anyone else gay in here?

[lizzy-bonnet]

Working in the yarn shop on Sundays, I have a group of regulars who come in specifically then for my advice on their knitting projects and over the years I've gotten to know a lot about them - their ailments and their spouses and their children and their careers and their mothers are all things they find themselves telling me about over the course of trying to bring forth a knitted piece. Most of them are women, most of them are over 50, and most of them have been through a lot and are trying to reclaim something for themselves through the act of creation. A while back, one of these older women opened up to me about how when she first came to this country it was just her and her daughter and they were so happy until her husband joined them, when he promptly began making her miserable. Now, decades later, all her children live far away, she spends all her time taking the husband to dialysis, her sciatic is bad and she may need heart surgery (who will take care of her, I find myself wondering), and she comes to see me once a month or so to talk about a new project and tells me it is the only thing she does for herself.

Today she came in with a smile on her face and delightedly introduced me to her son, who will soon move closer to home with his family. Then she says, as if commenting on the weather, that on Friday her husband died, and tomorrow they will hold the funeral. For a second I had tonal whiplash from the conversation and then I realized, oh, you're unburdened now. Like the relief in her face and her body were palpable. The son shows a picture of a cardigan to me and asks if it can be knitted, and we pick out yarn and a pattern. She's so excited to make it for him. She beams when she looks at him; he is tall and handsome and polite, and wants to wear something she made for him. She is proud of this man she raised.

It just made me think of the many, many women who come from cultures where leaving a crappy spouse isn't an option so they shuttle along doing their best and trying to find some beauty and joy in whatever way they can. Kids may not visit often because their spouse isn't welcoming or there is bad blood, so they are lonely. I remind her, we have our social group. She hasn't come to it much before because she is always taking him to dialysis, but now she says she will come often and meet the other women. Many of them are like her, but in the craft they find companionship that has been absent for so much of their lives. I hope there will be renewal for this dear lady and that she can learn more about herself and what brings her joy.

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi