#i just feel so disconnected from everything

[wemlygust]

I feel like part of the issue with a lot of these is not language per-se, but rather the attempts to regulate and standardize language prescriptively. "Cursive" can mean the standardized, "official"/"formal" cursive method of writing taught in American classrooms, or it can mean just any of the various ways a person might connect their letters together so they can write quickly. I think in some countries it usually means the latter? I get the impression the hyper-standardized cursive is mostly an American thing, but I could be wrong (feel free to correct me). All you have to do is vary it up a bit / write it in a nonstandard way to improve clarity and readability. You could write some of the letters as capitals, or disconnect and add space between the letters, or even draw little dividing lines like @esoanum did forлишили. Or you could use alternating colors, like blue and black, to show where the letters end and another begins. But no, deviating from standard allegedly always makes everything hard to read, so we shall all be confused instead. :P To be fair though, these standards do change over time. Once upon a time, nobodyhadinventedspacesorpunctuationyetandyoujusthadtofigureouthowtoreadstufflikethisandalsothespellingwasntstandardizedeithersogoodluckandalsosomeonehadtoinventtheconceptoftheparagraphandatfirstthatwasjustindicatedbyaparagraphsymbolonthesideofthepageandnotbyanactualspacce

Russian handwriting

[daisymbin]

second chance romance 12. "every song reminds me of you."

woozi gets writers block after his breakup with y/n and realizes how much color and life had when they were still together. he would do anything to get back together 🥺

why does this already sound so heartwrenching :(( thank you for requesting this, lovely!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jihoon's m.list

second chance prompt #12: "every song reminds me of you."

jihoon had spent weeks staring at his keyboard, fingers hovering but never pressing. the notes he usually heard in his mind came in fragments—disconnected and hollow. every song he tried to write felt incomplete, as if missing the heart it used to have. as if missing you.

he sat in his studio late at night, frustration burning in his chest. “why can’t i just—” his voice cracked, and he slammed his hand against the desk.

the memory of your laugh, your voice humming along with his music, filled his mind. he swallowed hard. you had been his muse without him realizing.

“why didn’t i fight for you?” he muttered under his breath.

a knock at his studio door startled him.

“you’re still here,” seungcheol said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“don’t start,” jihoon warned, leaning back in his chair.

“i wasn’t going to. i was just wondering how long you were planning to torture yourself.”

jihoon glared at him, but seungcheol didn’t flinch.

“you should talk to her,” seungcheol continued, arms crossed. “you’ve been miserable since the breakup, and it’s obvious she’s the reason you can’t write.”

“it’s not that simple,” jihoon snapped. “i hurt her, cheol. you don’t just come back from that.”

“it doesnt have to be this hard either. you don’t know unless you try. you always overthink, but this—this is different. just go. tell her how you feel.”

“and if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“then at least you’ll know you tried.”

jihoon clenched his jaw, his heart pounding as he weighed the possibility of facing you again. seungcheol’s words echoed in his mind long after his friend left, and eventually, he found himself standing outside your door.

the door creaked open, and your face appeared in the gap, your expression soft but full of unspoken emotion.

“hoonie jihoon?” you said his name like you couldn’t believe it, like you thought you might be dreaming.

his breath caught. “hi.” his voice was barely audible. “i… i know it’s late. i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to see me, but—” he faltered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quiet, tinged with sadness.

“i don’t know how to say this,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “but i couldn’t stay away anymore. i needed to see you.”

your lips parted, your eyes scanning his face for answers. “jihoon… it’s been months—”

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice breaking. “every song reminds me of you. every melody, every lyric… it’s all you.”

your lips trembled, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to keep your composure. “you can’t just show up like this after all this time. do you know how hard it’s been for me?”

“i know,” he said quickly, his own voice thick with emotion. “i know I don’t deserve another chance. i know i hurt you more than i can ever apologize for. but i’m a mess without you. i can’t write. i can’t think. everything in my life feels empty because you’re not there.”

you looked away, tears slipping down your cheeks. “why did you leave me, jihoon? you didn’t even fight for us.”

“i was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “of how much you meant to me. of how much losing you would hurt. but i didn’t realize that losing you anyway would destroy me.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you wiped your face. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. you broke my heart.”

“i know,” he whispered, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. “but i’ll spend the rest of my life fix it if you let me. i’ll prove to you every single day how much you mean to me. just… give me a chance.”

you stared at him, his words sinking in, the raw desperation in his voice breaking down the walls you had built around your heart. he took a deep breath, his eyes glistening. “i don’t want to live without you anymore.

your tears fell freely now, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. after a long moment, you nodded, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

jihoon’s shoulders sagged in relief, his eyes filling with tears. “thank you,” he whispered.

you stepped back to let him in, and as he crossed the threshold, he hesitated.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice trembling but steady. “i’ll spend every day showing you how much i love you. i won’t mess this up again.”

as you closed the door behind him, the weight of the past began to lift. it wouldn’t be easy, but in that moment, with jihoon standing in your home again, you felt the first flicker of hope.

and for jihoon, the music in his heart finally began to return.

[starlost-mochi-x]

lonely st. ✧ chapter vii : the people who care

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: usual warnings (see masterlist for all), descriptions of a panic attack, nightmares, fainting, jisung cries, mentions of eating, mentions of feeling isolated

a/n: this chapter starts off a little darker so please read the warnings before continuing ! <3

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Hyunjin woke with a jolt, covered in sweat.

His hair was plastered to the back of his neck, bare chest heaving with exertion, like he'd just run a marathon. His hands clenched the bedsheets beside his hips as he tried to calm himself down, processing what he'd just dreamed.

Glancing across to the mirror in the corner of his room, he noticed his cheeks were rosy in the reflection, his ears burning scarlet. He took a deep breath and he stood shakily, feeling unusually unsteady on his feet. He felt sick.

He moved to the mirror and inspected his reflection before turning abruptly on his heel, unable to bear the sight of his own face, reflected back scared and pale in the darkness of the room.

Sighing and moving to the bathroom, he noticed how dark it was outside. He'd woken ridiculously early, though he didn't notice, too focused on splashing cold water on his face, trying to cool himself down.

Inhaling shakily, he leant over the sink, trying to forget the images burnt into his mind. Feeling a wave of nausea pass over him, his knees gave out without warning and he awkwardly hit the tiled floor with a thud, head lolling back against the sink cabinet.

Hyunjin closed his eyes.

Everything was quiet and dark.

Hyunjin felt serene, like he was underwater, surveying the lights and chaos going on above the surface. The sounds around him felt muffled and distant, like the feeling of water seeping into his ears.

He stretched an arm out, feeling hazy and disconnected from his limbs. He moved his fingers faintly, feeling numb, like he was watching someone else's arm move instead of his own. He was just a presence floating delicately in the air, sinking til he met the ground.

He saw Y/n above the surface; her outline blurred and faded by the ripples of water. He thrashed wildly, though he had no strength, trying to reach her. But it was like a boulder had been tied to his ankles, and he sank further into the abyss...

He screamed underwater and a stream of bubbles left his mouth, water gurgling in his lungs as he screamed with everything he had left.

Y/n, come back!

He felt himself being lifted out of the water, the water dripping off him and leaving him feeling heavy and saturated. Someone tugged on his arm as he began to sink back down, into unconsciousness. A faint burst of sunlight broke through the hazy, foggy mass surrounding him like a cloying perfume. He heard voices, calling out to him, frantic and strained.

"Hyunjin! Hyunjin, wake up!"

"Hyunjin!"

"HYUNJIN!"

He took a heaving, shuddering breath, his cloudy eyes opening to meet Jisung's.

He looked as worried as Hyunjin had ever seen him; through the fog hanging over his head, he noticed his friend's face was pale and his eyes were rimmed in red, like he'd been crying. His voice sounded faraway.

"Felix, he's awake!"

The blonde haired boy rushed in, holding a bottle of water. Though the sink was directly above them, Felix knelt down and uncapped the bottle, jerking it so a gush of the water hit Hyunjin squarely in the face.

He coughed, some of it going down his throat. Leaning over, he propped himself up on his elbows. His lower half was spread across the tiles, and he felt numb; he wasn't sure he could stand. His head throbbed suddenly and he let himself be pulled into Jisung's lap, gasping weakly.

Jisung scoffed despite the singular tear streaking down his cheek. "Felix, I said he was awake. You didn't have to splash the water."

Felix shrugged worriedly, looking at Hyunjin.

Jisung stroked his friend's hair, trailing a hand down his shoulder in a soothing pattern. His voice was low and cracked.

"Hyunjin, what happened?"

Felix followed up his friend's concerned question.

"Yeah, man. We were supposed to hang out this morning, and Jisung kept calling you because you didn't show up. And I tried contacting you too, but when you didn't respond after forty minutes, we got worried and came here.

We knew you were home alone because you told us your parents were away for a couple weeks on a trip, so we figured something happened."

Jisung whispered, his voice echoing in the silent space.

"We found you passed out right here and both of us freaked. You've been out for who knows how long..."

Hyunjin coughed and sat up. True to Jisung's word, he was still in his boxers, which he'd slept in, and his upper back hurt from where he'd slumped against the cabinet. His head hurt a little too and he was fighting to stay awake.

Felix shared a worried glance with his friend, biting his lip. "Hyunjin, can you stand?"

He weakly shook his head.

Both boys slipped an arm around Hyunjin's torso, lifting him from the tiles and through to his bedroom. Felix knelt in front of his friend, keeping a hand on his knee to ground him.

His voice was soft. "What do you remember, Hyunjinnie?"

Hyunjinnie.

Wasn't that what Y/n called him the other day? Hyunjinnie.

The images from his nightmare flooded back into his mind, flashing and searing, tossing him under waves, making his head spin. He saw Y/n's smile, her hands delicate and pretty as she held her pencil, sketching image after image. She looked up just as he threw a basketball to her, grinning.

His left hand ached suddenly, his fingers closing around nothing, missing the feeling of her warm hand in his, like when she'd held it in the classroom. A singular, whispered phrase swum between the racing thoughts and flashing images in his mind.

I missed you too, Hyunjinnie.

"Don't leave me," he cried weakly to her, gasping, though she wasn't there, much to his distress.

Felix's voice was shaky as he moved to comfort his friend. "Hyunjin, it's okay. We're not going anywhere, just breathe-"

"I can't-"

"Shh, it's okay, we got you. Don't worry, just in and out, okay? You can do it, just breathe with us..."

Jisung murmured to Hyunjin in soft, soothing tones, Felix rubbing his knees, trying to calm him.

Felix tilted Hyunjin's chin up after a while, wiping away his friend's tears, though they were immediately replaced.

"Y/n-" Hyunjin cried weakly.

Felix and Jisung shared a surprised, worried glance. Piecing the events together, Jisung rubbed his friend's back, whispering to him reassuringly.

"Hyunjin, it's okay."

Felix nodded. "Y/n's not going anywhere. Did you dream about her?"

Hyunjin nodded, a hiccupping sob escaping his mouth.

"I want her to come back.."

"Wait, so he thought I died?"

Y/n's voice sounded through Felix's phone speaker as he paced, feet padding across the sunlight-dappled floor of Hyunjin's living room.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "He's not telling us what happened, but we figured he probably had a nightmare, something involving you."

"Oh. Is he okay?"

Felix glanced across at the couch, where Hyunjin sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, face buried between them. Jisung had his head leaning on his friend's shoulder, whispering sweet nothings and quiet reassurances to him in a constant, unending stream.

Felix bit his lip. "I'm not sure."

Y/n sounded worried, her voice becoming quieter over the phone. "Can I talk to him?"

Felix sighed, walking a little closer, and covered his phone with his hand. "Hyunjin, do you want to talk to her?"

The boy looked so dazed and out of it that Felix immediately brought his phone back to his ear.

"Yeah, I don't think he's up to it..."

Y/n let out a worried sigh over the phone, feeling anxiety creep up on her. "Just- keep an eye on him for me, okay?"

Felix nodded, forgetting he was over the phone and she couldn't see him.

"Felix?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Felix ended the call, looking to Jisung, who still had his arm draped over his distraught friend's shoulders.

"Let's get you something to eat, Hyunjin."

Walking into the classroom, Felix set his belongings down on the desk, before turning to Jisung who was a couple desks away.

"Is Hyunjin coming in today?" He asked.

"He is, actually."

Both boys looked up at the sight of their friend; Jisung immediately stood up and threw his arms around the boy, squeezing him tight around the middle.

"Hi, Sung," Hyunjin wheezed, clapping his friend on the back. "I'm feeling better, don't worry."

Felix scoffed, getting up to hug his friend anyway. "You're lucky we didn't tell your parents."

"Yeah," Hyunjin chuckled. "They would have freaked. But I'm okay now."

Hyunjin sat down in his usual spot as the teacher began to call the roll. He checked his timetable; usually he knew off by heart what classes he was due for the day, but the events of the weekend had left him feeling unusually forgetful. Jisung had told him it was nothing to worry about, just some lingering aftereffects.

Checking in his bag, Hyunjin dug inside for a pen to mark off something on his schedule, and his fingers closed around a ballpoint. Drawing it out, he blinked in surprise.

It was Y/n's, the one he'd stolen almost two months ago.

He smiled ruefully to himself. I bet she hasn't forgotten about it all this time. She's not forgetful like me.

Realising he had a class with her next, he slotted his timetable and notebook back into his bag, wondering if she also remembered his offer for her to sit with him. He mentally facepalmed; he shouldn't have asked her to sit with him over text. It would just make it awkward if he had to ask her again face-to-face. Especially if she wasn't planning to sit with him at all.

Glancing up as the bell rang, he stood unsurely as the other students filtered out of the room, brushing past him while laughing and chattering.

Felix accompanied him on the walk, since his classroom was just a few doors down from Hyunjin's and he kept up a steady stream of excitable chatter, talking about this and that, not letting Hyunjin get a word in edgeways.

Which suited him just fine, since he was preoccupied with other thoughts. So he let Felix ramble on without interruption, only stopping to quickly say bye before slipping into his class.

He sat down in his usual spot at the back, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. His eyes darted about the classroom, trying to spot the telltale shimmer of her keyrings and pins on her bag, but it was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed with a sigh of relief. Spreading one leg slightly, he pushed it under the leg of the chair next to him, inconspicuously saving the seat. Hopefully for Y/n.

A familiar scent filled the air, vanilla and cinnamon, and Yeji pulled out the chair next to Hyunjin, almost catching his foot in the process. She dumped her belongings down before moving to sit next to him with a grin.

"Hey, Jinnie."

Hyunjin stuttered, his plan falling apart. "Hey."

Yeji peered down into his face, still standing, one hand planted firmly on the back of the chair. It moved slowly to the back of Hyunjin's chair til she was leaning almost over him, her knuckles brushing his back. A shiver went down his spine and he straightened a little, trying to redirect his focus to the classroom door.

"Sorry," he said quietly, bracing. "You can't sit here."

Yeji's smile dropped. "Why not?"

"Just can't."

Yeji's grin returned, wide and pearly, and it reminded Hyunjin of the Cheshire cat-style bandaid Y/n had given him. He rubbed his knee subconsciously, where the bandaid sat stuck neatly to the skin.

"Oh, I see," she teased. "Saving it for someone?"

Hyunjin nodded mutely before speaking up. "Y/n's coming soon, and I asked her to sit with me. Sorry."

Clearly Yeji was not expecting this response, because she spluttered, flicking her hair over her shoulder haughtily.

"Fine," she huffed suddenly, her tone laced with savagery. "Save it for your little loser friend."

Hyunjin made to nastily retort back at her, before his eyes flitted to the classroom door and Y/n walked in. He shoved the anger down inside him before smiling at her. He sat back down and looked up at her expectantly as she walked up to him.

Y/n glanced at the seat next to him shyly, pointing a finger.

"Yeah," he nodded, his tone soft. He couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Y/n slid into the seat and the class commenced. The teacher announced the content would be on the term exam and normally, Hyunjin would have zoned in, writing down notes and organizing his schedule (usually much to Jisung's disgust), but all he could think about was the girl sitting next to him.

They were sitting together.

He looked out the window, relief and happiness settling over him like a pleasant, dreamy cloud. His plan had worked. He felt a finger poke lightly into his bicep and he looked across as Y/n slid him a note.

Felix told me you fainted on the weekend. Are you feeling better?

He took the note and wrote a reply, his pen feeling slippery and unsteady in his hands.

Yeah, I'm okay. I had a nightmare and I must have gotten freaked out.

He slid it back to her, their fingers brushing momentarily. Her next reply was quick.

Nightmare? About what?

Hyunjin bit his lip. Should he tell her? Would she think it was weird or perverted that he'd dreamt about her? It had no romantic or suggestive connotation about it, but he still felt that there would be a chance that she thought it was kind of disgusting. Who dreamt about their friends? Maybe she would take it the wrong way.

But it wasn't like that, he told himself firmly, scribbling his reply.

You.

He heard Y/n make a little, almost inaudible squeak, like she was surprised, and he propped his head up on his elbow, putting his hand across his mouth to hide his smile.

Her reply came back.

Damn, am I that much of a horror to be friends with?

Hyunjin scoffed quietly.

No, of course not.

She wrote a response.

Then what happened in the nightmare?

Hyunjin took a deep breath, trying to stop his knee from bouncing rapidly under the desk. Should he tell her? He decided that she wouldn't mind. Besides, he was already this far in. He couldn't back out now.

I dreamt that you left me. And I kept calling for you but you weren't there. I felt like I was drowning...

He passed the note back across the desk with shaking fingers, biting the inside of his cheek.

Y/n passed the note back quickly, and Hyunjin's heart sank. Now his suspicions were confirmed. She thought it was weird..

Opening the note and moving to glance back at the sentence he'd written that had supposedly ruined everything, he was surprised to see that there was a small reply written under it.

I'm here now, Hyunjinnie. I promise I won't leave. Not if you don't want me to, of course.

Hyunjin felt his cheeks tingle, and moved to tug lightly at the lobe of his ear, which were now painted a shade of rich cherry red. She'd shown him time and time again that she was sweet, and honestly rather sentimental, but it had continued to surprise him. And with each time, his felt his heart swelling more and more, and expanding to accommodate her affection, coupled with his own. So much that he felt his heart would burst if they continued the way he did.

The bell rang for the end of class and Y/n moved to pack up her belongings, sparing Hyunjin a soft nod and a glance before moving to leave. She stopped to turn back, assuming he would get up and walk with her, but he dismissed her with a small, nervous smile, murmuring something about extra homework from another class. She nodded again and left.

So maybe she wasn't much of a talker, but oh, how she could make him feel.

"Y/NNNNNNN!"

Said girl let out a squeak as Jisung collided with her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a hug. She exhaled a laugh, patting his forearms, and kept walking, taking smaller steps so as not to trip both herself and Jisung over.

He kept his arms around her, waddling awkwardly behind and spouting his daily nonsense straight into Y/n's ear. She didn't mind, looking up to see Felix and Hyunjin waiting outside the school gates. Jisung steered her from behind towards them, almost colliding with the iron bars of the gate.

Y/n let out a small sound as she put her hands against the wall. "Oof, be careful- Ew, it's wet."

It had been raining earlier, and the smell of petrichor hung in the air, laced with the smell of watery mud and the rain-soaked blazers of the students filing out of the school campus. She'd heard a couple girls in her class complaining about the rain, but she found she quite liked the weather. It was much more familiar to see the sky all grey and overcast than to walk out and be blinded by the sun.

Groaning in disgust, she waved her hands at Felix, who ducked, whining.

"Y/n! Go dry your hands."

Sighing nonchalantly, she wiped her right hand on Jisung's sleeve, the boy gaping at her in open-mouthed horror. He glanced down at his sleeve, checking that it wasn't stained, before skipping past her, down the street. Having seemingly forgotten about Y/n's damp hands, he turned back and seized Hyunjin's hand, telling him about the latest drama he'd heard in the hallways.

Y/n discreetly wiped her hands on the tail of Jisung's blazer before dropping back to walk alongside Felix. He smiled at her before calling out something to Hyunjin.

"Yah, Hyunjin! Wanna go to Bbokari's?"

The dark-haired boy checked his phone before turning his head and nodding. Felix let out a hum before asking Jisung the same thing. He readily agreed and turned himself so he was facing Y/n, walking backwards and clinging onto Hyunjin's arm to talk to her.

He grinned at her eagerly. "You should come with us!"

Y/n felt a silent stutter escape her lungs, her mouth opening just a little bit as she was thrust into the spotlight. All three pairs of the boys' eyes were trained on her, waiting for her response.

"Sorry," she said inaudibly, suddenly unable to speak.

Felix leaned forward a little as he walked, nudging her gently with his shoulder and sending a rush of heat radiating into her skin through her blazer.

"Come on," he said gently to her, smiling. "It'll be fun. Just like when we played basketball together."

Y/n found her eyes drifting to Hyunjin; he'd been looking at her while Felix had been talking, but at the eye contact, he suddenly busied himself with checking his pockets. Y/n felt her spirit sink a little and she considered making up a lie so she wouldn't have to go with them.

Not that she didn't want to. But it was difficult, and she knew she would end up feeling downcast and isolated if she told them she couldn't go. But if she said yes, she risked being left out; she risked being a spectator to their animated conversations, and honestly, Y/n couldn't stand the thought of being an invisible presence in yet another friend group. Just the lingering feeling made her visibly blanch, but she was snapped out of it when Jisung poked her shoulder.

"Pleaseeee?" He dragged out the word, pouting at her, his eyes wide and dark like boba balls.

Y/n glanced at him, unsure.

Jisung continued to drag the word out, his voice getting higher and higher and his face becoming redder and redder with the constant, forced exhale of a word.

Felix let out a low whistle. "If you don't give him an answer, he'll just keep going. No offence, but I don't feel like dragging a passed-out Jisung to Bbokari's."

Y/n let her eyes drift to Felix, the group still walking. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, like she was afraid she would scare him away if she spoke too loud. "What is Bbokari's?"

Felix beamed at her. "It's my parents' shop. Like a convenience store, but there's a seating area where there's a microwave and a coffee maker and stuff. We always buy food and my parents give Hyunjin and Jisung friend discounts because they come round all the time. Also, I live upstairs to the store."

Y/n nodded subconsciously, taking in all the information.

"She nodded!" Jisung screeched, jumping up and down and almost dislocating Hyunjin's arm, still in his grip. "She said yes!"

Y/n yelped as Felix took her arm, Jisung letting go of Hyunjin to take her hand, leading her forwards at an alarming pace down the street. The sudden flurry of movement around her meant she almost tripped, Jisung and Felix's combined grips on her being the only thing stopping her from falling.

"W-wait!" Y/n protested, struggling against their grip. "That's not what I meant! I was nodding to Felix-"

It was useless; they were far stronger that she had previously assumed. She felt like a twig in their firm but gentle grip.

Jisung cackled, his laugh floating up and mingling with the last few spatters of rain falling from the grey, cloudy sky.

"Too late. You're coming with us."

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[skimmingmilk]

i've just found out your tumblr has even MORe picket fence writing and im over the moon?? But also my heart was shattered with the back in time wip 😭😭😭 how does sonic find the strength to leave baby tails behind, how does he react when he sees tails again in his own timeline after having met sick abandoned baby tails??

Heheheh, yeah, there are some little fics or scenes I've written that I hesitate to put on AO3 sometimes (or just aren't complete enough to be a story on their own), so I like to throw them at Tumblr from time to time. Glad you found them! :D

Ohh, the back in time WIP... Not sure how much I can give away because of the chance that it's going to end up part of a bigger fic... but it'll still be a long while until I get around to posting that xD Maybe people will forget lol.

Potential future spoilers under the cut?

So! The way I see it playing out is that Sonic is going to find it in him to leave baby Tails behind because he knows they'll cross paths one day, the way they're supposed to and everything will play out from there. He knows he can't stay in the past and he can't take baby Tails to his present. Plus, Silver's with him and it probably wouldn't go over well to try and explain why it'd be a good idea to take baby Tails with him when it would negate pretty much everything Sonic and Tails experienced together since meeting on West Side Island or cause a split in the timeline where now there's a universe where Sonic never got to meet Tails because he wasn't there and now Sonic's time with have two Tailses. He knows that it can't happen.

But... Sonic still can't stop wondering about the little guy. Is he cold? Is he scared? Is he getting enough to eat? Is he lonely? Hurt? All the things he's not letting himself think about when it comes to his Tails (the 10 year old who's on his first solo adventure and basically gone as close to no contact as possible in order to "prove himself"). He projects all that onto the baby version of him because he knows Tails can handle himself (and that's not why he's worried about him, what he's uncomfortable with is the motive behind the journey). So he gets his hands on two Chaos Emeralds and goes back to check on baby Tails by himself. Just this once.

Except it doesn't end up being just once. Because there is this disconnect and distance between Sonic and Tails of the present, doubts that have arisen in the wake of Forces, Frontiers, and now Tails's absence, Sonic's drawn more and more to the past. Baby Tails smiles and laughs and he doesn't pull away from him and he likes to play and explore and he still needs him. It's just so easy for Sonic to make him feel better. Just by being there.

Also, because this is after Frontiers, going through cyberspace and the cyber corruption has opened the gates to Sonic's memories a bit and they're kind of leaking into his thoughts more and more. He's falling into the habit of ruminating, reliving moments and questioning choices he made, things he might've done wrong, could've done better. So that maybe Tails wouldn't feel like he needs to become a completely different person.

Present Tails won't listen to him, but baby Tails hangs onto every word. So maybe by being there... Tails might remember being loved and maybe the 10 year old won't only see the worst parts of himself when he looks in the mirror if Sonic can try again and show the younger version that he's worth something just as he is.

I think Sonic crosses paths with present Tails twice during all of this. The first conversation goes okay, but there's an awkwardness to it. But Sonic does try to make an effort to be more open with Tails in the hopes that maybe it will set a better example. And Tails is surprisingly receptive to it. So Sonic resolves to not go back to the past, because Tails seems to be doing okay after all. And he's reminded that he loves who his little brother is now. The good and the bad made him who he is, and would he really want to change that? Of course not!

Unfortunately, the second conversation doesn't go nearly as well...

So Sonic goes back to see baby Tails in the wake of it - not because he needs it, but because Tails clearly does - but when he arrives, the forest is burning and he can't find Tails anywhere...

[riotwritesthings]

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron, M, 5.8k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, angst, drinking, mentions of past ships

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends- It can’t be- But they are.

This chapter suuuure went a direction. I really hope you enjoy and don't want to burn me at the stake ahaha

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

~~~

Chapter 3: the ceiling starts to swerve

“This is Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey sounds exhausted, and stressed, and Tony knows that as usual it’s at least ninety percent his fault. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background, and Tony’s willing to bet that he’s having a hell of a day.

He wishes he didn’t have to make it worse.

“Hey SourPatch,” Tony forces himself to say in greeting, his throat suddenly dry.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says in a rush of air, his voice dropping in volume halfway through. There’s a shuffling sound, and then all the background noise is cut off by the heavy thud of a door closing. “Tony, what the hell happened?” He demands in a strained, tense whisper, "you- are you okay?"

“I- I’m fine,” Tony lies.

He’d hoped that hearing Rhodey’s voice would feel comforting, familiar.

Instead he feels… nothing.

No, not nothing. He is relieved to talk to Rhodey again.

But it feels more like- Some small part of him is relieved to have a link to the world. Anything outside of this weird little- soulmate bubble they’ve accidentally set up for themselves, some reminder of what’s real. But even that slice of relief is-

Disconnected.

There’s no warmth to it, no rush of calm comfort that Rhodey’s voice usually gives him. He remembers their decades of friendship perfectly clearly, but- There’s no connection to the voice on the other end of the line, like he’s talking to someone else.

Like he’s talking to a stranger.

Tony’s breath catches wetly in his throat and his eyes burn.

Fuck this stupid bond.

It’s already apparently taken most of his self-control and personal space, replacing them both with- with a stranger. It took all of his plans and goals in Berlin, and probably any remaining scraps of trust his team had in him.

And now this inexplicable thing, some weird imbalance of chemicals or something, is taking his oldest, closest relationship.

Barnes- Bucky- is still staring out the front window, keeping an eye out for whatever and pretending not to listen.

Tony is painfully aware of the distance between them, of the tension winding Bucky’s shoulders up tight. Tony can feel it like a pull in his own chest and if the phone weren’t mounted to the wall he would go over there-

He viciously shoves that thought down, shoves down the ache in his sternum.

Rhodey is still talking on the other end of the line, repeating his name in an increasingly frantic tone, and it’s a struggle to focus on that.

It’s so much easier to focus on the mere feet separating him from Bucky, the way it felt to wake up next to him. Whatever it is that’s been twisting Bucky tighter and tighter since they woke up-

“Tony-”

“I’m here,” Tony says quickly. “I’m okay.”

Over by the window, Bucky’s shoulders twitch up a little higher.

“What happened in Berlin?” Rhodey asks, sounding impossibly more freaked out than he had before.

And that’s the big question, isn’t it? Laughter bubbles up in Tony’s chest before he can stop it, high-pitched and hysterical.

“I’m- It’s- I really can’t get into it right now,” Tony says weakly around slips of laughter that he can’t contain, and he can hear Rhodey’s worry spiking.

Reading his best friend even without seeing him is still as familiar as breathing, but Tony doesn’t *feel * anything.

Not like he can feel Bucky trying and failing not to shift on his feet, painfully curious and trying to fight it. Or maybe just trying to hide it, Tony can’t quite tell but he’s sure that if he got closer-

It’s making it really hard to focus on the conversation. And fuck, he wants to talk to Rhodey. He swears he does. But suddenly it’s not as easy as it’s always been.

“Are you-” Rhodey asks carefully, his voice low, “are you still with him? Are you being held captive?”

The ‘again’ goes unspoken and Tony fights down another hysterical giggle.

He is, but not in any of the ways Rhodey would be expecting. He’s being held captive by himself, by an inability to leave Bucky behind that is so deep-set the idea hasn’t even fully occurred to him.

“Yes, but no, he- he’s here, but it’s nothing like that,” Tony says, because that’s the easy answer. “This is not a Taken situation.”

“That’s not- never mind,” Rhodey says, and things must be really bad if he’s not taking the time to correct Tony on the finer points of action movies.

Fuck, why doesn’t he feel anything?

“So- What then?” Rhodey asks slowly, struggling to wrap his brain around the situation when Tony can’t tell him anything. "Did- I mean, you didn’t- did you kidnap Barnes?"

Tony laughs again and part of him wants to say yes. They kidnapped each other, and themselves, and now they’re holding themselves hostage.

But he knows Rhodey is in no mood for vague jokes.

“Why and how would I have done that?” Tony asks with a strangled chuckle. He remembers the way Barnes had been fighting before they ran into each other, all vicious, brutal efficiency. Even if he’d had his suit, Tony’s not sure he could have gotten The Winter Soldier out of there against the man’s will. At least not alive.

"I don’t know," Rhodey says in a huff, annoyance briefly winning out over his worry, “but Rogers is convinced that you absconded with his friend for some reason.”

“Why?” Tony sputters out while Bucky twitches again.

The other man is more tense than ever, wound so tightly that he’s about to snap. Tony can feel it in his teeth and he wants to dig his fingers into the muscles of Bucky’s shoulders, feel the warmth of him as the tension slowly fades-

"You tell me," Rhodey shoots back. "I’ve seen the security footage, Tones, and no one knows what to think. It looks a hell of a lot like the two of you just- left together."

“That is-” Tony says with a wince, “the extremely short version.” He can tell Rhodey is about to jump in with more questions, and Tony really wants to get to the reason he called. “So, what are people saying, exactly? Other than Steve.”

Rhodey lets out a long, heavy sigh, but tells him.

It’s about as bad as he expected.

There are people who think Tony was captured by the mysterious terrorist, and of course people who think he went rogue and recruited Bucky for his own nefarious purposes. About half of the team thinks it’s some kind of mind control, which would probably break Tony’s heart if he stopped to let himself think about it. But he just urges Rhodey to continue.

Ross has managed to convince a concerning number of people who matter that Tony is some kind of sleeper agent for Hydra, taking back possession of their soldier. Which is an insulting angle for the man to take, he can’t even imagine Tony as a high-ranking undercover genius?

And apparently, Steve thinks Tony kidnapped his best friend. Tony isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. Honestly, he can’t figure out what Steve thinks his reason would be.

“All in all, about half the world is hunting the two of you for one reason or another,” Rhodey finishes. He doesn’t waste a second before demanding, "Now are you going to tell me why?

“I’m sorry, Platypus,” Tony says, and he means it. He wishes he felt it. “I just- I couldn’t-”

Tony knows how he wants to finish that sentence.

‘I couldn’t let anyone take him, couldn’t not go with him, couldn’t fight it.’

But he can’t say any of that out loud, it’s still too raw and terrifying even in his own mind. The power that the bond has over him is still- It’s like a light that’s too bright to look at directly, he can’t face it fully yet.

And he definitely can’t put it into words or he’s pretty sure he’ll throw himself right back into a panic attack.

“I- There was- a thing, and we had to get out of there,” Tony finally says weakly. “And I- I can’t explain it any more than that right now.”

He can hear Rhodey’s displeasure with that answer, but Tony doesn’t feel as guilty as he should. He feels guilty that he doesn’t feel more guilty.

Tony’s chest clenches and he can feel Bucky fighting the urge to turn away from the window to look at him.

“I will, eventually,” Tony promises and hopes like hell it’s not another lie. “I just- I have to wrap my head around this first,” he adds, “and- hopefully my brain won’t fucking explode in the process.”

Rhodey blows out a hard sigh and then asks, “You’ve really gotten yourself into it this time, haven’t you, Tones?”

“You have no idea, SourPatch,” Tony says, fighting down another strangled laugh. He tears his gaze away from Bucky for probably the first time in the conversation so he can rub at his dry eyes. “First I have to- fuck, figure out how to fix this.”

“Well,” Rhodey starts slowly, "it would help a whole hell of a lot if you brought Barnes back-"

“No,” Tony cuts him off, surprising everyone with the vehemence in his voice.

When he drops his hand away from his face he catches Bucky’s eye for a moment, wide and so blue, before Bucky whips his head back around to the window.

“I can’t do that,” Tony continues, trying to keep his tone normal, “he- he’s innocent, Rhodey, he wasn’t even in Vienna.”

He doesn’t need Bucky nodding at the window to confirm it, somehow Tony knows. He’s felt it in the confused tension still wound tightly through Bucky’s chest. In the quiet, terrified exhaustion that started to set in as soon as they made it out of Germany.

Bucky doesn’t know why, or how, but he knows he’s being framed. So Tony knows it too. And he knows that true to Bucky’s word, he’s so used to not having control that he’s not even surprised to be used in this new and creative way.

Rhodey sighs. "Well then, bring him back and prove-"

“C’mon Platypus,” Tony cuts him off again, “you know it isn’t that easy. Someone already got to him while he was in ‘safe custody,’ and if that doesn’t happen again then he’s likely to get ‘disappeared,’ and I can’t-”

Tony’s voice comes to an abrupt stop as his chest clenches painfully, his throat pulling tight. The thought of someone trying to take Bucky away-

The force of the fury that rushes over him knocks the air out of his lungs. Through the pounding of blood in his ears all he can think is that he can’t let that happen, he can’t- he won’t.

No one is going to take his soulmate away from him, not at any cost.

Somewhere far, far beneath the weight of that knowledge, the rational sliver of his mind that remains is terrified to find out what price he’ll be willing to pay.

He doesn’t even want a- but he won’t be able to fight it any more than he’s been able to resist the bond until now, he already attacked Natasha without thought- What else would he do-

Bucky lets out a low, pained sound that Tony snaps out of his spiraling thoughts.

The fuzz and dancing spots fade from his vision as he drags in a shuddering breath, and he sees that Bucky is still politely staring out the window. He can tell that Bucky isn’t actually seeing anything though, too caught up in his own thoughts, in the tension pulling his shoulders painfully tight.

Tony forces himself to take another slow breath, and Bucky relaxes minutely.

"Hey, Tones, Tony-" Rhodey is saying in his ear and it filters slowly into Tony’s consciousness, so much less important than watching Bucky’s hand shake as he balls it into a fist.

“Yeah, yeah I’m still here,” Tony forces out, his voice rough.

He must sound really bad, because Rhodey takes pity on him and doesn’t ask any more questions.

“Look,” he says, almost as gently as he spoke when Tony first came back from Afghanistan, “I’ve been working to clear up all the most ridiculous lies. Are you safe right now, wherever you are?”

Tony only has to stare at Bucky’s back for a second before the man nods stiffly.

“As safe as I can be in a haunted shack,” Tony replies with a weak attempt at a smile, hoping that Rhodey can hear it over the line.

“Okay,” Rhodey says, “okay, here’s the plan.”

~~~

Tony is not a fan of the plan.

He doesn’t like that Rhodey is fighting Ross and his ridiculous lies for him. He doesn’t like that he’s just supposed to wait until Rhodey can make sure that they won’t be black-bagged the second they step foot back on the grid.

And he especially doesn’t like that he’s supposed to wait here, in the farmhouse from hell. With its outhouse and its single broken bed.

Despite the size of the mess, part of him had been looking forward to cleaning it up. Arguing with Steve and rich old senators is at least familiar, would make him feel like he still has some semblance of control over his life.

He was really fucking looking forward to feeling in control again.

Instead he’s still stuck out here, just him and Bucky.

It’s like they’ve left the rest of the world behind and Tony- He needs to get back to the real world. He can’t fight the bond but maybe he could- could ignore it a little more with other people around, with all the complicated problems that he can’t- He can barely remember right now.

The Accords, the Avengers, SI and everything, it’s all so far away. And if he doesn’t get back to it soon-

He’s not sure that he’ll want to.

With a frustrated sigh Tony finally stops glaring at the phone hanging on the wall.

Bucky is still standing at the front window, resolutely pretending to ignore Tony’s conversation. Despite everything, Tony feels a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, excellent ignoring,” Tony says with a huff, “you can stop now.”

After a second of hestiation, his fists still clenched, Bucky turns to face him again and-

Blue.

Tony’s next inhale is so much easier, like his lungs are filling fully for the first time since Bucky stepped across the shack. It’s so damn nice, all the stress of the phone call melting away. The guilt and the distance of hiding from his best friend are inconsequential.

The real world is all mistakes and panic attacks. Why does he need-

Bucky’s gaze drops to the floor and Tony’s chest pulls tight again.

Something is still tearing Bucky apart, and he doesn’t know what.

It’s been getting worse and worse since they woke up, since whatever occurred to him and ruined their relatively peaceful morning. And Tony doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t think it’s just Bucky taking his turn with the panic attack. It’s related to being stuck here for an unknown amount of time, the tension spiked sharply when that part of the plan came up, but that’s not the whole story.

Whatever it is, it’s stabbing through Bucky’s lungs and turning his stomach, making it almost impossible to breathe. Tony can feel it like a phantom pain in his own chest, he can feel it crawling its way up Bucky’s throat.

The silence stretches as Bucky stares at the floor and Tony stares at him. Tony’s pulse is picking up as the tension builds.

It- it’s bad. It’s hanging over them like an anvil, like a guillotine, and Tony stops breathing as Bucky takes a shuddering inhale.

Bucky opens his mouth, and Tony tries to brace himself.

But all Bucky says is, “I was tryin’ not to listen.” His tone is sheepish but his voice is tight, nearly strangled.

Tony lets out a hard rush of air. Part of him wants to pry, most of him wants to pry, but-

He shouldn’t even know that something’s wrong with Bucky. They don’t actually know each other, they met yesterday.

Without the bond he wouldn’t be able to read Bucky at all, or at least not nearly this well. If he tries to pry- It’s like he’s giving into the bond. Accepting it.

And he can’t do that.

So Tony forces himself to let it go, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s carefully blank face.

“If we’re stuck here, there better be food,” Tony says as he turns towards the small kitchen. “I am not above eating you for survival.”

After a couple of seconds Bucky silently shuffles after him, like he just can’t help himself.

There is food, and most of it is still safely packed in cans and sealed jars. Even if it doesn’t look very appetizing. There’s no coffee, though, which means that Tony’s headache is only going to get worse.

While Bucky hopefully determines if the water is safe, Tony slams through the cabinets a final time. He’s not pouting, but he’s also not actually expecting to find anything else.

Until he discovers the large jar of clear liquid hidden in the back of a high cabinet.

“'S that moonshine?” Bucky asks, suddenly standing just close enough that Tony can feel the rumble of his voice.

“Samanė, I believe,” Tony says, already unscrewing the lid, “which, basically the same thing.”

He’s trying to ignore the shiver running down his spine. And he’s trying even harder to ignore the urge to lean back into Bucky and chase the feeling.

It may not be the best idea at the moment, but Tony does need a distraction. And if he’s stuck here then he’ll take what he can get.

~~~

"This’s strong," Bucky says, squinting into his chipped glass.

Tony hums in agreement.

He’s not sure where his own glass is. He knows he had it when he dropped down onto the couch.

Before he can work up the effort to look for it Bucky is picking Tony’s glass up from the ground and offering it to him. Tony takes it with a grunt of thanks. Bucky quickly returns to staring into his own glass.

His next swig of the strong liquor doesn’t burn, just settles nicely in the warm pit of Tony’s stomach.

The tension is being forcibly melted out of his limbs. All the problems are being drowned out by the pleasant buzzing between his ears.

He considers the other man, because through the warm haze nothing else matters. And he can’t quite remember why that matters right now.

Bucky decided to sit in front of the couch when Tony sprawled out over the entire thing. He’s been shooting Tony increasingly un-subtle looks as they drink. With the way he’s leaning back, if Tony just moved his leg a little it would press against the strong, tense line of Bucky’s shoulders.

Tony takes another sip and forces himself to stay still.

Bucky glances over him again. The faintest hint of pink is spreading across his cheeks.

They’ve been carefully not talking since they started drinking. They don’t really need to.

But Tony still finds himself asking, “Is this- is it doin’ anythin’ for you?”

Bucky looks over at him and Tony tips his glass in explanation. Bucky’s lips twitch as he nods. He returns his gaze to his half-empty glass, then downs it.

"An’ it’s disinfectin’ my throat," Bucky says with a cough and a wince.

“Good,” Tony says as Bucky grabs for the jar again, "pretty sure you’re drinkin’ most of it. And if you’re just doin’ it to feel the burn I will- I’m gonna be mad."

Bucky snorts as he refills his glass.

“And Steve can- can’t even get drunk,” Tony adds.

The words slip out before he can think them through. The way that Bucky flinches minutely at the name isn’t really a surprise. Tony feels bad for bringing it up, he feels-

A lot of things.

He slid further down against the arm of the couch at some point and he’s mostly staring at the stained ceiling. His shin is pressed against the line of Bucky’s shoulders and he doesn’t remember doing that either. It takes effort to lift his head enough to keep Bucky in his field of view.

Now that he’s started Tony can’t seem to stop talking. The words are bubbling up in his throat and he can’t quite remember why he shouldn’t let them out.

So much for their unspoken ‘no speaking’ agreement.

"Still can’t believe he thinks I fuckin’- That I kidnapped you," he says with a snort.

Bucky’s metal thumb moves restlessly around his glass. It clicks against the chipped rim.

“No of-ffense,” Tony adds. He rolls his head along the arm of the couch to stare sideways at Bucky. “You just- you seem more the kidnapper- kidnappy type.”

He watches with fascination as emotions make their way across Bucky’s face. Wondering if he should be offended followed by reluctant amusement. Tony can feel all of it.

And he can feel the cold knot that wraps itself back around Bucky’s lungs as soon as the moment is gone. Tony still can’t put a name to the feeling and he’s getting pretty sick of all the things he can’t explain.

Like what’s bothering Bucky. And the fact that he has a soulmate. And why Steve would even think-

“Wait,” Tony says, failing his way upright. He spills a good half of his drink on his undershirt and takes a split second to wonder when he lost his dress shirt. “Wait,” he says again and has to blink a couple times as the room spins, “wait, did- tell me I didn’-”

He trails off, trying to tell through the haze of liquor if what he’s remembering is real. Bucky looks up at him again, and Tony’s breath catches.

Fuck, when is that going to stop happening? He already has enough trouble breathing.

Bucky is still staring at him and Tony struggles to remember what he’d been about to say.

“Was- Is there any truth to the rumors of- of war-torn lovers?” Tony asks, alarm creeping into his voice. "Did I steal Captain America’s boyfriend?"

The way Bucky’s eyes go wide and his shoulders hunch up around his ears says plenty, even as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

Tony groans as he flops heavily back down onto the couch. At least he doesn’t spill his drink this time. There’s a laugh building in his chest, edged with hysteria. It certainly explains a lot.

“I think he might- he might actually kill me,” Tony says to the shifting patterns on the ceiling.

They fall into silence while Tony tries to wrap his head around just how fucked up this is. He can hear Bucky finishing off another glass. His own drink is suddenly sitting a little too warm in his gut.

“It wasn’-” Bucky says slowly and Tony cranes his head around to look at him. “It wasn’ really like that. Or- We jus’- We never-”

“Never quite found the right time?” Tony guesses when he trails off. Because isn’t that how all the tragedies go?

Bucky nods into his empty glass, his expression twisted in misery.

The hot pit of something in Tony’s stomach is getting worse, starting to crawl its way up his throat. He’d almost think he’s about to be sick except-

He’s jealous. It’s jealousy burning its way through his chest, familiar but twisted.

Which is stupid for so many reasons, but the biggest one is that he doesn’t need to be. According to all the legends Bucky can’t- They’re stuck together now. Neither one of them can leave.

Tony has to remind himself that it’s because they don’t have a choice. It shouldn’t be comforting, to know that someone can’t leave him, can never even want to-

No, he wants Bucky- Someone, he wants someone to have a choice about staying with him.

He tells himself that’s what he wants. He wishes he believed it.

“I need more- more booze,” Tony says as he pushes himself upright, "way more booze for this fuckin'- conversation."

Bucky hands him the jar, turning towards him in the process. Tony squints at the amount of liquid remaining before taking a swig directly from the jar.

"You- What’d you mean, rumors?" Bucky asks. His eyebrows are pinched and it’s-

Definitely not adorable.

Tony hums and takes another sip, stalling.

“You, uh-” he says slowly, “the two of you- may have been a brief topic. In my- Um, in my queer history elective?”

Bucky blinks slowly. Then he lets out a long groan and drops his face to the couch cushion next to Tony’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Tony says with a wince and does his best not to laugh. “Is that- Is it better or worse than bein’ a ghost?”

“Worse,” Bucky mutters into the couch.

Tony decides not to tell him about the recovered sketches that were shown in that class.

When Bucky eventually lifts his head again it’s to steal the jar of Samanė back and take a long drink. His face is distinctly more flushed and loose strands of hair are clinging to his forehead.

The rest of the room is spinning, but Tony has no problem focusing on the tired blue of Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky looks away again, embarrassment and some new flavor of guilt twisting him up. There’s no sadness though, and Tony’s pretty sure that’s the reason for at least half of the guilt.

“You- Don’ feel bad,” Tony says and nudges his knee against Bucky’s shoulder. “Who- I mean who hasn’t had a big ol’ crush on Steve?” He adds sarcastically.

He slowly realizes he’d forgotten to add any sarcasm to his voice as Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. Tony could try to play it off, but he can feel his own cheeks warming. And Bucky will see right through him.

“There was a fan club at my boarding school,” Tony says defensively. He’s not sure if it helps his point or not.

Bucky snorts out a laugh halfway through taking another drink and winces. Tony doesn’t feel bad for him. But he can’t stop talking.

"And then I met Steve, which- He’s- I mean, I guess I don’t have to tell you-" Tony finds himself saying, despite swearing he’d never admit this to anyone.

It’s easier than he would have thought. The battle of New York and everything that followed feels so far away now. He remembers all the feelings, the hurt followed by longing and the sting of rejection when Steve- when no one stayed-

But it’s like it all happened to someone else. Like he read it in a story.

Bucky is still watching him, arm propped up on the couch. The flush of liquor doesn’t hide the complicated mix of emotions moving over his face as he waits.

"Not that anythin’ ever- y’know, happened," Tony finishes quickly and doesn’t bother wondering why he needs to assure Bucky of that. “He never- And I’m me, so-”

Tony sinks his teeth into his lower lip, cutting himself off. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He starts to open his mouth, and Tony cuts him off too.

“And then someone came back to life,” he says with the best glare he can work up at the moment, “an’ there- there went my chance. Or my delusional dream of a chance, anyways.”

Bucky winces apologetically and offers him the liquor. Tony laughs and takes it while he watches the other man clench his jaw. This time he knows exactly what Bucky is feeling.

“Super weird backward jealousy pangs, right?” He asks knowingly and tries not to be pleased about it. He fails.

A wry smile pulls at Bucky’s lips as he nods slightly. He drops his gaze to the couch and watches himself pick at the worn fabric.

“An’- An’ what about now?” Bucky asks without looking up. “Was- I-Is there-”

It takes Tony a second to figure out what he’s asking, and then he huffs.

“No, no worries,” he says, leaning forward slightly to pat Bucky’s metal elbow. “You’re not the- the homewrecker here, jus’ me.”

For a second he doesn’t even remember that that wouldn’t have been true, a couple of weeks ago.

The breakup with Pepper had been so fresh and raw even- fuck, just a day ago. When he’d been reluctantly admitting it to Steve and fighting down a twisted mess of emotions. Now it doesn’t hurt any worse than when his first crush had laughed in his face.

The soulmate bond makes one hell of a bandaid, and at least that’s something.

Bucky is still staring at him, like he can see Tony going over all of that in his mind. And he probably can. Tony’s hand is still resting on the other man’s metal arm, and he wonders if Bucky can feel it.

The silence stretches and Tony takes an uncomfortable swig of Samanė. He should probably move his hand, but he doesn’t.

“I am- 'M pretty good at chasing people off all- all on my own,” he can’t help adding, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrow again. “Don’ make that face at me,” Tony says and lifts his hand to poke Bucky between the eyebrows instead.

Bucky blinks and his face softens in surprise. Then he laughs, and Tony grins as his heart thumps in his chest. Bucky reaches up to grab Tony’s hand and pull it away from his face. Their fingers fit together without any effort and Bucky’s skin is surprisingly soft against his.

“Why d’you- you keep-” Bucky starts and then trails off, distracted. He runs his thumb over a burn scar on the side of Tony’s hand.

Tony’s breath catches and doesn’t restart as Bucky’s thumb moves down to his palm. He can feel the swirls of Bucky’s thumbprint against his skin. Every drag sends a bolt of warmth through him that the warmth of the liquor can’t compare to.

He inhales shakily when Bucky looks up at him, caught in those blue eyes.

What had they been talking about? He doesn’t remember now.

Bucky licks his lips and Tony stares. The way they’ve been drinking, they probably taste the same- And once the thought hits him Tony has to know-

He’s not sure which of them leans forward. Maybe him, because the room is spinning again. Bucky sighs and Tony can feel the rush of air against his cheek.

Tony shifts his fingers against Bucky’s wrist and realizes he can feel Bucky’s rapid pulse. He’s pretty sure his own heart is beating in time and he’s still moving closer.

It’s like he’s being pulled in, like he doesn’t have a choice.

Does he even need a choice? This feels- Why does he need anything else when this is so-

Right.

He can almost feel Bucky’s lips against his. Tony’s eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep them open.

He wants-

Beneath his fingers, Bucky’s pulse skips. It stops entirely for a terrifying second, then starts racing sickeningly. Something cold rushes through Bucky and he sucks in a sharp breath as he jerks away.

His hand slips away from Tony’s.

It’s just like this morning. The same icy chill running through Bucky as he pulls away. The same gut-twisting feeling that’s- It’s like guilt but so much more complicated.

It's different than when they were talking about Steve, or anything else. It’s-

Part of Tony doesn’t want to know.

Bucky won’t meet his eyes. He’s curling in on himself, withdrawing.

And Tony can’t let that happen. He can’t let this keep happening. He can’t-

He tightens his grip on the nearly empty jar and swallows thickly.

“Alright, out with it,” he says.

“What?” Bucky asks, practically flinching. He pulls his arm off the couch and curls it into his chest.

“Out with it,” Tony repeats, his voice shaking. “Whatever you need to tell me, just spill. It- It’s been driving you crazy all day and that- it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky goes carefully still. He doesn’t look up. He’s not breathing.

Tony waits. He bites his lip again so he won’t start demanding answers.

There are already so many things right now that he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. He needs to know.

What could be so bad?

This isn’t- Bucky isn’t supposed to be able to pull away. He can’t, that’s not how it- This isn’t fair.

Tony can’t completely swallow down a hurt noise. His eyes burn. It feels like his chest is cracking open, his lungs filling with ice- with snow-

Bucky’s gaze flicks up to him and then down again, expression pained. Blue eyes haunted.

Neither of them are breathing now.

He can’t stop thinking that none of this is fair.

Tony doesn’t- he didn’t even want a soulmate and now- The thought of Bucky pulling away is gutting him. It’s not fair that something as stupid as a secret is cracking his chest open.

It isn’t fair of him to need answers, either. Part of him knows that. They’d still be strangers, if they had a choice-

But they don’t.

“Bucky,” he says, his voice a harsh croak. A plea. He wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

The other man flinches like he’d shouted. Tony waits.

Finally Bucky drags in a shuddering breath and tears his eyes away from his own hands. He practically snatches the jar from Tony and finishes off the Samanė in one long swallow.

Tony’s stomach churns as he continues to wait.

Bucky takes another steadying breath and fixes his gaze over Tony’s shoulder. His jaw clenches. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

The crater in Tony’s chest gets deeper.

“N-Nine- Nineteen Ninety One,” Bucky eventually manages to get out. His voice is raw and his eyes are glazed, unseeing. “December n-ninet-teenth.”

That’s all he says for a long moment and Tony is still waiting.

He doesn’t even recognize the date for a split second, and then he’s just confused.

“I-I was-” Bucky continues haltingly. The feeling of cold gets worse. “I- It wasn’ an accident.”

It doesn’t makes sense. Tony knows that date, but it was- His parents died in an accident. He knows that. He-

“What?” Tony asks flatly. Blankly. He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense.

Bucky swallows thickly. His cheeks are wet and all the color has faded from his face.

Tony wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

He can’t move.

“December N-Nineteenth,” Bucky says again. His hands are clenched together so tightly that they both shake. “It wasn’ an- I-I was there, I- I’m th- I-”

Bucky’s voice cuts off, strangled. He clenches his jaw.

There’s a sick feeling rising in Tony’s throat, and he’s not sure which of them it belongs to.

“You- what’re you-” Tony starts to ask, gasping the words out.

But he doesn’t need to.

Bucky blinks rapidly and then meets Tony’s eye. He looks so-

It-

Everything hurts.

And Tony-

He knows.

[iamabigbox]

Arcane season 2 spoiler

Honestly if this was a solo season from a disconnect story I think it would have worked better at this point

Since a MAIN season 1 theme was the classism to have it not tie into the ending at all makes it fall flat

Not to mention that it’s also very much tied with Caitvi which is why imo their relationship didn’t really feel fulfilling. We didn’t get a proper apology from Cait or have her show any proper sympathy for Zaun after what she did in act1 it’s makes it come across that she hasn’t learned anything other than being nicer to Vi (forgetting about the bigger picture of the show)

Maybe they had bigger plan for it and it had to be cut but at the very least their should’ve been a scene where we see Zaunites debate joining the fight or negotiate with Piltover

Even Jayvik (which was honestly the highlight of the ending along with Ekko) could have been improved by incorporating Jayce coming back and showing some sort of sympathy/remorse for Zaun or show disapproval to how Cait handled things since he kinda kinda lived through a similar experience as Vik when he was in the wild rune (hurt leg, things he needs to survive being corrupted, having to climb his way out of the bottom to the top)

Honestly I think Ekko was damn near perfect (I am biased tho lol) but I do wish we saw him with the fireflies. It presents the idea he’s completely alone at the end but he’s not we know he built a community so what happened to it??? If anything I think it wouldn’t been nicer to leave him of with the firelights and adding Jinx to their memorial

I would say more about it busy honestly I need to rewatching it all together cuz everything is kinda disconnected in my mind but whatever this is just thoughts on act 4

[nerdana]

Falling Apart

Charles Xavier × reader

Summary: when you're feeling awfully low, who'll be there to hold you? Hold you together?

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: seasonal depression, I think? That's abt it. Some evident mental instability

Authors note: wrote this because I couldn't get out of bed yesterday. Welcome to the child of my own bed-rotting, quite literally. Definitely not proof read 😔

I'll get to the requests now I think <3 woohooo

The door cracks open just a smidge, but the absolutely disgusted face you make is suggestive of some criminal destruction inflicted upon you.

It's been hours of this. Rotting in bed, sulking about absolutely nothing. That apprehensive haze lurking in the back of your mind like a minion with its fingers around your throat.

Erik checked in on you a while ago, Raven even asked you out for a walk around the neighbourhood.

If you looked so bad as to warrant an invitation to a stroll, you feared your condition was practically morbid.

It made no sense really - your life was great. In all practical senses, you were living the urban dream. You had great friends. An amazing boyfriend. Doing well at uni.

And yet one second you were alright, the next it seemed like the bed was as strong as a black hole, pulling you into the wonders of the concept of inactivity. Of letting things go and falling into an unending cycle of procrastination, food and malaise.

It almost seemed welcoming.

You groan, turning around with that same disgruntled frown on your mouth, your gaze meeting the face of the Professor himself. Right, time for some more advise and rebukes.

"Well, that's a great way to welcome me home.", he smiles, apparently oblivious to the state of your mind. He did love maintaining your privacy, especially mentally. But added on to your occasional lack of communication, there were moments you wished he didnt.

"Right, I'll be sure to throw you a parade at the end of tomorrow.", you roll your eyes. You know you're being unreasonable. What had he done in all of this? Nothing, at all.

And yet the words were out like you wanted him gone. Maybe in some twisted way, you did. Left alone to your own misery.

You shoot him one last glare, turning back with a huff to curl up on your side.

"Honey?" He sounds confused. You can feel the thoughts going through his head. Is it him? Did he do something wrong? What could he do? You curl up tighter.

Usually, you'd have jumped out of bed, put your arms around his neck, buried your face in his chest. Maybe, that would even have solved everything.

Not right now.

Your bones ached from the inside out, your eyes half shut from the tears you were holding back. If you looked at him right now, the paranoia would flow over into breakdown.

And we couldn't have that, could we? No.

You hear him shuffle closer. The shadow of his hand lands fleetingly over your shoulder, withdrawn just as soon as it appeared. It hurts to see him hold back around you. Especially, when you were the only one he reached out to without a second thought.

He's inches away now, his breath audible, a low hum that does something to you. Soothing.

Familiarity bleeds quite easily into comfort, you realise. His presence itself is a salve. Enough to disconnect the anxiety like a barrier from the world outside.

You want to feel his vest scratching against your cheek, the softness of his skin under your lips. Just that feeling of Charles. Of him just being.

You sigh. More tears are pricking at the edge of your eyes now and you scrunch the sheets tighter, trying and failing to stifle the sob that escapes your lips.

"Honey, no." His reaction is nearly instantaneous. Like that traitorous expression of your pain had freed him from his hesitance. He falls into the mattress, pulling you flush against his chest.

You think of protesting. Of putting up a front. Of sending him away like you did the others. But even the idea of him leaving now, of being in the cold bed without his embrace, the embrace you were literally wrapped in

It felt physically painful.

You let him get mold your posture to his body, his own breaths slowing to give you a benchmark to match up to. His hand comes up, desperate to make things right and yet the gesture is filled with uncertainty, fingers lingering on your arm as if he doesn't know if he is at all what you need right now.

You slip your fingers through his, pulling his hand to your chest. His relief is evident, his chin resting on your shoulder, a fleeting kiss left on your head.

"Want to talk about it?" And you know he means it when he asks. That he'd drop the topic immediately if you even sounded reluctant. And you loved him for it.

You pick his fingers out of yours, pressing two slender digits to your own head, a resigned smile on your lips as you wait for him to catch up.

You're immersed into that familiar feeling, of floating through something heavy, that buoyant peace that comes with his invasion into your mind. You're suddenly blank, neutral to your own thoughts, only an observer, and you allow yourself to relax. To let him take over.

You still dont want to face him though, allowing him to let the flurry, the deluge of mixed feelings run through his mind.

His grip on you tightens only seconds into it, his fingers leaving your forehead to find your cheek, asking you to turn to him. His eyes are wide, brows furrowing further as he watches your tear stained features contort into a feeble attempt at a smile.

"Love, you are one of the smartest people I know.", he starts, a stern edge to his voice. The comment catches you off-guard. Not because you hadn't heard it before. You had. A million times from his mouth, itself.

But because you only realise now how much you need his assurance. About everything, right now. How his decisive tone almost makes you believe the statement without doubt. Belief you hadn't felt seconds ago.

"But sometimes you can be so, so daft.", he laughs when you scrunch your nose. His forehead leaning against yours, he let's his hand run through your hair, waiting for you to sync your breaths with his, to lean into the silence that lingers.

"They're gonna love your dissertation. They'll be crazy if they don't." He seals the utterance in with a kiss to your forehead. You nod, brushing your nose against his as your fingers wrap into his vest.

"And then we'll have a Doctor in the house.", he looks thoughtful when he says it, like he adores the idea of it all.

You gift him with a small smile at that. "Not the kind of doctor we need, anyway.", you quip. You snuggle closer, letting him circle you in a bear hug. He smells nice, like lavender and warmth and something distinctly similar to home.

You can feel the drowsiness of the day catching up to you, sleep finally on the horizon after it had avoided you incessantly. Charles was all you had really needed.

"Love you.", you mumble, threading your fingers through his hair as you plant a kiss on his lips. He makes no attempt to deepen it, choosing instead to pepper your face with small pecks, stopping only when you burst into an involuntary fit of giggles.

His forehead rests against yours again, a sigh breathed into the space between you.

"Sorry, for being such a mess.", you go on, unable to stop the apologies from slipping out.

"A mess?", he inquires, finger tracing your lips, a light brush of skin on skin as it runs along your jaw to brush over your closed eyelids. "We're all allowed to let go sometimes, love."

He squeezes you tighter, your face hidden in his neck as the tears finally come loose, the dampness seeping through his vest. He doesn't pull away, doesn't make a show of it, his only acknowledgment lying in the way he runs his hand over your back, calming, protective.

"Just know I'll always hold you together when you fall apart.", he whispers next to your ear, the words spreading through you in a honey-like warmth.

"Hold you just like this"

[melmedardasworld]

So I edited this post a few times since what I wanted to convey just couldn't come out, and then I stumbled across this explanation.

And all of this!

To continue with my own thoughts.

I'm not sure where the takes of Mel is more than Jayce's girlfriend or being reduced to just being at a man's side is coming from that is being spouted.... Meljay shippers know this?

People are annoyed and confused to see what was set up from S1 until S2 Act 1 and the sudden a disconnect of how we got to know the relationship was handled and their final conversation. Most of us would've been fine (I know I would) with the breakup if it wasn't so off and lackluster.

It didn't feel like Mel and Jayce, granted they went through the trenches both physically and mentally, but that understanding is only being applied to Jayce in how he behaves. Mel is just a bystander and has to take it, and she was never like that. Or did her time trapped by the BR just make her numb to everything because she feels so much and hasawakenied as a Mage and empath? If so, the writers did shit to make it clear, and we have to fill in gaps and explanations with headcanons.

Most importantly, Mel only gave and gave to others (professionally, non proffesional, platonical, familial, etc) but got nothing of the sort in return.... not even a hug, a hand squeeze, a how are you nada. That apology she got was, again, so offstandish. I didn't expect Jayce to cry out or be a lovey dovey anything, but he was more heated to scold her a beat. Mel barely got a word out there, too, to explain her side. She doesn't even fully understand her powers...

Also, in regards to interactions, why didn't we see a moment between her and Caitlin? When her mother died, Mel told Jayce to go to her, and had she seen how Ambessa did what she did, Mel would've shut things down, too. But we couldn't see the two of them bond over having lost their mothers?

No one in Piltover was concerned with their influential councilor who went missing for weeks/months? It would've been nice had we seen her and Shoola as the last ones standing or talk about the future of Piltover and the convo moving to Mel returning to Noxus and leaving it in the people's/their hands, but not a lick.

We just see her board a ship because she now has the weight of the Medarda line (who she needs to build from the ground up while the Black Rose is still out there and likely has to deal with more politics in Noxus that is more on the violent side) on her shoulders to a country she's been exiled for who knows how long.

Mel is getting to terms with her powers, her legacy, but even with her mother, Kino, Elora and now going back to a country she was exiled from, AND having to lead a faceless army. WHERE IS HER COMFORT!?!?! Who does she have to share all of this with above one minute.

It also doesn't help that people (yes, shippers mostly cause one scroll on your page they barely talk about Mel outside of ship. Not even about the popular 'she has a larger storyline' takes. Just invalidate why Meljay doesn't and never would work or was always doomed takes in response to OG shippers sharing their grievances.

There is weird and fake trolling in the meljay/mel tag when the same people never had something to say about her/ any of her relationship up until the finale and the last few Meljay scenes.

But now everyone can supposedly yap as some fake intellectual and shade others' people being annoyed, sad, and disappointed in the WAY it was written to THEM for their ship.

Meljay shippers literally had to create a niche tag because the main ones are being spammed with bad take after take and where Mel/Meljay is undermined while claiming it is all in balance in the end. Is that not insane?

Please, miss me with that. It is irritating and condescending.

Shippers in fandom love love and just a relationship in general. This is nothing new so why all these bad fate takes? They are allowed to vent their frustration on how the story for their ship is handled. Most of the same shippers also have an analysis of the characters' they ship and larger storyline that was set. Act 3 plot lines were squeezed in such a way with so many minutes left. I am still of the opinion that we should've gotten either 3 or 6 more episodes to tie all the stuff together properly since the writers themselves decided to introduce all these storylines. There was just a disconnect and OOC behavior in Meljay that wasn't expanded upon in a better way imo.

[bawmbo]

hi, thank you. youve opened a can of worms that cannot be closed

killer is such an interesting character to me. i realized that im not actually too sure where to start but ill start with his timeline;

the idea of a character whose home was slowly destroyed for reasons outside of their control and beyond what they couldve ever thought was real is an incredibly interesting concept to me. i also love psychological horror and reality breaking type of things in relation to it.

to be transformed into something outside of the bounds of definition, and live with the consequences of that, of your loss of autonomy is terrifying. to be named under that total loss is horrifying. to know that everybody will only know your name and never what you went through to get there, that no one would even really care. not that you could get yourself to. theres so much potential with the idea of someone who wants to drain your world of everything for entertainment, and they can forcefully recode it, and they do not care about you because you are just a game character to them. and you are the only one aware of this. and when youre taken out of the timeline by a strange man who can also forcefully shift your control of your situation, everyone will only know you as just as bad as him. as a murderer with no reason. and every time you look at this man (nightmare) all you can feel is the same hatred you feel for yourself. you cant help but feel like youre the same. but this isnt about nightmare as much as i really do love him and writing his character (also super passionate about him)

i have a lot of problems in general with his fandom portrayal and the fact that we either see him as portrayed as either incredibly childish, dumb, very sexualized, etc. and its okay to want to write him how you want to write him, have fun, just not our cup of tea

to us, hes incredibly agile, quiet. hes eerie and incredibly smart and much more aware of whats going on than he lets on. he has lost all respect for anyone who claims theyre more powerful than him, and the way he taunts is by bringing them back to his level (or just doing things he knows pisses them off but not enough to get him killed for it. massive staring problem and wont elaborate on it). and while he can be flirty, where i understand the sexualization comes from.

i think i just crave more in depth characterization from him. how terrifying he is during battles, how he knows the knives he fights with better than the air he breathes and the placement of his feet just as much. how he could be using his magic but its difficult to fight him even without it. the absence of what he could be doing and the presence of how difficult what he is doing showing through. his disconnection from the world around him and how hard it is to realize that everything around you is just codes. that everything is malleable in the wrong hands and everyone lives their lives blissfully unaware of how quickly things can change. and how he could be deeply angry by this but never actually feel it well in his chest like he sees with others. he isnt indifferent, and at some point, somewhere he might express that care. but he cant. and this is it. and he doesnt know how to move on from that.

maybe when he gets close to people his relationships end up showing slow signs of trust. when he does trust people is he surprised if they leave? how scared is he to depend on anyone when no one was ever there to? maybe one day he finally learns to sleep with his chest or back exposed and around people. and his version of hanging out is going "hey i know a spot" and its a 50 minute walk through a closed off forest but its beautiful. and youll probably get some diseases, just gotta hope you dont. the next place is probably a feral cat colony hiding in the sewers hes been feeding and slowly gaining the trust of. hes weird.

in general i really do love complex characters and think about them a lot. and i love seeing how complex characters can be written. i love exploring the possibilities with him and i find that when we either write him or collab stories where we write characters interacting with him, we have a lot of fun and end up thinking about him a lot.

my friend @nullandvalid is a big killer enthusiast too and if you send him an ask you could probably get a big rant too. (also @thaltro. both him and null write killer super well imo. been incredibly fun to listen to them talk about how they write him and engage in writing stories with them) thank you for giving me time to yap about it, ill probably be thinking of more in the meantime but this is all i have atm fhahaha

another one for fun, pretty experimental. this one was one of those "draw regardless of whether or not you think it looks good" things. swore to myself the next utmv character i drew and posted was gonna be fell but here we are. gonna try to get used to posting things that i dont consider my best work. hi killer love you dude

[wickedslip]

I feel so disconnected from everything, I'm sorry. I don't even really know what to say but I think working on these tags and not on anything remotely productive has me feeling uncomplacent and just... like I am fading out. I think I am also battling a major depressive and dissociative phase and I'm --- ah. I feel like I am always posting something like this every week and I'm sorry to faithful mutuals that don't come on here to see this from me. I love you guys, I think I am going to finish these tags and go to bed. </3 Just feeling really low right now.

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP-what-on-earth-have-I-got-myself-into-here…

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Ash had had access to both of their files for a long while… the visible parts anyway. The extensive redactions? Not so much. Well… now his new GDF rank meant he could get past those too but he hadn’t dared. Partly because he wasn’t sure it was a can of worms he was ready to face. Not now he had Scott back after so long.

The other big reason he’d resisted was because they’d know. The decryption keys were personalised… they’d know both who and when. And three weeks into the new job was a little early to risk getting fired.

Or worse. Knowing them… probably worse.

Tonight though, hours of the puffed up, clueless idiots squabbling about the new outbreak had forced him to relive so many parts of his experience ten years before that the phantom pain was almost unbearable. He rubbed at his lower leg, trying to fool his mind into thinking he was comforting the missing arm, soothing the nerves that tormented him but that he could never reach.

Scott hadn’t lost anything visible. But Ash knew they’d stolen a no less crippling part of him too. He’d watched his friend from a distance, scratching at a a similar untouchable itch in so many subtle ways. How much of his friend’s confident, controlled outward demeanour was as synthetic as the fingertips Ash realised he was rapping against the desktop? He flattened his hand, grimacing at the supposedly-unnoticeable delay between thought and movement that had rewritten his future.

Ash knew what his friend had lost. And he couldn’t help feel responsible - he should have been there. He’d spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out how he could have prevented it all, if he’d spotted the clumsy sabotage as he should have, swapped with another jet… maybe he could have got there in time. Got him out.

Instead he’d just sat there shaking and bleeding and sobbing and helpless as first Scott and then Val’s radios had cut out. If Ash hadn’t passed out from the shock of his injury perhaps he could have got her out at least…

No. They’d got it right in her jet. She wouldn’t have known a thing.

EHZ007 was all over Scott’s file. And each time the reference was used, the following sections were blacked out. If he knew why, maybe he might get closer to finding out what had happened and why.

At the very least he might be able to reach out to his friend, to help him find closure. If he knew better what had occurred between that last desperate shout over the radio and the day that the gaunt face of his best friend had asked him to leave the ranch and never return.

It would look highly suspicious if the first Top-Secret graded file he accessed post-promotion was that of his old wingman. They were clueless in some ways, but not in all of them.

Giles, though. He looked at a lot of the TS material just for fun and bragging rights, if his boasting was to be believed. And this evening Ash had watched the man unlock his work phone with 1234. Someone that uncreative with passcodes might just have used the same one for everything…

Officer ID, rank code, personal pin, age in days. The man’s date of birth was on his Wikipedia page and so… Ash now had everything he needed.

Except the courage. He’d been staring at the encryption alert box for over an hour. His shoulder ached.

He disconnected his prosthetic and dumped it on the table before snatching up the scotch bottle and refilling his glass.

He typed in the number.

PASSCODE ERROR.

He swore and retyped it.

No! The man had clearly used another pin. Damn.

He drained the glass and dropped his head to the desk. It was probably just as well.

Out in the hallway his great grandmother’s clock chimed once.

It was later than he thought.

It was… tomorrow.

He sat up, cursing his own idiocy and typed the code again, increasing the last digit by one. The screen refreshed and the blacked out sections disappeared.

He was in.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[mulderscully]

has this election killed my whimsy for fandom forever or will this pass? though to say

[pcktknife]

IQ

[junotter]

All the jokes about Ken and horses are good but I just wanna say it's such a good parallel to how actual young men get swept into misogyny and the patriarchy.

Like they're told to believe it means men get to be cool and manly and have this power but with that comes extremely rigid commands of what they can be as a man and a cycle of self hatred for never matching those gender roles perfectly. Patriarchy tells men that if they just do exactly what is expected of them, then they get all the "cool stuff" that comes with. That doesn't work though when there's only a small group that actually gets that power, but men will keep trying to fit into those roles in hopes that they can.

In the end there are no horses or the myth men are told, it's just endless cycles of self hatred and ingroup fighting.

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i wish i had the powers to convince myself that my writing is interesting

[figofswords]

the post grad why did i get an art degree what am i even doing what do i want in life where am i going crisis has finally hit i want to. lie down in the dirt. or something