#i would not be able to give you a single coherent thought about these books

[iambecomeyourvillain]

there needs to be a support group for people who've been reading the zodiac academy

[gr1mstar]

Timeless lover

notes: i don’t know why but tumblr is just annoying. when i try to edit things they disappear and just… the algorithm is shit. i thought i’m shadowbanned but i don’t think so anymore. whatever, i hope things get better.

content: sukuna ryoman x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense? mentions of blood.

word count: 1.9k

i also have an official masterlist, so check it out here

also now we have a part 2 - here

all your life you felt a very strong sensation of deja vu that you could not explain. you tried meditation, yoga, different activities you thought you were never able to do - but the feeling was still there. so you had to live with it, even though it bugged you every day.

“remember me, because i will never stop searching for you.”

after you discovered you were a jujutsu sorcerer a few years back, you thought that all the things finally were in their place, but you were wrong. after you discovered the world of curses, you started having dreams.

"nightmares" you would tell other people when they asked, but for you, they were never nightmares. a nightmare was supposed to describe an ugly monster, someone evil with blood thirst, so why were you dreaming about a charming man with a beautiful smile and enchanting red eyes?

at first, these dreams were strange, short, and out of context, but then they started to take shape, lasting longer, and having a coherent narrative thread. but you still haven't managed to figure out who that man was. it was strange really, dreaming about someone you hadn’t even met before. you felt a connection with him, your heart telling you that you have to be close to him, but your mind was telling you to run.

you thought you were going crazy at some point. you remembered every single detail from every single dream, but deep down you enjoyed your little “nightmares”, because unconsciously you were waiting for your man with red eyes. you were waiting for him to come back to you, even though you never met him. 

they were different every time, the dreams. but one thing was the same in all of them. 

him.

the eyes that looked at you lovingly, his soft voice when he was speaking with you, a hand over your waist just to keep you close. you never knew his real name, always calling him nicknames and him calling you ‘princess’.

“kuna, come here!” you shouted, making a hand gesture at the man. he smiled when looking at you, making his way over. 

he took a seat beside you, under the cherry blossom tree. the spring season just started and the scenery looked breathtaking. blue clear sky, pink petals, and red, beautiful eyes.

“why are you here so early, princess? you were supposed to rest,” he stated, his hand making his way to your hand, playing with your delicate fingers. you could see he was concerned.

but why? you did not remember. that was the moment you woke up and that was all you recalled. but now, every time you saw a cherry blossom tree you thought about the sweet dream you had.

“kuna, you think we will be together forever?” you recalled telling him one day when the two of you were cuddling under the well-known tree. he was reading a book with one hand, the other playing with your hair.

“i’m sure, princess, that we will. i’ll make sure of that” was his reply, smiling sweetly at you.

“they don’t give me that much time, though.”

you were slowly dying, or better said, your dream version was. the few dreams you had about this were very sad and painful, a strong feeling of recognition being present in your gut. 

“when i’m no more, please take good care of yourself.” 

the dreams started being more unsettling, more dark, and very apathetic. you started taking pills just to be able to sleep a few hours a day, but after some time you stopped taking them, not working anymore.

and so when gojo satoru asked for your help regarding a cursed object, you agreed.

‘maybe working hard on this boring thing will make me sleepy enough.’ you thought on your way to tokyo, ready to help the handsome sorcerer who proposed the mission. it was not your cup of tea, but knowing him, he would never shut up about that and in the end, you would still help him.

“you remember the first time we met?” he asked, taking a small piece of your hair in his hands, and proceeding to kiss it a moment after. 

“you mean the time when you almost killed me?”

“fuck, you know i regret that princess.” he hissed, leaning forward to brush a flower petal that was stuck in your hair clip. “just pretend that was not the first time we met.” he continued, looking away.

you giggled softly, taking his big hands into your cold ones. it was summer now, but you were getting colder as the days went by. you lover was concerned, but he had enough hope that a miracle would happen and make you healthy again.

you never believed in hope.

“how can i do that, my love? that was the time i fell in love with you.” was your response, now your turn to kiss his knuckles. 

“i still find myself asking how such a wonderful person as you fell in love with a crazy and broken person like me.” the red-eyed stranger muttered, letting his head rest on yours.

“maybe because i’m too, crazy and broken.”

as you walked your way to jujutsu high, a school that took you under their wing to teach you how to control your power, memories started flowing inside of your head. unfortunately, you had to move right after graduating and never had the time to stay in touch with your childhood friends: shoko, satoru, and… suguru.

you felt bad for what happened because you weren’t there for them and chose to leave them behind when they needed someone to cry to. you would never forgive yourself for that.

“yo, [name]. long time no see.” a white hair shouted in your direction.

“indeed, gojo. i would say i missed your crackhead ass, but i would be lying,” you responded to your long friend, making your way to him to hug him. letting his infinity down, he took you into his arms, spinning you a few times,

“relentless as usual, it's good to know that you haven't changed at all” he added, putting your weight down back on the drown. “still having problems with sleep?”

“yeah. stopped taking the pills too, made the dreams worse.”

“tell shoko that, she started having the same problem.” was his response, but he continued, never letting you adventuring further into the conversation. “let’s go to yaga, i’m sure he is waiting for us. also, you need to meet megumi, he heard a lot about you.”

“i hope good things-” you asked, but seeing gojo’s face making a grin you let out an annoyed sigh, “satoru!”

“good things, very good things. the only thing i told him was that you were in love with sakura flowers.” he laughed.

“you look so funny, ‘kuna” you giggled, eyeing the handsome man in front of you.

“you and your damn flowers, my love. when did you have time for this?” ‘kuna asked, taking his flower crown from his head and putting it on his lap.

“last night. i thought about your pretty pinkish hair and how the sakura flowers would look through it.” was your answer, making your way to steal a kiss from him.

”i wish i could look at this every day and night.” you continued, looking at his frame with admiration and affection.

“be my wife” 

“what?”

“be my wife. fuck it, no. be my queen,” he repeated himself, placing the flower crown that stood on his lap onto your hair. he made you speechless. his what?

the high school was packed with kids, remembering you about your childhood before becoming a full-time sorcerer. you and megumi had the task to identify where the cursed object was and bring it back to the principal. simple as that, right?

“fucking hell, where the fuck is this thing?”

it was not simple. not at all. you spent almost all day looking for what? a finger? you regretted coming back to tokyo now. 

“cheer up. we will find it.” megumi comforted you, giving you a soft look. he was right, you just needed to look a bit more.

“i don’t want to die” you confessed, looking down at your bloody hands.

deadly. you had a deadly sickness. 

the cough you've had all your life suddenly got worse one day, and now, standing in your childhood bed full of blood you coughed up a few minutes ago, you could tell that it was not a pleasant sight at all.

you wanted your last moments to be at the cherry blossom tree, with your lover, watching over the moon at peace, not in your blood-covered bed surrounded by doctors and crying women.

‘please, god. give me strength to remain alive just enough to see my lover again. the beautiful man i fell in love with.” you prayed, closing your eyes and letting a tear glide down on your cold cheek. 

the situation was very fucked up, the curses were everywhere and you and megumi had no idea where the cursed object was anymore. 

earlier, you two met yuji itadori, a high school kid able to see curses, but now you did not know where he was either. you and megumi were separated and even though you searched for him you could find him anywhere. 

‘maybe the roof?” 

and so you got there, and oh man, you did not like the view. a gigantic, ugly-looking curse and yuji, in between his fingers. that was a moment your heart stopped for a minute, looking for megumi a few seconds later.

“megumi. where is the finger?”

“yuji. he has it” and at that moment, you saw something that you were never imagining to witness. 

yuji ate the fucking cursed finger.

“sukuna” your voice was low, almost like a whisper.

“princess. what in the world happened? how? i-”

“no. ‘kuna, let me say goodbye-” you wanted to tell him, but the red-eye man in front of you interrupted you harshly, taking your cold hand in his warm one, giving it a lovely squeeze.

“no. i’m not going to accept that. what goodbye, my princess? you would not die.” he started lying to himself, almost too afraid to accept the situation.

“it’s not something new, sukuna. i knew this would happen eventually… so i’m not surprised. but i wish, for one thing, my love. please, let me wish for just one thing.”

there was a silence. now, in the peace of the night with your lover, you were obligated to give your last breath, and so you wanted no regrets.

“i love you. i will always love you and i will be born again. i know it’s selfish for me to ask this, god please forgive me, but i wish to be selfish one time in my life.”

the moon was shining bright on the black sky, and the stars were screening for another sister, ready to give her a peaceful death.

 “sukuna… let me be your queen in my next life.”

looking now at the man in front of you, you could see a familiarity that yuji didn’t have before. yuji was yuji, but the yuji in front of you, even though he looked like himself, was not the high school boy you met earlier in the day.

red eyes. 

the red eyes looked at yours with a familiar feeling, as if he already knew your eyes and had already looked into them a million times by now. the same eyes ‘he’ looked at you on your deathbed.

“sukuna”

the pictures were taken from pinterest

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

[lanafofana]

Afforded A Chance

Day 2 of #HalsinTavWeek AND WE'RE BACK BABYYYYYYY Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Special Guest Appearance: Yenna! Summary: Tav realizes she wants something. Halsin is all too happy to provide. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tags: Smut, Porn with Feelings, BREEDING, PnV Sex, Quickie sex, Domestic Fluff, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For those of you who are so inclined. Note: Lots of talking and feelings and ooey gooey stuff in this one, fam.

Watching the cart disappear into the distance Tav reminds herself that this had always been the plan. 

Fifty children was an ambitious undertaking for anyone. While they loved each and every single one of their charges, Halsin and Tav had always known and agreed that for the majority of them, their home was but a stepping off point to get to the family they were destined for. 

Still, watching the infant she had cared for so deeply and for so long, being swept off into the proverbial sunset with her new mama and papa left an ache in her empty arms she couldn’t shake. She swallows roughly, wiping the tears from her face and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Walking back home Tav’s already tender heart feels a keen sting when she spies the newest couple to their little community. The wife is a sweet young thing, barely an adult herself but newly married and swollen with child already. She looks tired, waddling along with her hand on her belly, but healthy. Happy. Tav was happy. Is happy. Of course she is.

And yet.

Tav murmurs a greeting as the pair pass, stepping off the well trodden path to give them space to amble by. 

Fifty children they may have started out with but the numbers had dwindled significantly over the past year and now with sweet baby Marigold gone to a new home that put their occupancy at home down to a much more manageable ten. Manageable, some might say, but to Tav it felt like sand drifting through her fingers. 

The youngest was an ornery little tiefling boy, freshly five, and the oldest was just shy of sixteen with plans to seek an apprenticeship soon. Tav was not in any way dissatisfied with her life. She finally had a home and family to call all her own after so long without either. There was no way to describe the feeling she got from just being able to be present, nurturing them, and loving them. Her greatest joy and sense of purpose was deeply rooted in simply basking in watching her children grow with the love of her life at her side. It would be incredibly foolish to covet any more than what she had been provided with. 

And yet.

At home the house is quiet. The children spend every possible minute they’re allowed out in the forest during the day. Whiling away the hours of youth playing with Thaniel and Oliver till, exhausted and hungry, they reluctantly troop back to her. At any rate they’re not home yet and the house feels desolate. Yet another finger pressing on the bruise of Tav’s melancholy. 

When she finds her lover he’s in his study, sorting through his never ending pile of correspondence. Unlike her, he is conscientious about not letting a letter go unanswered too long and she is loath to steal away his time. 

And yet.

Halsin stands, grabbing a book off the shelf behind his desk before perusing the letter in his other hand once again. He seems to be puzzling out an answer to a specific question, his brow furrowed and his lips puckered in thought. The entire effect is so domestic it soothes some of the grief from before and lingering in the doorway Tav takes a breath, gathering her courage. 

“I want to have a baby.” 

The book in Halsin’s hand promptly drops to the floor. He stares at Tav in surprise, mind completely wiped clean of all coherent thought.  

“With you,” she amends when he remains silent. 

The expression of surprise slips into something gentle and soft. “Is this about Marigold?” He frowns, picking up the book to put it on his desk and shakes his head with a shine of regret in his eyes. “I should have gone with you. I’m sorry, my heart. That parting was destined to be perhaps the most difficult of them all. I know how deeply you loved her especially.” 

Tav crosses the room and takes one of his large hands in hers. “I am sad she is gone but I am also happy she is where she is meant to be. They will love her well. I,” she swallows. “I know the timing of this might seem odd. But it’s not just because of Marigold my mind has turned to…to this.” 

“To having a baby,” Halsin clarifies, his tone strange.  

“Yeah,” Tav avoids his eyes while she struggles to translate her errant feelings into words.

Her thumbs stroke the warmth of his hand in hers absently. It never ceases to amaze her that to simply feel his skin against hers, chaste or otherwise, had become an anchor for her. When the storm of her thoughts threatens to unmoor her she merely has to turn into his embrace, and she is put at ease. 

“Some might reconsider the toils and labors of bringing new life into the world when their home is already bursting with shoots and sprouts aplenty.” 

Tav smiles and brings his hand to her face, brushing her lips across his knuckles. “When have we ever shied away from toils and labors? Or balked at adding fresh life to a garden well tended? With these hands to hold me and lend me their unerring counsel and strength, I know we can do anything. I want this…with you… if you do.” She sobered as another thought occurred to her. “But we walk this path together. If you do not–” 

“Oh but I do,” he growls, hands finding purchase on her hips as he crowds into her space. “I very much do.”

The kiss is sudden and fierce; a tangle of tongues and teeth that steals her breath. Hands cupping her ass he lifts her, directing her legs around his hips. When they part for breath, Tav stares at him in wonderment.

“I honestly wasn’t sure,” she admits with a tiny huff of laughter. Tav scans his face, taking in his barely restrained hunger, the raw desire in his eyes. “You really want this, don’t you?” 

The hazel of his eyes is dark, his jaw tight. “Yes.” He presses his face to hers gently, breathing deeply to quell the rising tide of his lust. “Before the Absolute I wondered if I would ever get to experience the joys of having a family again. I hardly dared to imagine a future with children. And then came you,” he pauses, a breath shuddering through his chest, “and that dream was realized in more ways than I could’ve ever hoped.” 

With one hand Tav threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and with the other she caresses his cheek. Despite the grip he has on her, the evidence of his tightly reigned in passion, the moment feels fragile. When he opens his eyes the depth of emotion there tugs at her heart. 

“When I told you of my hopes and dreams of achieving some measure of balance you supported me.” He punctuates the statement with a chaste kiss to her cheek. “When I found my new purpose here, in this place, far away from everything and everyone you know you didn’t even hesitate to abandon a life of ease in a city that was ready to celebrate you in every way you deserve.” He presses a lingering kiss to her temple. “When you followed me into the wilderness with,” he huffs a laugh, “so many children I began to worry, wondering what I could have possibly done to be worthy of such a person. It was too much. You don’t know what you’ve given me. You cannot possibly know.” 

Halsin turns and sets her down on the edge of his desk, placing his hands flat on the surface on either side of her legs and leans in to steal another, longer kiss.  

“I told you once that I wanted more than to be your companion, your ally, your friend. I wanted to share in your heart and your body. And instead you rewrote my entire life with your name across my very soul. Asking for nothing more than the privilege of being at my side. You don’t seem to know the privilege has always been mine.” It’s Halsin’s turn to cup her face, tracing the branch of scarring that trails down her neck. “I am undone by you.”  

Tav’s eyes burn. 

“I had not let myself even entertain the idea of more. But I know your heart as well as you know mine so let me at last extinguish that ember of doubt in your eyes. Yes. I want this. How could I not? To know that you, who carry my entire heart in your hands, wish to carry my seed and with your body nurture our child.” 

The druid’s eyes flash and Tav feels like she’s stopped breathing. Every nerve ending feels raw and buzzing with anticipation. He’s so gentle and easy going it’s easy sometimes to forget how his gaze can pierce through her. The sound of her thudding heart is so loud she wonders if it’s the wind shaking their home in the trees or the tempest of his love threatening to unmake the world. Halsin’s thumb wipes a tear from her face she had not been aware she had shed. 

“We walk this path together as one. Our hearts beat in sync.” The next kiss is hot, barely restrained passion. When he pulls away their breathing is equally unsteady. “Now let our bodies move in sync also.” 

Halsin grips her hips hard and yanks her body towards himself, to the edge of the desk before claiming her mouth again. Breaking the kiss he zeros in on the spot between her ear and neck, pulling a needy moan so soft and sweet from her parted lips that something primal rumbles out from his chest in response. 

He slides a hand in her hair, fingers brushing her scalp before he fists his hand and tugs her head back eliciting a gasp. Greedily he leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, his excitement only fanned by the way she trembles under his touch. 

Tav feels hot from the apples of her cheeks to the tips of each finger and toe. She tugs the loose shirt he’s wearing from the band of his pants but only gets a moment to trace the blazing skin beneath before Halsin is tearing himself away to rip it off.

Her dress is next; he picks her up like she weighs nothing and divests her of the simple frock, the fabric fluttering to the floor while he tugs at the lacing of her stays. He peels the soft underclothes from her body like a child unwrapping their first gift. With great joy, expectation, and–by the telltale popping of a few stitches–a little reckless violence. 

Not bothering to smother the laugh that bubbles up at his slightly contrite expression, Tav slips her fingers through the belt at his waist and tugs him closer with a smile. “I’ll need new ones anyway,” she points out with a sly look in her eyes. “When I’m enormous with your fat babies.”

Halsin’s hand drifts to her belly, hovering over the place where her empty womb waits for his seed to catch and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I can hardly wait.” 

“Then less waiting, my love,” she casts a meaningful look to the window where the late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, ”unless you want to give the children a first hand demonstration in reproduction.” 

Halsin grins with mischief but takes her point and pushes his trousers down, freeing his already leaking cock. Despite the aching hunger burning under his skin– the primitive need to fuck, to claim, to breed her till she’s screaming– his touch is soft when he takes her hands and tugs her into his embrace. 

He runs his hands from her shoulders down her arms, to her chest to knead the soft flesh of her breasts. Were he afforded more time he would worship every inch of her soft curves, each freckle, every scar. Alas, time is a luxury for those couples without a full brood vying for attention and the beast within gnaws at his control with teeth and claws. 

He spins her around and presses her torso to the desk, nostrils flaring at the scent of her open cunt, already wet with arousal. She widens her legs eagerly, pressing back into his touch and though he’s had her innumerable times in the same position, it’s only this time, for the first time in a very long time, he feels his tenuous control flicker in and out of his grasp. 

“This will not be gentle,” he thinks to warn her but the look she gives him over her shoulder is anything but meek. 

“Stop talking, papa bear, and fuck a baby into me.” 

Lining up to her wet slit he sinks home with a groan that’s more beast than man. Tav’s head drops back with an answering guttural exhalation. A hand on each generous hip he sets a punishing pace, the sharp snap of his hips, the wet hot suction of her pussy consuming him. His lover mewls a needy whine that snaps his threadbare control and he falls forward with one hand on the desk the other on her neck, pressing her face to the desk and he snarls. 

Pressing into his touch Tav’s trembling voice whimpers and keens, begging for his seed, his body, his child. His rough hands and nearly violent display of ardor has reduced her to a quivering mess of desire. Each thrust of his body into hers, has her gasping, arching, desperate for more, teetering on the precipice release. 

He licks at the sweat on her back and with teeth just slightly too sharp he bites the soft flesh of her shoulder. She cries out, dragging her nails across the surface of his desk, and so he does it again, lapping at the red mark in satisfaction. Removing the hand at her neck he reaches around to palm her breast, raising the top half of her body just enough to set his teeth at the nape of her neck. 

The prick of sharp canines does it for her and she jerks with the release of her orgasm, crying out with a curse and a howl. At the height of her rapture her scent changes and Halsin’s grip on her neck with his teeth tightens in tandem with his balls. As she comes down from her high, the walls of her body spasming around his erection, Halsin slams into her with one final thrust. Face pressed to the sweat slick heat of her body he groans his release at last, filling her up with thick hot cords of his cum.

With great affection Halsin nuzzles her skin mindlessly in the afterglow while Tav lays boneless beneath him, her expression incandescently satiated.

They stay like that for a moment, catching their breath. Conjoined by their sex and luxuriating the culmination of their bliss. 

Until a familiar voice pipes up with intense curiosity, “But what are they doing in there?” 

“Making babies,” answers a disgusted teenager, her footsteps stomping down the hallway past the office door.

Tav and Halsin share a look before bursting into laughter. 

“Daddy Halsin?” Says their youngest, sounding as if he’s talking with his face pressed against the door. “Can I come in and see the babies?” 

“Not just now, my love,” answers Tav with a nearly hysterical edge to her voice. 

“Just a moment,” says Halsin in the same breath and catching each other’s eye, still high off their quickie, they nearly collapse into giggles all over again.  

They scramble for their clothes, wary of the unlocked door but both snickering so much Halsin has his pants on inside out and Tav is wearing his shirt when another voice drifts in.  

“Come on, Ermir,” says Yenna with a no nonsense tone. “They’ll be out soon. Babies take ages to bake.” 

“Bake?” 

“Yeah. Like in Momma Tav’s tummy.” 

“Wow,” whispers Ermir. “How does it get in there?” 

“Ummmm,” says Yenna, stumped. “I think a bird brings it?” 

“Ohhhh.” 

Their footsteps fade deeper into the house. 

Tav, hands on her hips with cum dripping down her leg gives Halsin a shrewd look. “It’s your turn for The Talk, I already had my turn with the older ones.” 

Halsin grins and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder and swatting her ass. “Anything you say, my heart. But first we should make sure the oven is well stuffed, don’t you?” 

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

I don't know if you already answered this so feel free to ignore.

What is your thoughts on Yu Ziyuan? am I the only one that thinks fandon defence of her saying she is just the typical Asian tiger mom is insulting to Asian mothers? You can be strict and not be abusive and guess what? YZ is not it.

Hell the author themselves made an entire chapter to say that she took things too far too often against a single person to be simple discipline towards a disciple. It was personal and she took great pleasure in it, just bc WY decides to stay despite his treatment doesn't make it any less horrible.

Am i the only one that thinks she only accepted WC orders to whip WY because she always took any chance to do so? That if Wang Lingjao hadn't mentioned she would have to be subservient to someone of lower class she would have gleefully cut off WYs hand and not reacted at all to the Wen invasion?

That in her last moments she made sure to remind WY one last time that he would be nothing but a servant to her, to tie him with a last wish so he would have the moral obligation to give up everything to JC like a proper servant should? I wholly believe part of her sudden tenderness to JC in her last goodbye was to also rub in WY face not only what he never had but what JC was losing just to rub salt in the wound.

Just, in what universe does people see a girlboss misunderstood by the world and its sexism? sometimes i think i read the wrong books or saw a different show... am i really the only one that sees this?

Good evening anon, I've been sitting on this a bit as I was weighing how exactly to answer this coherently. So, for the short answer; I do not like her as a character nor is she supposed to be seen as anything deeper than what she is. A terrible mother and person who let resentment rule her.

The Long Answer: She is not misunderstood, she is very easy to break down. She was a jealous youth who actively agreed to a marriage where the fiancé was already lukewarm to her disposition and continued to cast blame on Cangse Sanren stealing something she never had. Note as well, as she was the one to force a marriage and insisted on this even after Cangse Sanren had married Wei Changze. She is selfish and entitled. This carries over to how she treats her children, she is not happy with her own self, so she hyper focused on the flaws she instilled within Jiang Cheng. Instead of actually supporting him as a mother should, she insults him and instead of love she actively despises and insults her own child. This is not a healthy parental figure. She was hardly there enough obviously to even think of offering care and love in a very negligent household. She laughs instead when Wei Wuxian is brought in she is more concerned about being proven right about adding another child into the household will disrupt their already volatile dislike of each other.

Not once does she praise her children she fixates on despising Wei Wuxian and being annoyed he is able to be talented naturally so much she constantly pits her son against him herself and encourages that resentment to grow in him. She does not care about anything other than her own festering hate, and sure as hell never nurtured her own with love. She is miserable, pathetic and no whatever love she may have held for Jiang Cheng was toxic and all the worse to him as she never uplifted him as an actual loving parent should.

Her treatment of Wei Wuxian is certainly just as vile given he wasn't even her own yet she stayed forever jealous all over her own stories that exasperated her own hate for Cangse Sanren and superimposed that to Wei Wuxian. She has no excuse for her treatment of any of the children under her household. Hate is a sad way to live and end life, and it stops being sympathetic when she lived and died garnering the feelings and reactions she earned with it.

[gffa]

Oh my word, thank you for such a lovely, detailed reply to my ask about comics???? I was expecting to be redirected to some links or blogs, which is ofc great too, but thanks so much for taking the time to type out and formulate all that for me?? I’ve never actually read a comic before so your first paragraph was a bit mind blowing (I had no idea comics worked like that, I thought each comic was like a chapter in the same book ahaha). I also had NO idea about the different eras but it already makes so much of what I’ve seen from the fandom make so much more sense, so thank you for that! (It’s reminds me, like, where people in history never bothered to write down stuff they thought was obvious bc it was obvious to them and then people came along and went ???, so following with this metaphor, thank you for making me “???” lol)

Anyways, sorry, super rambly ask, but thank you so much for taking the time and effort to reply so succinctly and also thoroughly, and also explaining what pieces of media are significant and why so… like seriously, that was so nice of you and I’m??? Ajahwjehrh??? Thank you sssm, once my exams are over I’m definitely gonna have a new media obsession :)

Aww, you're very welcome! I'm glad that I could help ease the way for you! As someone who started with Batman: The Animated Series and Batman Beyond as my first real understanding of these characters (cultural osmosis doesn't count!), it was kind of a hard leap into comics, trying to understand how all of this fit together. To be fair, I don't want to give the impression that there's no coherency in comics from one author to another--it's very clear that a lot of authors are big fans of other authors' runs or they're building on stuff that came before their own run, but I emphasize the lack of consistency between authors because you absolutely cannot rely on that consistency being there, even if it often happens. You cannot pick up a comic from 20 years ago and expect the story to be exactly the same, because it's constantly being retold--authors want to be able to tell flashback stories at multiple points in the timeline, like take Dick Grayson, that "Robin & Batman" series I recommended is a retelling of their early days, of how Dick came up with the Robin costume, and it changes things (like gave him pants this time around, which I'm fine with) and I love that we can get retellings, because now I get to choose if I want to read that one or one of the older ones! We get a lot of really fun new stories able to be told, updated versions that weren't written back in the 1940s with different social norms, and I think that helps keep the comics fresh and interesting! And you're not wrong that some comics are like a different chapter in a single book! That's what Star Wars comics are aiming to be (well, within their own three distinct continuities) or what a lot of non-mainline DC/Marvel comics are like. It's just the main shared world superhero comics are a constantly shifting landscape! (To be fair to fandom not talking about a lot of this, it's also because the different eras are HELLA complicated to talk about if you haven't been reading comics regularly and broadly for 20+ years, like I had a solid grip on things until I left, and now I've been back for five months and I'm STILL fuzzy on just what Dawn of DC even is. It's hard to talk about stuff when you have a fuzzy idea of something, enough to pick up a comic and read, but can't explain high level detail in a post that would take you an hour just to write out all the weird little connections that lead up to an event!) But also thank you for letting me know your level of familiarity with cultural osmosis and what you're interested in getting into! Often times it's hard to know, "Okay, do I have to explain the different Robins or has cultural osmosis taught you enough that we can skip straight to the finer details?" because I love writing out broader views of the characters, but I don't want to patronize someone who is just looking for recs for starting places when making the jump to comics! I want to drag you guys in, but sometimes that requires tailoring things a bit more to where a given person is at/how much they know/what they're specifically intrigued by! Give me more info and I won't shut up in trying to reel you in. :D

[lady-green-sleeves]

Since I don’t want to be another broken record talking about how b&c wasn’t the same as the books, instead I’m gonna give my husbands thoughts on it as someone who’s never read the books and doesn’t know what’s gonna happen.

So first off he was confused by the motivations of the characters, not being able to tell if blood & cheese were only in it for money ,or if they also felt some sense of loyalty to Daemon/Rhaenyra/team black.

He was also confused if Haelena knew what was gonna happen like exactly or just a vague unclear idea of what might happen, so far it seems she kinda knows what’s gonna go down. He felt like that along with her just offering only a single necklace made it feel like she had excepted her sons fate and that’s why she didn’t offer more jewelry or money or anything, or why she didn’t beg them to spare her children.

The comment about giving up the kings heir made him feel like Haelena didn’t even like her son bc she saw him as an extension of his father who she clearly has a bad or at least strained relationship with. He also didn’t feel like the whole ‘which ones the boy’ thing made a ton of sense like they easily could have “checked” off camera but instead they make her pick and then still almost go to kill Jaehaera (which ik is supposed to be a Lowkey callback to the book but it’s not well done) instead bc they think she’s lying. But also at the end of the day doubtfully anyone on team black would be able to tell the difference between one head vs the other and if they were wrong by the time the news was out that it was the princess and not the prince b&c could have been long gone with their money (going back to what exactly are their motivations)

Which I do honestly agree with, it’s hard to tell the exact motivations of the characters there must be more than one necklace in that room, it does seem like Haelena had already excepted that Jaehaerys would die. But as someone who has read the book I can see them maybe using her relative ease in giving up jaeherace as the guilt that eventually drives to her suicide instead of it being her picking between her sons.

We both also agreed that the AliCole sex scene Haelena walks in on after is so unnecessary and seems only for extra like shock value. We thought they were gonna keep the relationship between those two more psychosexual than actually sexual so having multiple sex scenes with them kinda dulls the ship down for us (I liked that alicent was followed around by a bunch of freaky men who would do anything for her but she still won’t have sex with them).

I’m not upset that they didn’t follow the book for this scene, they haven’t been following the book that closely since the beginning. I’m upset that they’re trying to tell their own story while also trying to take parts from the book and it’s not working. They just need to pick one story and stick with it. The whole ‘pick one’ scenario doesn’t really work in the context of the story you’ve written so then write something that does. Or make Daemons offer different so the picking makes more sense, so many changes (some relatively minor) could have been made to make the story more coherent and none were taken. It’s one of the most impactful moments in the book imo and they managed to make it confusing along with some cheap gore sounds and unnecessary sex scenes.

The thing that saved the scene imo was Phia’s facial acting you could really see the total horror and helplessness written across her face. Emma and Phoebe also ate up and left no crumbs during their scenes at Luke’s funeral, their grief is portrayed so nicely. I absolutely can’t wait to see more of Phoebe/Rhaena this season, her face card never declined even at a funeral. These three women got barely any screen time but they still managed to save the episode with their grade A expressions and acting.

Some unrelated things I liked about the episode was the little Daeneys the dreamer lore drop (which I absolutely didn’t notice till I saw someone mention it on here) that if confirmed to be true is honestly so cool and could have some fun even if ultimately unimportant plot implications. The costumes seem to be better so far we’re only one episode in but still imo they’re already better than majority of S1E1 outfits. Who was the random north boy in the beginning and why did he look so much like season one Jace, pretty sure it was the same bad wig and all. The writers kinda did the Velaryon/Strong boys dirty with that one lmao they are def not letting them beat the bastard allegations.

Sorry this is so long is you made it to the end thanks for coming to my TED talk and if I said something blatantly wrong feel free to destroy my media literacy in the comments💕

[cainluvr69]

Let Me Tell You The Story Of A Rainbow - Chapter 21

Previous Chapter

Lennox: I think that you getting more used to doing first aid in the field would be a better idea. That way we'll be able to rely on you in an emergency, or if we're all busy doing other things that are equally important.

Mitile: Leno, Dr. Figaro… …Okay. You can leave it to me!

Figaro: Yep, you got this. Save this poor dear from its weary exhaustion. First, focus on your breathing and even it out. Then recite your spell.

Mitile: Alright…!

Mitile closed his eyes and took a single deep breath.

Mitile: <Ortonik Sealsispilce>

He recited his spell, still a bit nervous about it all, and a faint light wrapped itself around the spirit. It slowly started to perk up again, and once it looked like it was feeling all better, it promptly burst into tears.

Mitile: Huh?! Oh no, do you hurt anywhere?

The spirit looked up at Mitile, almost acting shy about it, and picked up a thin twig that had fallen nearby. And then it began to scratch lines and curves into the tree--it was writing something.

Lennox: Are these letters…?

Mitile: "…I decided the piece of her memories was something precious, so I brought it back here and hid it."

Lennox: "But this is something that's important to more than just me. It's one of Luca's precious treasures, too…"

Figaro: "I know I need to give it back to her, but what if she finds out that I lost track of it and decides she hates me for it…"

Mitile: "So I thought about what to do, and worried about what to do, and worried and worried and worried until…I wasn't able to move anymore."

The little leaf spirit bowed its head apologetically.

Figaro: Oh, I thought so… You're not actually an herbula, are you?

Mitile: What, it isn't?!

Figaro: An herbula wouldn't be able to write so many words, or so coherently. I know we're inside of a work of fiction right now, but if it were actually imitating real life, things should work roughly the same way as outside.

Lennox: But the creatures in this world are ones that Luca has seen herself and then drawn into her books, aren't they? So why would "her" spirits know how to write…?

Figaro: I doubt she's limiting herself to just what she sees. Surely she's injecting some of her own artistic flair, just like any true auteur. This little guy might be based on herbulae, but we can't discount how Luca's wellspring of creativity colors everything around us--this spirit included. She could, for instance, be unconsciously utilizing her dreams and personal desires when she creates her books, or writing about multiple different species as if they were one in the same.

Mitile: Multiple different species…

But their discussion was interrupted by a green pearl rolling out from under the little spirit's feet. It rushed to pick it up, as it bent forward, more things fell from its hands and scattered over the floor--I don't know where it was hiding them, because what it had dropped were… Hard candies with absolutely adorable wrappers.

Figaro: Hey, you okay?

Lennox: I see. They really are very talented at dropping things. Here, let me help you gather those back up.

The little spirit looked up at my wizards, tears in the corners of its amber eyes. The beautiful color of a clear sunset sky.

Mitile: This lil' guy…reminds me a bit of Mister Aslan.

Figaro: Aslan? Really? Was he actually a total klutz like this?

Mitile: Oh, n-no! That wasn't what I meant…

Lennox: Oh, that's right. You did meet him several times over the course of the event, didn't you?

Mitile: Yes, I did. We saw each other pretty frequently in the exhibition hall. And this spirit's eyes are the same color as his, and it sorta…has the same air to it that he does…

Figaro: …Well, if you say so.

Figaro knelt down and picked up the green pearl, smiling softly.

Figaro: I understand exactly how precious this is to you.

Lennox: You lost it because of how important it is.

Figaro: Here you are, your precious lost treasure.

Figaro placed the green pearl back in the spirit's hand. As he straightened up, he turned his gaze outside the knothole, and continued speaking.

Figaro: It must've been a real trial to throw so many of your treasures outside into the grass. Tough on the body, certainly, but tough on the heart as well. And yet you still emptied this place of your hard-collected treasures. Why is that?

The spirit was still looking down. Lennox knelt down next to it, his gaze still focused on the little guy, and answered in its place.

Lennox: Wouldn't that be because it had found something even more precious than all of them combined? Something so precious that it couldn't possibly let itself inadvertently drop it and lose it in the forest. That's why it cleared out this whole knothole, for just one thing. …You were trying to protect this piece of Luca's memories, weren't you? Please let me thank you on her behalf. Thank you so much.

The spirit just stood there, taking all of Lennox's words in, ever more tears overflowing from its eyes and rolling down to the floor. But worry not. There was a small hand waiting to wipe those tears away.

Mitile: Oh, please don't cry anymore. You see, we…we want to return your dear friend's memories to her.

The spirit looked up into Mitile's eyes--as clear and pure as the summer sky--and after a moment, it held the green pearl out to him.

Mitile: …Are you sure?

The little spirit nodded enthusiastically, so Mitile accepted the pearl, treating it with the same care that the spirit had.

Figaro: Well done.

Lennox: Rutile'd give you a gold star.

Mitile: Ehehe, thanks!

Figaro smiled gently at Mitile, and then took the green pearl from his hands. And as he did, the pearl began to glow…and then radiate blindingly with light.

✦✧☾✧✦

After escaping the monastery and then being chased through the forest by humans, Luca's life was about to change completely--and it did. For there was a young man who took her into his care, hiding the wandering girl from the cruelties of the world. I saw her crouching down in a forest filled with sunlight, holding one hand out. She'd gotten bigger. Her hair was washed; her clothes were clean. She'd undergone a complete transformation from the girl she'd once been. And beyond her extended hand was a little leaf spirit.

Luca: Lu…ca… That's my name. "Roxy" is spelled like…this. I…I think this is how to write Teddy…

Luca was writing with a new, proper pen, her sheaf of papers still in hand. Her letters were clumsy and awkward, but she persevered. The little spirit was watching her every movement with obvious interest, dancing around her letters so it could take in every angle.

Luca: He taught me how to write. And he said that if I write a story to go with my art, I could turn it into a picture book. If you could write too, we could write stories together…

???: …Oh, Luca. Here's where you were.

Luca: …!

Someone pushed through the bushes, approaching them. That someone had glossy golden hair that seemed to be full of light, catching the radiance of the afternoon sun that shone through the forest canopy. It was Aslan, though he looked a bit younger than he did now.

Aslan: Are you talking to one of your friends?

Luca: …Yeah…

Aslan: Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I bought some nice candy for you, so I was looking for you so I could give it to you. Do you want to try one? It's milk and honey flavor…wahh?!

Aslan's foot suddenly caught on the root of a tree, and he stumbled forward. The candy bag in his hand flew through the air, spilling its contents over the forest floor.

Aslan: Ahh…

Luca: …Hehe.

Aslan was staring at the fallen candy in a daze. Luca giggled at the sight. And then she gasped, covering her mouth. But when Aslan crouched down and picked one of fallen candies up, their eyes meeting as he held it out to her, looking embarrassed, Luca got a bit bashful again. After Aslan took his leave, Luca gave one of the two candies she'd gotten to the spirit. She murmured something under her breath.

Luca: …Aslan's weird. He doesn't bully me at all. Instead he shows me lots of…pretty artworks…? And he took me into the city to buy sweets the other day, too. He knows lots and lots of things I don't… And…you and he are kind of similar, Teddy. You're both so careful, but you can get careless, too. Your eyes are the same color, too. They're the same color as the sunset I saw that day… It's so pretty… It's my favorite color.

✦✧☾✧✦

I held the five pearls my wizards had searched for in the palm of my hand.

Akira: These are all the pieces of Luca's memory…!

Shino: We finally got 'em all!

Akira: Yeah. And if we add the pink one, that's all six!

Shino was working together with Arthur on broomstick, acting as bait for the ever-growing vines to follow so as to keep them in check, and I saw both of them heave a sigh of relief. When each team had retrieved a pearl, the memories within had flowed into my mind. I imagine each and every wizard here had the same thing occur. We'd all seen Luca's memories of her friends. I held the pearls and the fond but painful memories locked within them with care.

Murr: Master Saaaage!

Murr had the unconscious Aslan on his broom, but he jumped up and down like a bunny as he approached. He hooked his foot around his broomstick and flipped upside down, and Aslan dropped down next to me with a thud.

Akira: Ahh, don't be so rough…!

Murr: And Murr makes a beautiful pass, sending Aslan to the Sage! Hey, the weird leaves that were going crazy over there have all chilled out. Looks like things calmed down a little over here too? Maybe they're tired of chasing us around.

Mithra: Siiigh. There's no end to them.

Mithra was at my side, repelling the vines that Arthur and the others couldn't stop, peering into the crystal ball.

Mithra: What shall we do? Shall I open a door and gather everyone up?

Murr: Sounds nice 'n quick! But if you do that, won't this whole world fall to pieces? Spatial teleportation is pret-ty advanced, and you're just really strong as it is, Mithra. Who knows how much you'll mess with this world's framework!

Mithra: Does it really matter that much? If it falls apart, then it falls apart, but my doors will still connect where they need to go. Isn't that what matters?

Murr: Ahaha. Well, as long as you get everyone in time!

Akira: W-wait a second, please. What we should be focusing on right now is giving Luca the pieces of her memories…

Rutile: Master Sage…thank goodness. I'm glad we got them all safe and sound!

Rutile was desperately using his magic to stop the flowers that threatened to consume Luca whole. Rivulets of sweat glistened on his brow.

Rutile: Please! Please, give them to her as soon as you can…

Akira: Of course!

With Rutile and the others watching over me, I began to approach Luca with the pearls in hand, but… At the same moment, the flowers cocooned around her began to squirm and writhe over her--it was as if they were trying to devour her.

Akira: …?!

Arthur: Master Sage!

Arthur immediately swooped down atop his broom and grabbed my hand, tugging me into the air.

Next Chapter

[gasha40k]

Currently a massive heatwave in my city and it’s slowly boiling me to death in my apartment like an unaware frog, so I decided it’d be a good time to distract myself by getting some tertiary work done on some lads.

From left to right: Kardon the Eternal, Lord Akselos, and some unnamed guy with a big ass axe

Starting with the most boring stuff, my World Eaters character goon squad is all primed and ready to be painted. Once I’m done assembling this army I’m gonna paint these three guys first because they’re the coolest, by far. I’m still mad proud of Akselos’ model and I’m super excited to see how he’ll look on the tabletop when he’s all shiny and colorful.

Epic unusable Chaos model, thank you GW

Speaking of painting World Eaters, here’s a CSM Legionarie that I whipped up a while back as a color test for my World Eaters army. The whole goal with my Khorne fellas is to keep them as default as possible, so the color scheme is very simple and coherent.

On this particular mini, I wanted to maximize my usage of Mephiston Red, which is exemplified most particularly on the rocket launcher, which I’d usually paint with Abaddon Black. I think that it being red, though, gives it a sort of retro feel, which I quite like. This may be one of the better single minis I’ve made, as well. No highlights or anything, but some decent, clean coloring, and a lot of Agrax Earthshade.

I have, however, been doing some highlighting on Lieutenant Sadrian’s model. I’ve also been cleaning him up periodically, coloring over little mistakes and trying to make his model really pop. He’s almost definitely the centerpiece of my Thunderbearers army now.

Check out how regal and leaderly he looks amongst his men. What a tactician!

Sadrian is one of the few models that I haven’t repainted in Skavenblight Dinge, alongside Big Harold, the Venerable Dreadnought that I’ve had since I started the hobby. They’ve both more than earned their stripes on the tabletop, having been in nearly every game I’ve played in the last two or so years, and I figured their paint jobs were pretty serviceable, so a repaint would be unnecessary.

While Sadrian is an elite taxtician that routinely exercises unmatched intellect and complex battlefield knowledge, he is also a by-the-books, reliable warrior and a ruthless marksman, hence the simplicity of the inscription upon his trusty bolt rifle

But to make him stand out more as an HQ, I added some minor highlights to his armor, particularly on his arms and helmet. I also highlighted much of his gun and did some detailing on the purity seals and red tassels. I’m very satisfied with the inscription on his gun. It’s crazy to me that I was able to write a word that small and, uh, have it be actually legible.

Every single painted Astartes model that I own. For context I have nearly 3k points of these fuckers and only 10 finished minis

I’ve painted a good handful of Thunderbearers Intercessors since my last post. Nearly a full 10-man squad, now. Sadrian definitely stands out, and I think that, when contrasted with the leagues of men that he commands, eyes are naturally drawn to him. I’ll never get over how satisfying seeing a cohesively painted army is to my weird brain.

I am so fucking in love with this model and I do not know why, although I figure it’s got something to do with its appearance in Dawn of War

In other news, I’ve got one of these disgusting classic Daemon Princes coming in the mail. GW recently did a made-to-order run of this model, and I’ve been trying to hunt an inexpensive one down for actual months. He’ll be a staple of my WE army whenever I get my hands on him, although I am kind of terrified as painting it.

I’ve just about run out of image slots on tumblr, so I’ll post a bit more about my Crusade (and some thoughts on 10th edition) next post.

[galaxyofhair]

There is no Zelda Timeline

So, first of all--I get it, sort of a spicy way to start off the post but give me some time to explain what I mean:

I recently started seeing some lore videos pop up for TOTK, and I am enjoying them so far as they concern the events specific to TOTK and BOTW--but inevitably there are more and more videos beginning to theorize how TOTK impacts and fits into the larger Zelda Timeline published in the Hyrule Historia

So I used to write articles about Legend of Zelda that explored all of the different important themes and the philosophy behind it’s design in preparation for what was essentially a super-powered fanfiction sequel idea that I had. I had planned to write out my idea and then present it to the world on this gaming journalism site I was writing for.

Without getting too far into the details of that great hubris which has cursed my life--one of the things that I learned from researching the development of LoZ is this: 

So like, you know how every game in the Zelda series, with a few exceptions, feels largely disconnected from every other game? I assume we all do because it’s like, one of the main struggles of the series for the fans is the collective cognitive dissonance we all share as we try to cobble these games together into a single continuity. We WANT--and I do mean WE, myself included--to believe that these stories can all exist together to create a larger, more interesting connective narrative.

The alternative sucks too, but it’s been a long time since I’ve heard somebody put actual words to this rather than dancing around it: The alternative is that every new game of a new style is disconnected, and we really just let Nintendo reboot this series like 10 different times like it’s fucking Final Fantasy.

Aonuma has said a bunch of similar, but somewhat contradictory things on the subject. In an interview in 2017 he said,

“We published a book with the timeline, but we definitely got comments from users saying, ‘Is this really accurate? I think this should be this way. It’s different.’ And history is always kind of imaginative. It’s left to the person who writes the book. So that’s how we approach it as well. It’s not necessarily that we come up with a game and think, ‘Oh, this is where it fits in the timeline.’ Honestly, lately, we’re kind of scared to say exactly where things are in the timeline for that reason. But we like to leave things to the imagination most of the time.”

http://nintendoeverything.com/nintendo-on-its-approach-to-the-zelda-timeline-understands-fans-appreciation-for-it/

This interview would clearly indicate that they just don’t think about the timeline because these games are designed with the gameplay first, the immediate story second, and the larger timeline doesn’t even make onto the list of concerns until the game is already out.

However, to throw some cold water on that thought train, Aonuma later gave a slightly different answer: “When we start to work on a new Zelda, we of course think about all this timeline stuff. Nintendo has a lot of IPs today. And Shigeru Miyamoto asks that we do our best to keep the timeline coherent. So we do it. But honestly, when we start to think of a new Zelda, respecting the timeline is a constraint for us. We would like to be free to imagine whatever we want without having to worry about the timeline. Being able to create while still keeping Zelda's essence, and bring new things to the table. Except now when we think of a new idea, we have to wonder "OK, but where does it fit in the timeline ?" and it instantly becomes very complicated ! And sometimes, we can't do these new ideas because it wouldn't fit in the timeline ! So, for the creative teams, it's an hindrance. Yeah, we published a timeline in a book but among our staff, we would like to be able to stop thinking about it...”

Keep in mind, this quote was translated from French by this Reddit post:

https://www.reddit.com/r/truezelda/comments/6rtbh7/aonuma_on_how_they_view_the_timeline_when_making/

While Aonuma is definitely expressing some frustration and even a hint of disdain for the timeline, it does clearly indicate that they’re thinking about it. This was also in 2017.

On the one hand, it is clear that the Timeline was a subject of debate inside Nintendo for a time: They published the Hyrule Historia and gave the timeline an official stamp, they published Skyward Sword and attempted to give the series an origin story, they made BOTW and filled it with references and items from older games.

But is this really a studio thinking about their series as a large interconnected universe, or is it just fan service and another rebooted game? I’ll admit, this is the part of the post where the proof ends and my opinion begins: I don’t think they actually think about the timeline when they make these games. TOTK is filled with plenty of details that seem to prove they could barely stand having to design around BOTW’s story.

While Skyward Sword proved to be a... semi-effective prequel to the series, making it plausible that games like OoT, MM, WW, and TP might all be connected--but it too suffered from some odd inconsistencies. Are we ever going to acknowledge the mirror Hyrule? Lorule? The Twilight Realm? Are Zora and Rito still related?

But TOTK then turns around and retells most of that story--retelling Ganondorf’s origin story, the origin of the sky islands--it just doesn’t fit. TOTK literally cannot exist in the same timeline as SS because it would imply the Ganondorf existed as the demon king before Demise started the cycle of reincarnation (for Ganon and Ganondorf).

And I don’t have a source for this but Aonuma’s answer to where BOTW lies on the timeline has changed once or two from “YOU decide!” to “IDK, on all of them I guess?”

I do love these games, but I’m at the point where I feel like Nintendo has won, just wearing us down--there is no Zelda timeline, the timeline published in the Hyrule Historia was just a bit of fan service--and then the immediate next game that they did rebooted the series AGAIN. Right now the timeline, loosely, is BOTW ---> TOTK.

I don’t want to come out here trying to assassinate the Legend of Zelda series---but I do want folks to give it a hard look and ask yourselves: How long can Nintendo keep rebooting this series before it finally dies? How long before they accept that they need a continuity to keep fans interested? Do fans of the series even want continuity?

I eventually abandoned my fanfiction project after coming to the realization that Zelda is a mirrored puddle, the width of a lake. It can fool you into believing that great beasts must swim in the depths below--but dip your finger in and an inch down you touch concrete.

I think about the story I wanted to write once in a while---and lately I’ve been working on adapting it into an original project. I think I’m still a fan of the Zelda series, even if it does frustrate me. I think eventually, something will have to give---though for the moment I won’t bother speculating what.

[wordsinhaled]

No okay but I was just listening to Dead Club from Tunng for the billionth time and I'm just getting .so many Dreamling Feelings from all of the songs. Possibly even hobrintheus from Eating The Dead. And I say this so much but Woman and Man hits me right in the Hob Feels. Specifically these lines from Woman, and everything from Man, maybe you have some insight into them 😂

'Someone might read your body like a book. \\ Kata was cared for, had a varied diet, and was buried wrapped tightly in cloth.' ... 'Someone might read your body like a book. \\ Unearthed, undead again. \\ What we know is Kata had little thoughts, all the time. \\ Then stopped. Like us. \\ She made a hand sign, asking us "let me rest". \\ And she made it. And made it. \\ And alas we will not.'

okay, so i got this ask while i was half-awake early this morning and absolutely have ever since just been vibrating with emotion because... i just fucking love tunng and their music. this album in particular is so meaningful and important to me. dead club as an album and as a concept is just so... augh, incredible. i can't recall if it was you i spoke with about tunng before but... i basically had to, like... wait until i'd had breakfast and a beverage to be able to speak coherently about all the thoughts i have about the songs on dead club, asdhfhg. i have now had sustenance and i'm still not entirely sure i'm gonna be able to say everything i think, but i will try!

so first of all, like... i don't know if i talk about it much on here actually, but i am in so many ways an existentialist at heart. it's also one of my two main theoretical orientations as a therapist. it's something that just, i guess, vibes with my soul in a way; to contend with these fundamental aspects of our existence that can be so scary and daunting, and yet when examined closely can bring so much clarity and newfound purpose. and there is so much of that on this album, so much of that grappling with freedom and responsibility and mortality. so much memorializing and documenting of the smallest units of people's humanity too - in cups of tea and counted breaths and the struggle against darkness through the search for joy and meaning.

like, this album is just everything i care about as a person. there is so much love wrapped up in it. it's somber but still somehow uplifting in its realness and frankness.

something about that song in particular just... the way it describes the experience of such a profound yet everyday love that it actually transcends death, but in a way that is so organic and not metaphysical at all and thus - it is a preservation of memory attainable to everyone - because everyone has access to these little mundane moments in the lives of their loved ones—fights big and small, cups of tea, lovemaking, breakfast, movie nights... the visceral experience of shared memory and how it lives on in organic ways. in the way we stand, sit, and move about our space and world in the wake of our loved ones.

the experience of just. how loved ones imprint themselves on our hearts and souls so fundamentally that it is as though we have consumed them, absorbed them irreversibly into ourselves even once they are no longer in our lives (by death or other forms of leaving). and this idea that love is powerful and baffling and clarifying and as cleansing as death—it is a dying of the individual self and a giving over of the self into the partial keeping of another—once you have lost a person you would hold on to even the smallest aspect of them, even the unfavorable parts, to make them more real, more tangible again.

the title of my hob playlist comes from "eating the dead" (all the business of living)... the idea of living memory, generations of it held inside a single body, i think would really resonate for him. the coming to terms with death and dying, and the loss of his fear of it. his experience of life as a progression of memories compartmentalized and held in his heart, each person he has ever been living on within him, each person he has ever loved deconstructed and consumed. perhaps he still has bits of eleanor in his modern handwriting. perhaps he preserves the memory of his mother in his bread recipe. sense memory, tangible memory. perhaps each time he drinks a specific type of ale he thinks of his stranger. he holds on to the clothes and mannerisms and memories of hundreds of people long-gone, and he will never be gone, but he sometimes has to deconstruct and consume bits of himself. the permutations of his last name, gadling, gadlen, golding, and then gadling again once it's been long enough. the way he remembers himself each time dream calls him hob even when there is no one else left alive who first knew him by that name. the way he remembers and memorializes dream - the way maybe he kept the gloves and the hat from 1889, how he reinvents himself but always holds a space for dream in his heart. how he builds the new inn as a space for their living memory to continue.

faith, that takes me back.

and "woman" is so incredible as well. it really speaks to me about how we can look back at the past and shake hands with it because we are not so far removed despite the many many intervening years, generations, eons that compact humanity back down into atoms and carbon. that the sentiments are relatable, that the lived experiences were different but not so different. and about the types of knowledge that we have lost through time and regained through our conversation with the past. about the context that is lost in history. how we build over it. how we redefine it and commodify it and remove the agency of the dead through superimposing our modern impressions onto them. thinking about how we all come back to the same atoms. someone might read your body like a book. and the way that it reminds us that even our small stories are important, can be the evidence of our existence long into the future, that we will be one day the components and building blocks of future lives, even long past our own ability to know it.

i'll stop here, but THANK YOU so much for stopping by and please feel free to talk more to me about this or anything else that springs to mind <33333

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

IF writers write one single book/game that's good first before you plan a series of barely coherent fanfic tropes mashed together instead of an overarching plot challenge <3

I like series personally. I mean not wayhaven length long series but I like duologies and trilogies. I feel like it gives the romance more depth and time to be fleshed out whereas in some stand alone IFs I've read the romance was barely developed before it actually happened, but at the same time the story I tend to like more in the standalone because sometimes in multiple book series it can be dragged out. But Wayhaven is on another level of dragging out, I think it would have done well with being 3 or 4 books long. Idk what other plot will be able to make it seven. I think it would have also made for a solid duology if the story was better paced and the characters and story beats were better written though. One of my main issues with some IF finished or unfinished is the way the romance is written, idk how to explain but a lot of them and how they develop I'm not the biggest fan of or either that or some of the romance options feel 1 dimensional and the mc has no sense of agency whatsoever. On the other hand there are some ifs I've also really enjoyed so I guess it depends. I would love to know more about your opinions on this topic. I think it's a really interesting point and I enjoy reading your thoughts on different topics.

Thank you, that's very sweet of you to say! ^^ And enables me to do more self-important rambling. Although I would love to hear more about why some romances work for you and others don't, since I'm maybe gonna try my hand at writing an IF eventually.

Ok, back to the thing.

Honestly my main issue isn't that there's series, it's that it's often pretty blatant that they're a series solely for the sake of being a series? And not because the author actually has enough material to justify having multiple releases. You feel me?

So like, yeah! If you're using the extra time to develop characters and plot and flesh out the world, if there's a clear progression of events and things are evolving and happening, then obviously write a series! But if you just go "Oh I have all these fun ideas but there's NO way they'll fit into one or two books, it simply MUST be a trilogy/quadrilogy/pentalogy etc etc" without even planning shit out? It's like ... Ok you have a lot of ideas but did you ... do anything with them? Do you have a plan of where you're going? A lot of the time I see announcements of "This will be a trilogy/series!" before the first book is even finished so like ... How do you know. And then you get to the second book and you realize, oh, you didn't know. You just made that up.

And you can say that "Omg Eff, you don't KNOW how these authors operate, maybe they did plan and figure stuff out and your standards are just different and snobby and rude!" and maybe you'd be correct. But I've now read several multiple-book series where you could remove entire chapters, subplots, and yes, one entire BOOK, without changing the status quo or disrupting any character development at all, by just tightening up the writing and shuffling events into previous or next books. I've also read books that were firsts in a series and came away thinking "Okay? Um? Where is this going, exactly? What's the overarching plot? Why should I keep playing this?"

When it gets to that point, I just feel like ... What are you doing, ya know? How are you outlining this shit that things are just randomly happening for no reason. Subplots dropped entirely without a word. Character development stagnating because you've planned all their progression for a different book so in this one they can't do anything to evolve at all. Why is this a series if you're wasting so much time faffing about in one spot until you've stamped the earth into a flat circle.

Also, if you'll allow me to get pretentious for a moment, as a Gamer who's studying Gaming for my Gaming Degree, I feel that the medium of IFs isn't as close to books as people believe just because it's primarily a written medium. You can have plenty of books where people faff about doing fuck-all. Those are generally not good books, but it's excused because of the medium. The author has complete authority over the progression, and the reader is along for the ride, their only choice is whether they engage or not.

However, with IFs, because you've added player interaction into the mix, the things that you put in front of the player need to be justified, need to be worth interacting with. You've already sacrificed a portion of your authority for the sake of player empowerment, so you need to give the player something to DO with the authority you've given them. If you have entire sections of a game where the player becomes too aware of how little their actions matter, how little thought you've put into what you're presenting, how the only thing they're able to change is the replies to a character's words, it becomes less of someone enjoying reading a story and more of a chore to click through the pointless options and watching your character do fuck-all to change any outcomes.

When you write a book where characters faff about, that's your choice as the author. You have absolute authority and can decide when the faffing stops.

But when you write a game, you need to engage the player, you can't faff about forever. The story does not exist without them. The things you put in need to be there for a reason, because someone, by definition, by design, will be on the other end poking and prodding at it, and if you put in shit that doesn't need to be there, then you're wasting your own effort and also the player's time.

Idk. Does that make sense?

I also disagree that single-book romances tend to be worse, IMO they usually work better for me because they're actually planned and structured as stories, as the rest of the books. If you need to rely on word counts in the millions to tell a romance, that's not great, methinks. IFs also give you plenty of time and word count for romances, as well. Like, a 100k fantasy romance is on the longer end for a book, but an IF with a 100k word count would be considered on the shorter end, so readers are plenty ready for much longer word counts and it's even a selling point, usually.

So there's really no reason to justify having multiple books to write a good romance. An IF has no material reason to fit standard tradpub guidelines, so if you need bigger word counts, it's like, go wild. One counterargument would be that IFs romance routes are generally shorter than romance books, because all that WC doesn't actually go to the individual romances but is split up between regular plot, variations and other routes, but again, there's nothing really stopping you from writing as much as you want.

There's also the problem of most IFs having a lot of romance options, but they all tend to be different people with different romance timelines, so stretching out every romance to a slow-burn in different ways just for the sake of giving every route something to hook the player in each book becomes kinda tedious and transparent eventually. So I think multiple-book romances aren't a guarantee to be better than single-book romances (not that you were claiming this, I'm just out on a mind journey rn, apologies).

Anyway, that last bit got a bit off-topic and I'm already seeing some holes in my argument that I don't wanna think about lest this post becomes infinite, but, uh ... There ya go! :')

In the end, I think it's not about what's better, but about structuring, and having a vision, and not wasting my gotdam time and attention and money just because someone couldn't write a proper outline or self-edit. Single-book IFs have just been better at showing restraint and artistic vision in my experience, hence why I generally side-eye any upcoming IF or demo that advertises itself as the first in a series.

Cuz I just don't trust like that anymore.

[kakushigotofanclub]

I decided to post some words but only some and not in the right order.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know if any of you would be interested in me finishing/posting this full fic.

-

For a moment, everything is still. No one speaks. No one moves. No one even breathes. Then, Sanemi lets out a strangled noise halfway between a gasp and a yelp. He drops his sword and approaches the demon, first hesitant and slowly, and then in a sprint. Sanemi cups the demon’s face and thumbs the hair away from his eyes, both engraved with the number six. “G-…” he chokes. “Gen-…Genya?” Genya gives him a sad smile. “Yeah, ‘Nemi,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

-

“I’m not sure how that would make a difference,” Yushiro says stiffly. “Theoretically I should be able to get the same effect from any Era 2 demon’s blood, since they all contain traces of Tanjiro’s DNA.” “But it wasn’t Ponjiro,” Inosuke scoffs. Is this guy even listening? “It was Nenko!” “You mean Nezuko’s?” Yushiro says. He has a look on his face that one might have while looking at a rotting fish. “They’re related, Hashibira. They share most of the same DNA.” He says that like Inosuke is supposed to know that. Inosuke has no idea what DNA even is. “The same quality that made Nezuko’s blood special is present in Tanjiro’s. Probably even more so, actually.” “But that means they’re not identical, right?” Sanemi says. “Maybe we do need Nezuko’s blood specifically.” Yushiro slams Lady Tamayo’s book closed when Sanemi reaches towards it, and holds it protectively away from him. “Even so,” he spits, “this is largely useless to us anyway. We have no way to get Nezuko’s blood.”

-

Wait. On second thought…if Inosuke ever encountered someone that looked exactly like him, he’s not sure he would want to team up with them. Actually, he would probably kill them. Or, try to. He would be able to defeat himself, right? Wait…but…no one can defeat him. Or, wait… Okay, now he’s just confused. Either way, it’s probably best to avoid any other Inosukes if he can.

-

"If we kill Muzan now," Giyuu says quietly, "then every demon he's created will also die." "By the time we manage to do it, Genya and Nezuko will be human again," Sanemi says. "But..." Giyuu makes eye-contact with Sanemi, which is something he rarely does with anyone. "[SPOILER] won't be."

-

Sanemi shoves Genya off of him. “There wasn’t a body!” he yells. “When the kakushi got there, it was just the damn kids! The only two reasons [SPOILER] wouldn’t be there was if he either disintegrated, or they let him go and then lied about it!”

-

“What the hell are you talking about?” Upper Six sputters. “You…you haven’t spoken a single coherent word in almost a year and the first thing you say is butterfly? What…where the hell do you see a butterfly? Do you even remember what a butterfly is?” The prisoner just stares at him blankly. “Why are you talking about butterflies?” Upper Six demands, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Where are you getting butterflies from? Say something that makes sense!”

-

“How many of us survived in your world?” Sanemi says. He says it in that weird, calm tone of voice, the one that Inosuke has a hard time recognizing as belonging to him. The Wind Pillar he knew always spoke like he was restraining himself from beating up everyone in the vicinity. This one didn’t register as quite as much of a threat. “The Hashira, I mean. How many of us are left?” “Mismatched Haori is alive,” Inosuke says. “You’re alive, and so is the god of festivals.” Sanemi’s face contorts in confusion. “The god of festivals?” “You know,” Inosuke says. Sanemi doesn’t know. “Borzoi Tenjin!” Now Sanemi seems to be getting irritated. “Who the hell is that?” “The Sound Hashira!” Inosuke cries, exasperated. How much clearer can he be? Sanemi blinks, and then, to Inosuke’s utter bafflement, begins to laugh. “What did you just call Uzui? The god of festivals? What does that even mean?”

Shoutout to the time I wrote 25,000+ words of a KnY fanfic where post-canon Inosuke gets stuck in The Worst Timeline and then I gave up on it without ever posting a single word

[mysticalrambling]

Ending It All Part 1 (C.E)

Part 2

Chris Evans Fan fiction (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Chris wants to end your marriage and you decide to go along with it. You have to be civil for the sake of the kids but you are hurt. This process is too much for the both of you and eventually, it all ends.

Warnings: Angst all the way. 

._._._._._.

You had seen it coming from a mile. People say that a woman’s sixth sense is her greatest power. You always took pride in it but in this case, it was a curse. Chris and you have known each other for the past seven years and from those years, you were married for five. He was the love of your life. You thought it was forever but apparently you were wrong. You were wrong about so many things.

From the past six months, Chris has been home for a couple of days at most and then he was traveling. Traveling for work, for friends and whatnot. And for the days that he was here, he didn’t look at you like you were his wife, his soulmate. He looked at you like you were a stranger. Spending time with the kids was all he ever did and then came up with measly explanations to go off to bed early. There was no space left for you in his life. You thought that it was just a rough patch but that was not the case.

“(Y/N), we need to talk.” The determined look in his icy blue eyes said it all.

Taking a deep breath, you shakily replied, “Let me just put the kids to sleep.” Your energetic kids had tired out you for the whole day because you were off from work today. Chris had just come back from shooting and he didn’t give you a kiss like he usually did. In fact, he hadn’t kissed you like he meant it for several years now.

“I will be in the kitchen. You want wine?” He was walking away before you could even reply.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled out and you didn’t even know that he listened.

“Mommy, we are going to spend the whole day with you and daddy tomorrow?”  Mia and Jace have started to pick up on the fact that there was something going on between their parents. You wanted to keep all of this away from your four and two year old but it seems that you might have failed. You were failing at a lot of things right now.

“Yes, we will. Now, go to sleep.” It took you about half an hour to be put them to sleep and during that time, you were a wreck. There were a thousand possibilities running through your mind.

Coming back downstairs, Chris handed you the glass of wine, your favorite as always. He knew every little detail about you. “(Y/N), I don’t know how to say this but-”

“Before you finish that sentence, I just need to tell you that I promised the kids a day out tomorrow. Don’t ruin it.”

“I- I can’t say that.” Fiddling with his almost empty glass, he couldn’t bring it in himself to look at you. He was going to ruin this promise as well just like he was going to ruin everything.

“Just, go on.” You refilled the wine glass as you knew you needed the alcoholic haze to get through this conversation.

“I can’t do this anymore. This is just not what I want in my life anymore.” Your breath hitched and your heart broke into tiny little pieces.

Exact words were what you needed to hear right now. No vague statements. “What do you mean? What can’t you do?”

“This. This relationship. I think I am done. I am truly sorry, (Y/N).”

“Is- Is there someone else?” It was as if a ball was lodged in your throat and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk coherently. Fluently.

Chris looked at you, horrified. How could you even say that? He would never in a million years even think about cheating on you. Dignity was an important trait for Chris and if he ever cheated, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself. It hurt him that you would even consider this as a reason but he couldn’t blame you.

“No! This is not the reason. Not at all.” A defensive attitude was immediately taken up by your husband.

“Then is it me? Am I not enough for you?” Hot tears rolled down your cheeks but you didn’t have the energy to wipe them out.

“It is not you, darling. I just don’t think this is what I want with my life anymore. I want to solely focus on my career.”

“You are choosing your career over your family.” As the realization started to hit you, you couldn’t control the anger that took over you. “Over your family, Chris?”

“(Y/N) I am just done. I want an out and can we please try to be civil about this?” He pleaded.

“You want me to be civil about this? Fine.” You took a calming breath and closed your eyes for a second. “Just explain it to me. Maybe we can work something out.”

“I can’t- I don’t know how to explain it. Seven months ago I just woke up and I didn’t want to do this anymore. I want to start over.” A shocking chill passed through your body and you realized that it was hurt. You were betrayed.

“So you don’t want to do anything with me or the kids as well?”

“No. I want to be a part of their lives and-”

You looked him in the eyes and spoke in a broken voice, “It’s just me that you want out of your life.”

“Darling, no-” Chris tried to reach out for your hand but you placed them on your hands. He had lost the right to touch you from the moment he said that he didn’t want you. You were just a problem for him that needed to be solved.

There were years when he needed you every step of the way. Chris met you at a party that Scarlett threw. You were her best friend so you were invited to her New Year’s party. The moment he saw you, he was head over heels. He followed you around for two months to get you to go on a date with him. You used to tease him afterwards that he was a love sick puppy. But he was your love sick puppy.

That was not the case now and you didn’t know what you will do if he wasn’t in your life anymore. Your world revolved around your family but now it was all falling apart. You were falling apart.

“We can file for divorce tomorrow. Do you want to stay here tonight?” Wiping your tears, you got up from the stool and put the glasses in the sink.

“Uhh okay, okay. I can stay with Scott tonight.”

This was not what he expected. He expected you to cry, fight, scream. He thought there would be more discussion on this topic. Seven years were going to waste and you were treating this as a simple business transaction. Truth be told, you didn’t want him to see you fall apart. Chris had lost that right. If he didn’t want a life with you, then you were not going to beg him to stay. You were going to fulfill his wish and set him free.

“We have to take the kids out tomorrow. I was thinking the park.”

“What?” He was too distracted by everything to even realize what you were talking about.

“We will talk to them about the divorce tomorrow.”

“Isn’t this going a little too fast?”

“We should get this all over with as soon as possible. Goodbye, Chris.” Silently pecking him on his cheek, you went to your shared bedroom.

The moment your head touched the pillow, you were surrounded by his scent. The dam burst and you couldn’t stop the tears from running down your face and getting soaked up by the cushions. What were you going to do with your life now? You had to come up with a plan to manage the kids together with Chris. You had to think about getting a job that would accommodate your kids in to it now that you were going to be a single parent. You didn’t get a wink of sleep last night and you cried a lot.

On the other hand, Chris was not doing any better. Scott gave him the spare guest room to sleep in. He didn’t know what was going on between his brother and you but he knew it was serious. Chris couldn’t sleep last night either because he was not used to. This was the first time in seven years that you both were in the same city and you were not sleeping together. You wouldn’t be sleeping with him from now on. He has to get used to that idea. The idea of you not being there every step of the way because this was his own doing. He was dreading tomorrow as he was the one who was destroying his family.

“Hi. I was just here to pick you all up.” Guilt washed over him when he noticed your red puffy eyes and eye bags.

“You didn’t have to. We could have come there by ourselves.”

“We always go to the park together. It is our thing.”

“We can’t do all of these things now. Everything is going to change.”

“Right.” You moved towards the kitchen and he followed you like a lost puppy.

“Daddy!” Both kids ran up to him and clinged to his legs like two little monkeys.

“Hey babies.” He held on to them a little bit longer because he knew he was the one who was ruining their little lives.

“Where were you? Missed your pancakes. Mama doesn’t make good.” Mia hadn’t learned to make full sentences yet but Chris understood her perfectly.

“I was busy, baby. I- I-”

“Go get your shoes on. We are going to be late.” You saved him from the conversation because he looked like a deer caught in headlight. Chris couldn’t answer his daughter as this was how it was going to be. He wouldn’t be there for all of this. The important phases. Jace’s first soccer win, his first award, or Mia’s first school day, her first break up, her prom. He was going to miss most of them because you would be there with them while he will get them for weekends mostly.

“Let’s go.” Buckling his kids in, he sat in the driver’s seat. When he pulled out of the garage, his hand instinctively went for yours. It was out of pure instinct. You retracted your hand immediately and Chris just drew in a shaky breath, He was not allowed to touch you now.

“I am taking them to the swings. Do you want to come with?”

“No, I am just going to my usual spot to read my book.” There was a maple tree that had been your spot for the past five years. It was where you rested and caught up with your reading.

“Okay.”

The next hour was spent with Chris going on to every swing with his kids. He didn’t want to miss anything. Plus, he didn’t know how he could sit with you under the tree that held so many memories. You told him that you will marry him under this tree and that you were pregnant with Jace. It was all too much. You couldn’t focus on your reading when this might be the last time you get to see him with your kids. The last time you were together as husband and wife. This might be the last time because Chris wanted you out of his life.

“Hey, kids. We have to talk to you.” You finally gathered up some courage when they all came to sit beside you. Chris couldn’t bring himself to start up this conversation so he was glad that you did.

“Yeah, Mommy?”

“So you know how your friend Oliver’s parents don’t live together but they still love him very much.”

“Yeah.” Jace’s whole concentration was on his ice cream but he still nodded his head to indicate that he was listening. Mia was too young to comprehend it all so you mainly focused on your son.

“Well, Daddy and I are going to be doing the same thing. We love you both very much and we will always there be with you.”

“But Ollie’s daddy doesn’t live with him.” His blue eyes focused on the two of you when he made the statement.

“Yeah, buddy. I will be staying at an apartment really near by. You both can come whenever you want to.”

“You won’t be there to read us night stories or make our favorite brekky?” His question threw Chris off guard and he froze in his place.

“He will be there to do everything for you guys. Mia and you can go to daddy’s place and he can do all this.” You jumped in when you noticed that Chris didn’t know how to respond to all this. “Right, Chris?”

“Yes, that’s right. Nothing is going to change, buddy.” Wiping away his tears, your husband placed him on his lap with Mia.

“Promise?” Mia spoke up this time because she understood that her daddy wouldn’t live with her like he always did.

“Promise. Let’s go back to the house. You both look tired.”

You placed Mia on her bed while Chris did the same for Jace. They both were out the moment they were buckled in their car seats. Coming downstairs, you prepared coffee for Chris and yourself. He always liked his coffee black so that’s what you made for him. The cup was placed in front of him and he sighed because no one made coffee like you.

“Our lawyer said that he will have the papers delivered to us by tomorrow.”

“Okay, I saw this new apartment building when I was coming here this morning. I might rent it out. The penthouse has three rooms. One for the kids and one is the guest bedroom. You can stay there when you bring the kids over.” He looked at you with a defensive position.

“I won’t be staying at your apartment so please don’t take me into consideration.” You didn’t understand why he thought you would ever stay over at his place. You would never subject yourself to that kind of pain.

“But there can be special circumstances and my home will always be open for you, (Y/N). We can still be friends.” He was hoping against all hope that you would agree. He still wanted you in his life.

“I don’t think I can do that. Be friends. There is too much history. Let’s just keep it to the kids right now.” You picked on your nails because you didn’t want to cry like a little girl in front of him. “And I am going to change houses as well so do you want to sell this one?”

“Why do you have to move?” Chris was shocked to hear those words come out of your mouth.

“I can’t live in a house that was meant to be our family house. I just can’t.”

He understood where you were coming from but this house held too many memories. He couldn’t think of another family living here. Some couple living in your master bedroom, some kids running around in your children’s playground, some other family’s picture instead of yours. It was just too much to think about.

“Let’s just keep the house. When the kids grow up, they can have it.”

“Okay. I am tired right now so I am going to bed. I will sign the papers tomorrow and send them over to Scott’s.” You placed the empty mug on the counter and stood in a straight posture. “You want the kids this weekend?”

“Yes, I would like that. Do you want to maybe come with us?” He didn’t know why he was not ready to let you go yet. This was all his doing but he just couldn’t accept it right now.

“Umm no. I think we should settle the kids into this new routine.”

“I guess you are right.”

“Goodbye, Chris. I love you and I will always love you.” You regretted the words that came out of your mouth the instant you said them. You were so stupid but you just couldn’t help yourself. This was probably the last time you ever got to say it.

“I- I love you too, (Y/N). I will always be there for you. Goodbye, darling.” The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger by the second but he had to say this. Lightly pecking you on the lips, he knew this was the last time he ever got to do this. He left afterwards and you couldn’t help but tear up. The same thing happened with Chris. This was it. Your marriage was over but your love would always be there.

Hope you guys liked it!!

._._._._._.

A/N: I literally cried while writing this fan fiction. This one is particularly close to my heart so please let me know what you think about it. If you want to be added to my tag list, message me. I am also open to requests for this series; requests, blurbs, anything.

P.S: There is a part 2 as well.

Tag list: @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile, @iguessweallcrazyithinktho, @jessyballet , @luckyladycreator2

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._._.

[reid-fiction]

A Progression of Touch

In which Spencer doesn’t like to touch people until you come along and then he can’t help himself

A/N: Look at me, dropping stories like flies. Also, I’ve been staring at this gif for far too long...

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He doesn’t like to touch other people.

He knows it, you know it, the whole F.B.I. knows it. He told you as much the first time he met you by the way he awkwardly refused to shake your hand. Though he compensated with a friendly smile and a wave, you knew you were in for a ride with Dr. Spencer Reid. 

It wasn’t that he thought you were diseased. He just knew too much about germs and the human body to risk it, especially around cold and flu season which was exactly when he met you. It was bad enough that Garcia had dragged him to the Christmas party to begin with - there were so many people in close quarters, who knew what viruses were floating around - but he wasn’t a big fan of mingling and small talk either. And that was exactly what Penelope was forcing him into when he got his first glimpse of you. 

As soon as you had five minutes with Spencer under your belt, you knew you wanted a lot more time with him. He was unlike any person you had ever met and he fascinated you, especially his aversion to touch. 

A few months later, when Spencer finally bit the bullet and asked you on a date (after much prompting and borderline bribery from Garcia and multiple other team members she had coerced into helping her), he knew that his no touching rule was not going to fly for very long. He didn’t know much about relationships, but he did know that physical touch was a pretty important factor to most women. Though you never pushed him, he could tell that you were holding back for his benefit. He could see it in your eyes every time he dropped you off after a date. In most scenarios, a kiss goodnight would be expected - you wanted it, he could sense it - but it felt like you were the wrong side of a magnet that he just couldn’t get himself close to.

This was a problem, because he was falling for you and he was going to have to do something about it. 

Spencer knew that going the 0-100 method wasn’t going to work for him. He couldn’t just jump from not touching you at all to getting hot and heavy in the backseat of a car. But, gradual steps may work. If he eased himself in to getting acquainted with touching you, he could both push himself out of his comfort zone and give you a bit of the physical contact that you were clearly craving. 

-----

It started with a hug. 

One night, after walking you to your front door, you could tell that Spencer was concentrating on something and it wasn’t your current conversation. You were rambling on about some TV program you had seen the other night, and you knew he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. 

“Hey, you okay?”

He glanced up at you, frowning, as if he had just remembered you were standing there.

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself after catching a gust of chilly air. “You just seem...far away. Distracted.”

He paused, pursing his lips at your accusation, and you suddenly felt extremely vulnerable under his gaze.

“Is something wrong? Did I...did I do something? I mean, are you -”

“No!” 

The suddenness of his reply caused you to jump, and he let out a nervous chuckle before running a hand through his hair. 

“No, it’s not you at all. I’m sorry, you’re right. I am distracted.”

“Well...about what? Maybe I can help.”

He paused again, and then smiled. “Yeah, maybe you can. Would you be able to just...stand still for a second?”

The strange nature of his request caused you to frown a bit, but you simply nodded and watched him with curiosity. A few seconds later, he slowly started to to move a few steps closer and raise his arms slightly. You had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but you didn’t move a muscle. His arms eventually found their way to rest lightly on the sides of you waist and then started to wrap around your torso. 

Your stomach instantly flipped. This was the first time Spencer had ever touched you beyond the occasional brush of your shoulders when you moved past him, or a playful kick to his leg when he beat you at chess. It had been two months of weekly dates, dinners, museum trips and evenings of sitting and talking until you were both too tired to form coherent sentences but, as much as you loved those times with him, you’d by lying if you said you never wished that he would throw caution to the wind once in a while and toss an arm around you or caress the side of your face with his fingers. 

Now, just the feeling of his hands on your back was like opening up a can of worms that had been wriggling in desperation for weeks, and you certainly hoped that this wasn’t a one time thing, because there was no way you’d ever be able to put those worms back in the can after this. 

He took another step toward you and circled his arms tighter around your back. You knew he had asked you not to move, but you couldn’t hold back any longer. You slowly raised your own arms until they were resting on his shoulders and then, when he didn’t protest, you wrapped them around his neck and leaned in until your head was nestled just below his collarbone. He tensed up only a moment before you felt him lean his head in the crook of your neck. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, holding each other. It could have been a few minutes, it could have been a few hours. You didn’t care, all that you knew was that you never wanted him to let go. 

-----

After the hug, his next target were your hands. 

Although Spencer was keenly aware of just how many germs the human hand picked up throughout the day, he was determined to overcome his aversion. You were clean and had good hygiene habits, he knew that. He had been hugging you every time he saw you since that first night, how much more difficult could holding your hand be?

It was during a movie he wasn’t really paying attention to that he finally made his move. Lately, his go-to move during movies was to carefully put his arm around you and rest his hand on your shoulder. He was completely comfortable with that movement now and really thought nothing of it anymore. He could tell that you enjoyed it as well, so he was more than happy to oblige you and suggest a movie night as often as possible. 

Tonight, however, he had different ideas. He purposely kept his arm at his side for the first half of the film, and he knew that you noticed. Truthfully, you had come to expect the motion now and were slightly disappointed when it didn’t happen as soon as the opening credits started to roll, but it wasn’t long until you figured out why.

You thought it was an accident at first. You had both of your hands resting in your lap and had your eyes focused on the movie when you felt it. The lightest, softest brush of skin against your own. Your hand twitched involuntarily and you silently cursed yourself for probably scaring him away. But, a minute or so later, it happened again. Still soft, still tentative, but it lingered. 

You stealthily flicked your gaze down to your lap and saw Spencer’s hand hovering just slightly over your own. You weren’t entirely sure what he was aiming for, but you kept your hand deathly still while you waited. His hand finally came to rest on your thigh and the side of his palm rested lightly against your own. You watched as his pinkie brushed up over the back of your hand, then another finger, and another, and another, until his whole hand was on top of yours. You opened the spaces between your fingers in hopes that he would lace his own through, and you weren’t disappointed. His fingers slid between yours like butter and you felt him squeeze your palm and slowly caress the back of your hand with his thumb. 

It was your idea to shuffle closer to him, lift his arm with your hands still intertwined, and loop it over your shoulder. He glanced over to you, smiled, and squeezed your hand again.

You wished you had picked a longer movie. Truthfully, so did he. 

-----

The idea of kissing you was terrifying. 

Spencer had kissed and been kissed before, but it wasn’t a common occurrence and it hadn’t ever been with someone he truly cared about. It was one thing for two body parts to come together in what science called a kiss, it was a whole other thing for that kiss to mean something. The last thing Spencer wanted was for him to screw up a potentially important moment in your relationship because he was hesitant or overly paranoid. 

He also had no idea how to know when the “right” moment was, if there was such a thing. Hugging was easy now, holding your hand was routine - he could do those at really any time, in any location, in any circumstance, and it wouldn’t be considered awkward or weird - but kissing was different. It was intimate, it was private, and it required more thought. 

It had taken him weeks, but he finally had a plan in mind. It was elaborate and detailed - as most of Spencer’s ideas were - and he knew exactly what he was going to say and do leading up to the moment.

However, what he wasn’t betting on was the sudden, overwhelming, spontaneous desire that came over him one evening while you were sitting in his apartment. You hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary; you had gone out to dinner, walked back to his place, and had plans to spend the rest of the night talking, maybe doing a puzzle or playing a game, and then you would go home like you always did. 

But it was something about the way you laughed after he told you a funny story that happened at work that day. It was the way your eyes locked on his every time he spoke, and the way you looked so intensely interested in every single thing he was saying, even if you didn’t understand all of it. It was the way you leaned into him when he pointed out something in a book he was holding, and the way he could smell your shampoo - vanilla with a hint of lavender - when you got close to him. It was the way your hand rested lovingly on his back while he read a passage to you and the way you absentmindedly twirled your hair as you listened. 

He needed to kiss you, and he needed to do it immediately. 

He didn’t care that it didn’t fit into his plan, he didn’t care that it wasn’t exactly what he pictured, and he didn’t care that he hadn’t prepared himself for it. The only thing he could think of was the shape of your lips and his intense need to know what they felt like on his own. 

So, he went for it.

It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t subtle, and it was probably the messiest thing he had ever done. He put the book down on the table, looked over at you, grabbed the sides of your face and pulled you to him. You were initially frozen in shock - the last thing you had expected that night was for Spencer to kiss you, let alone like this - but you could feel the intensity and desperation as his lips moved over yours, and that was enough to thaw your surprise and trigger your response instinct. You put one hand behind his head and pulled him impossibly closer to you, scooting to the very edge of your seat. 

His hands dropped from your face and landed on the tops of your thighs before he slid them up to your waist and you could feel him start to tug you closer. There was nowhere for you to go other than practically on top of him, and you knew there was no way he wanted you to do that. 

Was there?

As much as it pained you to do so, you momentarily broke the kiss to catch your breath. 

“Wow.”

Spencer chuckled, still gripping your waist. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I guess I just...couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Oh, don’t apologize!” you said, a little too enthusiastically. “It was great, and I wouldn’t have stopped you, it’s just...”

Spencer studied you, and brought one hand up to the side of your face again.

“Just, what?”

“It’s nothing, I guess I just wondered - I mean, I wasn’t sure how far you wanted to...you know...go. I don’t want you to feel like you need to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Spencer smiled, and you felt him tug you closer again. You gave him a questioning look, and he nodded.

“C’mere,” he said. “It’s okay.”

You tentatively stood and took a step closer to him before he gently guided you down until you were straddling his lap. You exhaled a breath of nerves as you seated yourself and brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders.

“You don’t need to worry,” he said. “I’m not going to push things any further tonight. But, right now, I would really like to keep kissing you. It’ll help me get comfortable with it. Repetition of an action you’re uncomfortable with is proven to retrain your mind in how you view the action.”

You grinned. “Is that the only reason you’d like to keep kissing me? To prove a scientific fact?”

“It’s more like a psychological fact. You see, in moments of intense satisfaction or pleasure, the brain releases something called dopamine which causes -”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish before you leaned in and kissed him again. 

The psychological facts could wait.

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[writertitan]

Only You

pairing: levi x reader 

word count: 2307

themes: jealous!reader, so much fluff and comfort, one could say too much fluff (but not me), angst if you squint at the beginning

requested by anon

A single, light touch of his arm and batting of lashes never affected you. Plenty of girls had done this before and were always shaken off of Levi by the man himself, almost instantly. He was always quick to draw a boundary, with women especially, if they got too close for comfort. It was the persistence of this current girl, though, that made you squirm and made you uncomfortable. Because she was good at making it lighthearted, innocent, not as brash and bold as all the others who had tried to flirt with Levi before. And if Levi had caught on to her advances, he hadn’t done a thing to ward her off. 

Granted, she was an employee, someone who was helping you both pick out a birthday gift for Hange, but you were able to read between the lines. The way she let her fingers brush with Levi’s just for a moment as she handed him a potential gift for your mutual friend, the way her smile was polite for you but beaming for Levi, the way her eyes sparkled when his own gaze landed on her, the way she was either between the two of you or next to him, but never next to you. Her praises of his taste when he looked at a new gift, her polite recognition of you when Levi would ask for your input, all of it, just all of it. You weren’t blind to it but it seemed that Levi was. It made you quiet, quieter than usual, but you couldn’t help your own unspoken behaviors that told more than words could. You were fidgeting, withdrawn, and while Levi didn’t seem to notice the girl’s advances, he did quickly tune into the fact that getting a full sentence out of you was suddenly like pulling teeth. 

Eventually, you let Levi take the lead and shrunk back from him and the girl, your heart sinking low each time she smiled at him, each time she complimented him. Your arms were folded tightly over your chest, as if to keep your heart in one piece, and you hoped that you didn’t look as uncomfortable and upset as you felt. Still, you felt your eyes squinting each time they interacted, and you felt yourself hiding into yourself, wishing you could do more than just watch.

“What do you think?” he pressed you, holding up a small apothecary box. “Four Eyes has been harping on and on about experimenting with alchemy like the crackpot she is. You think this set will be put to good use?” 

You watched as the girl blinked at you expectantly, eyes wide and innocent as she shuffled closer to Levi. 

Try as you might to try and get even a short approval out of your mouth, the words couldn’t come. They were stuck in your throat, bubbling over and dying out before you could even open your mouth. You gave Levi a shrug, and finally, a short and simple, “She’ll like it,” left your lips. Barely above a whisper. 

Levi was frustrated with you now, you could tell, but said nothing of it as he walked up to the counter to pay for the gift. You hadn’t followed him and that had spurred the employee on a little, it seemed; she was much chattier as she packaged the gift for Levi, marveling again about what a wonderful gift giver he was. It wasn’t until she handed Levi the package and set her hand on his arm for a moment too long that it seemed to click for him. 

“Come back again soon,” you heard her say. Levi said nothing to her, and said nothing to you as you both stepped out into the evening. 

                 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Not a word had been said since leaving the shop. Levi had taken you back to his room and you sat down in a chair in the corner as you fidgeted quietly, those words still squashed and thick in your throat. Truth be told, you knew that it was a little silly. Levi would never encourage flirtatious behavior, much less reciprocate, and he may have genuinely not noticed earlier. But that had been the first time someone had blatantly disregarded you like that. That had been the first time a woman had been so shameless in her pursuit, however discreet it was. 

“Are we going to talk about it or are you going to keep moping?” Levi asked from his closet, grabbing some clothes to change into for bed. His voice cut clear into the air, cutting away at the tension that was palpable. After grabbing the clothes he’d decided on, he walked to his bed and sat on the edge, gazing at you intently. 

You blushed, huddling up in your chair more and sighing. He knew, better than most, how you preferred to show how you were feeling with your actions, your body language, rather than with actual words. In a lot of ways, Levi was exactly the same, the only difference being that he wasn’t one to shy away from confrontation when needed. 

Part of you wanted to just shrink away into nothing and try to pretend it never happened. You’d get over it. After all, you weren’t mad at Levi, weren’t even mad at the girl. You were just mad at yourself now. All of these words wanted to be blurted out, but you didn’t even know where to begin. The other part of you that didn’t want to run away from this took the lead, not giving you time to think or regret the choice to get up and sit on the edge of Levi’s bed next to him, your eyes downcast as you swallowed thickly, as if physically opening up your throat to finally speak your mind. 

“It made me uncomfortable,” you admitted to him in a quiet voice. “How the girl was acting with you, I mean. And I know it’s so silly to feel like this. Nothing happened and nothing was going to happen. I trust you completely and I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anybody except for myself. I’m just so upset that I let it get to me, and I’m even more upset that I still don’t know how to speak my mind like you can. I also just...don’t want to seem like a crazed and possessive partner, but I’ll admit that I got jealous. I’m sorry.” 

And there you were, rambling away, hoping that what you were saying was even coherent. 

When Levi didn’t answer right away, you looked up from your lap to see that he actually looked taken aback, like he hadn’t expected that to be your response. He scoffed your name moments later, back to his usual self, but you saw the softness in his eyes as he gazed at you. 

“I didn’t realize what she was up to until the end,” he said, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. “You know if I’d caught on earlier, I would have put a stop to it.” 

“I know,” you said lamely, gazing at him from under your lashes. “I’m sorry for getting jealous. It was just...the first time it had happened like that. She just didn’t stop.” 

Much to your chagrin, your words elicited a small smirk from Levi. 

“Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said to you, willingly letting you lean into him. “The one who should apologize is the snotty girl who honestly wasn’t even that helpful. I’m surprised you were jealous of her.”

“Huh?” You lifted your head up from your place on his shoulder to look at him. “Why surprised?” 

Levi returned your gaze steadily, raising a brow as if it were so obvious and you weren’t getting it. 

“Because there was no contest. There never is. I don’t give a shit about anybody but you.”

Oh. 

Instantly you were blushing, your heart sputtering out of control. It wasn’t often that Levi admitted things like that, but when he did, it always caught you off guard. He always said things so bluntly and so decisively. 

He only had eyes for you. Though you already knew that, it was nice to hear it, and it washed away the remnants of the jealousy still stirring through you. 

Again, you couldn’t find the words. Only this time, it was for a good reason, a positive thing. Left speechless by Levi yet again. You took your preferred route of speaking your feelings through actions, and leaned in to press a grateful kiss into his mouth, your hand reaching up to comb back his hair from his face. 

“You know that no one compares to you, either, right?” you asked against his lips, slowly pulling back to gaze at him. 

“Of course,” he snorted, squeezing your thigh before getting up. “I’m making us some tea before bed. Be back soon.” 

You stood and got changed for bed, greeting Levi with a tight-lipped smile when he returned with a tray filled with your teacups, the tea pot, and a few of your favorite tea snacks. He set the tray down at the small table by his bed and changed into his own pajamas as well, calling over his shoulder as he adjusted his shirt, “Let’s read some of that book you’ve been wanting to finish before bed, too.” 

“Really?” you asked, brightening up at the thought. You and Levi hadn’t done that in a while; you in his lap, resting against his chest as he sat up against the headboard, the two of you silently reading a book you held with Levi always nudging you to let you know when he wanted you to turn the page (and then making fun of you for reading too slow). The current book you were reading was a little too sappy - his words, not yours - so he hadn’t been following along. 

“Come here,” he instructed, getting under the covers and pulling you into him once you’d grabbed your book. You settled into him like you normally did, both of you reaching over to grab your cups of tea and take a sip, and that’s when you noticed that Levi had prepared your favorite kind of tea, and had made it his special way for you: a small hint of honey, which he only saved for special days since it had been such an expensive batch, and a dash of cinnamon. Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, knowing that instead of telling you, Levi was showing you how much you meant to him. Hell, he was even willing to have tea in bed with you. He usually made you drink at his desk with him. 

“Just the way I like it,” you murmured after taking another gulp, giving Levi a warm and loving grin; your way of letting him know that you appreciated what he was doing. 

Levi hummed in acknowledgement and set his cup back down on the tray, nodding towards the book silently, and you quickly flipped open to the page you’d ended on. Squirming around in his arms until you were sort of facing him, you gave him a brief summary of what had happened so far, so he wouldn’t be lost. 

“So my prediction is that, since he’s leaving and doesn’t know when he’ll come back if at all, she’ll tell him that she still loves him,” you finished proudly, turning back around to press your back flush against Levi’s chest. 

“Like I said before...sappy as shit,” Levi grumbled. You smirked when his chin rested on your shoulder to read with you, though, and reached up with one hand to stroke his cheek with your thumb before completely absorbing yourself into your book. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, with both of you silently reading to yourselves and Levi pressing a soft kiss to your jaw to signal he was ready to turn the page. Occasionally you’d stop for short tea breaks and to nibble on the snacks he’d brought along, a comfortable silence embracing the two of you. 

After a loud yawn from you, Levi squeezed his arms around you and made a small noise in his throat as he nuzzled into your neck, one hand moving to snatch the book from your hands to toss it to the end of the bed. It was well into the night now and all the candles you’d lit at the bedside table to help with reading were burning low, making your eyes heavy. 

“Time for bed,” he announced, hoisting you up by the waist and gently scooting you off his lap and into your own spot in bed. He adjusted the blankets around you and then gave you a long, unreadable look as you settled your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded and blinking slowly as you tried to hold his gaze. He didn’t speak, just reached out to adjust the hair out of your face. But then, after another moment of deliberation, leaned in and whispered, “Do you feel better?” 

You smiled tiredy and nodded, reaching out to hold his hand in yours for a moment. “Much. Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“Jealous brat,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to your forehead, getting out of bed and grabbing the tray to clean up and get it out of the room. You tried to wait for him to come back but just couldn’t stay awake much longer, much less keep your eyes open. 

You vaguely heard Levi come back in after a while, sliding under the covers with you, but your mind was foggy and already in the beginnings of a soft dream. Absently, you moved to be closer to him, succumbing to sleep as a voice whispered in your ear, “There’s only you.” 

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (4)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: symptoms of depression, PTSD, anxiety, some really sweet moments to balance it out, more book recs 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“You’re staring at the doors again, sweetie.”

Chin resting on your hands, arms folded out on the countertop of the library’s front desk, you tore your eyes away from the entrance to find Mrs. Jefferson peering over at you from over the bridge of her glasses. She smirked as she returned to her book, knowing she’d caught you in the act.  

“Have patience,” she said simply.

“Book club is tomorrow and—” you sighed, a heaviness returning to your body as you slumped back against the counter, stare drifting back to the doors at the entrance. The sun was beaming outside, reflecting in beautiful rays as it illuminated the walkway and touched over old oak and the colorful bindings of novels. 

You frowned. “I really thought he was going to come.”

“This James Barnes... he’s a soldier, yes? Like my boy?”  

You nodded, disappointment burning like a lump in your throat, though you swallowed it back. “A Sergeant. Sam said he came home a little under a year ago.”  

“Then he’ll come,” Mrs. Jefferson pressed confidently, sliding her glasses up her nose, the chain of purple beads clicking against the gem stones on her sweater. “Boys like that don’t break their word. Even if he is a bit of a hesitant one.”

You knew what she meant by that. Hesitant.  

No one liked to talk about the dangers of a soldier post-war. It was uncomfortable; the idea that they could still be fighting a battle long beyond the absence of a weapon in their hands and the threat of present danger. Heroes weren’t supposed to have chinks in their armor. They weren’t supposed to crumble and break under the weight of what happened beyond borders and the guilt they carried.  

They were supposed to be strong; a symbol of a great country and a willing tribute to place upon a pedestal. It was unacceptable to be a burden, unacceptable to do anything other than seamlessly integrate back into a society that they never really knew to begin with.  

It was all a farce; a rigged game set to line the pockets of the rich and exploit everyone else in its path – sent off to fight for a cause no one really understood or believed in. It left behind good men and women to the rubble; Bucky Barnes among them.  

Sam hadn’t told you much about Bucky before you met him, but you knew enough to tell that it was a struggle to get him to leave the apartment. He was isolated and quiet and hardly recognizable from the man you’d seen in photos. Only, it wasn’t the lack of his left arm that drew your attention when you first saw him, but the lingering sadness in his eyes.  

Sam had a picture hanging in the office that often pulled you in. Bucky stood on his left side, smiling so wide it left lines on his face. He was bright, light as a feather, only weighed down by Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders. You wondered if the man in the photo would have flirted shamelessly with you, if he’d have corny pickup lines or offer to take you dancing. He looked like the sort of man who had girls chasing his tail, a line of heartbreak in his wake. He was beautiful.  

It was strange to see him like that, comparing him to the man he was today. Now, it was like a cloud lingered over his head, draining the color from his skin and chipping away at his soul until it dimmed and crumbled and faded away.  

But you’d seen glimpses of the man in the photo. He was still beautiful; a little hurt and dragging his feet, but beautiful. His smile wasn’t quite as wide and the cloud was still present, but there was a peak of sunshine peering through. A single ray puncturing over stormy skies, but it was something. He’d laughed and teased and it was more than Sam had known him to do in months. You were determined to see the sun touch his skin again. If only he’d let you guide him there.  

“I’m going to go restock on the second level,” you conceded, pushing yourself up from the counter and sauntering over to the cart lined heavy with books.  

“Alright sweetie. I’ll be sure to page you when your Sergeant shows up.”

You felt a heat burning in your face at the very idea of ‘your Sergeant’. Mrs. Jefferson chuckled to herself, eyes still down on her book. She waved you off, not giving you a chance to object, even if you could string together a coherent sentence.  

***

Bucky couldn’t get out of bed.  

He’d been in this predicament hundreds of times before; staring up at the ceiling, wasting the days away as the curtains blocked the light and shielded him from the reminder of another sun daring to rise beyond his window. His energy would be drained and his willingness to so much as brush his teeth was obsolete. He’d known what it felt like to not be able to get out of bed.  

This was different.  

He had somewhere to be. He actually wanted to get up. He really fucking wanted to.

But the pain in his arm had flared to one of the worst episodes he’d had in months and it rendered him useless; the arm that was both there and not there. He could feel his left hand curl to a fist, could feel the itch on his palm, but when he tried to scratch it, he was only met with thin air, his right hand sinking to the mattress in search of the sensation that didn’t exist.  

It was infuriating.  

The nerve endings in his shoulder were going haywire. It felt like his arm was being ripped from his body and it took nearly all the energy he had not to let it consume him. He’d even gone as far to bite off a piece of his cheek in an effort to suppress the lump in his throat.  

Sam would have frowned at that, spewed him some bullshit about how crying can be therapeutic and Steve would nod his head annoyingly in agreement, but Bucky was tougher than that. He had to be tougher than that. If he allowed himself to unlatch that gate, it would consume him whole. He’d drown.  

Hinges squeaked at the front entrance as the door swung open and a pair of heavy footsteps came rushing into the apartment.  

“I’m coming, buddy! Hold on!” Sam called, the plastic swish of the grocery bag handing off his arms dropping to the floor. Bucky tried to concentrate on the sound of running water, the bottle of pills shaking in the small orange bottle, and not on the pain threatening to tear him in half.  

The door to his bedroom flung open and Sam rushed in with a glass of water and his fist closed around two red capsules. He paused in the frame, a frown pushing down at his mouth, and Bucky could only imagine what he looked like; disheveled, sweating, laying in day old clothes and muddled sheets. His right hand was shaking.  

“Alright, help me out, Barnes,” Sam said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He placed a steady hand on Bucky’s back to help push himself upright. Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed, finding his balance before Sam placed the pills in his hand.  

Bucky threw them back into his mouth, holding his hand out for the glass of water that would come next. It landed in his grip and he gulped down the medication. There was no instant relief with pain like this, but the knowledge it would soon wear off to something manageable was enough.  

“Thanks,” he mumbled out, voice tense as he struggled to find it.  

“Insurance companies are assholes,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, though he patted Bucky on the knee. “Cutting off coverage for a fucking vet with no warning like that? Can’t believe you’ve been without this stuff for almost a week. It’s messed up.”  

Bucky had come to expect it. He knew something had to go wrong eventually with how things were starting to turn around. He’d actually been looking forward to seeing you at the library and almost went that next day if it wasn’t for the sudden attack on his own body. He'd tried to deal with it on his own, thinking he might sleep it off, but then it became unbearable. Insurance wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the energy to argue on the phone with them all day. Thankfully, Sam did.  

Except now it was a day before the next book club meeting and Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to face you. Part of him wondered if you'd be disappointed, if maybe you’d steal a glance over the doors and hope that it was him walking through, only to be let down as each day passed by. The other half wondered if you’d care at all.  

But he’d seen the way you’d smiled at him, how you’d lit up at the idea of him stopping by.  

You’d care.  

He wasn’t sure if that hurt worse, seeing as he never showed up.  

“You could still go.”

Bucky sighed at Sam’s suggestion. He wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin. He was being serious. It was the kind of look that reminded Bucky that under it all, Sam was one of his closest friends, one of the few that stuck around when everything went to shit.

“She’ll want to see you,” Sam continued, nudging Bucky’s side with a soft smile, but Bucky shook his head, unconvinced.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Sam?” Bucky groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “’Sorry I stood you up, but I felt like my hand was being sawed off on an arm I don’t even fucking have?’”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, earning a glare in response he let roll off his shoulders with ease. “She’d understand, Buck. She knows what comes with the territory here. She’s a lot more familiar with this stuff than you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a pang of jealousy burning hot in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask her why she got involved with the VA in the first place.”

Bucky pressed his lips to a thin line, a silence coming over them. That was an immensely personal question; one akin to someone asking him how he’d lost his arm. He wasn’t sure that was an answer you’d be willing to share.  

Sam exhaled a heavy breath, patting Bucky three times on the knee before he stood up. “Let the meds kick in, but promise you’ll try to go, alright?”

Bucky stared up at Sam for a moment before he conceded with a short nod. The pain in his shoulder was starting to lessen, at least. It didn’t feel like his arm was being torn from his body or a knife was plunging into a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. It would likely get back to a place he could deal with within the hour.

“I promise,” Bucky said. “I’ll go.”

***

A brush of warm air filtered in through the vents as Bucky stepped inside the library. It was bigger than he remembered with large stain glass windows on the outer walls, filtering in a colorful sunlight onto the aisles upon aisles of books. At the center, just ahead of the entrance, was a reception desk. Bucky exhaled a tense breath in an attempt to rid himself from the nerves rattling in his veins and made his way to the woman sitting behind the counter.  

She was reading quietly in her seat, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain perched at the very tip of her nose. She didn’t look up in his direction until he stood at the edge of the desk, and only then, she caught glance of him over the top of her glasses before a smile rose on her lips.  

“Can I help you, young man?”  

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She, uh, works here. Y/n.”

The woman nodded. She wore the kind of smile on her face Bucky was familiar with. He’d seen it in Sam about a dozen times in the last week; the kind of smile that said ‘I was right.’

“You must be Sergeant Barnes,” she said as she picked up the radio from the desk.  

Bucky nodded quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt jittery. He tried not to let the fact that you’d clearly talked to this woman about him throw him completely off his game. If he even had game to begin with…  

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied with an even tone. She smirked.  

“Y/n,” she called into the radio, “you have a guest at the front desk.”

The woman held up a finger to him though it trembled with age, signaling for him to wait a moment. Bucky nodded, tucking his hand into his pocket as he silently made his way over to the series of chairs lined along the wall.  

He gripped his fist tight inside his pocket, trying to ignore the pulsing in his shoulder. It had lessened considerably since Sam brought him his meds, but it hadn’t gone away completely. Showering had taken longer than usual and it took him nearly four minutes just to pull a shirt over his head. His army jacket hung over his shoulders, wrapped in a protective layer, loose sleeve at his side. 

“If you’re pulling my chain, Mrs. Jefferson…”  

Bucky perked up at the sound of your voice. You were crossing the main entrance from the staircase, half jogging to the counter where the woman, Mrs. Jefferson, was grinning to herself from behind her book.  

You draped over the counter, toes barely keeping hold on the tile floors as you attempted to reach for her book, but she snatched it from your grasp just in time. You huffed, sinking back down the floor.  

“It’s not funny!” you whined and Bucky almost felt a little guilty for not making his presence known yet, but you were just so cute the way you slumped your shoulders and glanced back at the entrance.  

Mrs. Jefferson pointed over to where Bucky had slowly begun to make his way towards you, but you folded your arms over your chest. Bucky cleared his throat when he stood a few paces off your shoulder, but you didn’t seem to hear him.  

Mrs. Jefferson caught Bucky’s eye before she turned her attention back to you. “Sweetie, he’s—”

“He’s not coming, okay?” you groaned and Bucky felt a stone drop into his stomach. “I—I thought he would but… I was wrong.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak but suddenly his throat was dry. Mrs. Jefferson’s smile started to fade. Clearly, Bucky wasn’t the only one who heard the disappointment in your voice, the sliver of heartbreak, too. He tried to speak, to call your name, to say something, but he was marbled stone.  

“I’m going back to work.”

There wasn’t time to pull his words together before you slammed head first into Bucky’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces, surprised, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.  

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—” You stilled, taking in who was standing in front of you. “Bucky?”

He pressed out a smile, though his ears were burning red. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No! N-no, you’re totally fine! I didn’t—I didn’t think you were—” You blinked a few times before your eyes darted back at Mrs. Jefferson who only smirked from behind her book, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose. You turned back to Bucky, brushing out the hem of your skirt and wrapping the thick layer of a lavender colored cardigan tightly around your waist, almost like a blanket.  

You exhaled a nervous breath, a nervous smile lifting into your cheeks. “I’m happy you came.”

“It would have been sooner, I swear,” Bucky replied quickly, watching helplessly as your smile brightened into a laugh. “But, um, my uh—”  

He chewed on the edge of his lip. Was he really going to tell you what kept him held up in his room for days on end? Would it bitter the sweet way you looked at him to know that he was a mess under a poorly constructed surface, tied together with string and scotch tape? But you were looking at him so fondly, he wondered if there was anything he could say that could take that away.

“My arm,” he admitted, waiting for a flash of disgust on your face that never came. You softened a bit, but your eyes never left his. He cleared his throat. “It, um… It was just acting up. I ran out of meds and the pain it—it got bad. The kinda pain that sorta makes me wish I had the arm just so I could saw it off myself.”

Shit. He hadn’t mean to say that much but there was just something about the way you looked at him that made him feel like he couldn’t say a damn wrong thing. You pursed your lips, nodding in as much understanding as you could offer. You gestured to the staircase and Bucky followed you without question.  

“I would have been here last week,” Bucky finished because he needed you to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of you being upset, of that sliver of disappointment in your voice when you’d accepted he wasn’t going to show. He needed you to know he’d tried.  

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said simply, though he could tell you appreciated it nonetheless. You offered him a smile, one that washed away any feelings of doubt that crept up to the surface. The pain in his shoulder was long forgotten when you looked at him like that.  

“I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know I’m trying.

He had something to look forward to now, a reason to get out of his bed and open the curtains and look at the fucking sun for once. He had reason to shower and go outside and shove away all the thoughts of self-doubt and paranoia because there was something incredible waiting for him beyond the door.  

I just wanted you to know you’re the reason I’m trying.

“Come on,” you grinned, leading him to the staircase. “I have a few books in mind you might like.”  

Your hand extended in his direction, but you caught yourself when you realized what you were doing. It was seamless enough that you easily played it off as you tugged your sweater tight around your body, but he noticed. It was an intimate gesture, a closeness he hadn’t known in years.  

He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to crave something like that.

***

It didn’t take long for Bucky to settle on The Martian by Andy Weir. It was the first book you pulled from the shelves, one amongst a series of alternatives you had ready in the event this one didn’t appeal to him. All it took was a single glance over the back cover, a slight incline in his brow, and he was sold.

“I trust you,” was all Bucky had said; so simply, as if it didn’t take the breath straight from your chest.   

Bucky didn’t have a library card you realized as you brought him back to the front desk. He’d sheepishly asked to check it out on your account, but you were determined to see more of him and you hoped that by getting him his own card, he might be more inclined to come back. Not that you explained it that way per say, but he didn’t object at least.

It had taken a lot less time than either of you anticipated and you found yourself following him to the exit, both of you dragging your feet.

“So, um…” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “That was easy.”

“Yeah,” you scratched at the back of your neck, glancing to the clock hanging high on the eastern wall. “I hope you like it after all this trust you’re putting in my judgement.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A short silence swept over. Neither of you moving to leave. A couple swerved around you in an effort to get to the doors. The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was a nervous energy in it, like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Only, you both did it at once.  

“Would you want to—”

“I’m off at four—”

You bit down on your lips, suppressing a laugh. You gestured for him to go first. His looked so sweet with the pink in his cheeks. A man who had been once rendered as a weapon and he wore a blush in his cheeks. Your stomach held butterflies in its cage.  

“There’s a coffeeshop nearby,” he continued nervously. “I was thinking I could replace that coffee of yours I spilled last week…”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from how wide you were smiling. “Give me five minutes? I just need to wrap things up with Mrs. Jefferson and then I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, a flash of something unreadable on his face. He shook it off quickly and nodded, telling you he’d wait by the chairs along the wall until you were ready. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the desk that you’d realized what you’d said.  

I’m yours.

A harmless saying; one people used every day in passing. Still, you felt that same surge of energy at the thought. From the twists in your stomach and the stammer in your heart, you knew that if he’d asked, it would be true.  

***

Bucky watched as you scurried back to the main desk, a few quick glances back over your shoulder in his direction like you were making sure he was still there. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it ached in your cheeks. He’d never known anyone to smile as much as you did, like you had this limitless supply of joy eager to be tapped into. He couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach, knowing he had been able to syphon some of that joy and bring it to the surface. It was him you were smiling at. It felt like a dream.

He glanced down at the book nestled into the sleeve of his bag; a stunning ombre in shades of orange to red to black, a lone astronaut in the center – like he was floating adrift. You’d told him it was a story of survival, of the intricacies of humanity and human connection. It was funny at times and filled with science beyond your pay grade, but it was mesmerizing.  

There was an unspoken hope he could read in your eyes that he might connect to the main character, Mark Watney in his search for connection, in his desperate hope to free himself from the isolation, in his resilience. You’d said Mark was an exceptional character, one with courage and determination to be admired.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he could stand up to the likes of Mark Watney, but he would certainly try.  

The glimmer in your eye as you spoke about the book, almost as if it were an old friend, was enough to convince him. For the first time in years, he felt the urge to read when he got home, just so he could see the look on your face in book club when you realized he’d already started it. He wanted to make you proud, wanted to see more of your smile. It was his new drive.  

A few minutes later, you came jogging back up to him. Your purse hung over your shoulders, a few new books of your own tucked under your arm. You’d done more than finish your shift at the desk though, he realized, because his eyes flickered to a reflective shine on your lips, one that hadn’t been there before. You’d put on lip gloss.

His heart flipped.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the doors. All bright eyes and sunshine as you looked at him.  

“There’s a café called Luciana’s not too far from here. I’ve heard good things about it. Might be quiet,” Bucky offered and a flash of something unreadable crossed your features. “Do you know it?”

“I go there every Sunday before book club! It’s my favorite,” you replied, nearly skipping in your steps. “Replacing my coffee and getting it right down to the same shop? I’m impressed, Bucky.”

He chuckled, hanging his head as he followed you down the descending staircase and into the heavy flow of pedestrian traffic. He’d forgotten how busy the sidewalks could get at rush hour and the smile quickly drained from his face, though he wouldn’t let you see.  

Bucky tried to focus on you as the strangers circled in around him, how you were laughing at the coincidence of it all, starting on a tangent of your favorite donuts at the shop. Your voice was like a beacon and he did his best use it as a guide.  

But he could feel the quicken pace of his heart inside his chest, how it thumped through his ribs and pulsed into his head the closer strangers got to him. He swerved out of the way of a tourist who was too busy looking down at his phone to notice Bucky in his path. He kept his head down, hand clenched tightly in his jacket pocket, eyes staring at the concrete.  

Teenagers were whispering behind him, snickering under their breath, and Bucky could hear the harsh ‘shhh’ of a father at wit’s end. His lungs felt tight, certain that the boys were mocking the loose sleeve hanging down by his side. He could have taken it if here were on his own. His ears would flush red and a wash of shame and embarrassment would flood his senses, but he could have taken it.  

Not with you by his side. Not when you could be privy to the harsh stares and the cruel voices, the validation to a fear he’d known to be true long before he met you – that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and he would never find that sense of normalcy again. He was kidding himself into thinking that you could ever want someone like—

“Bucky?”

When he looked up at you, your smile had fallen away, replaced with concern. It must not have been the first time you called his name. He didn’t know what to say. He felt small, like a child, embarrassed that even on a good day the influx of people still rendered him to a state of panic.  

“Come on,” you said quietly, glancing around to an alley off your shoulder. “Let’s take the scenic route.”  

He followed gratefully, staring at your shoulder blades as you led him away from the busy hustle of the crowd and along empty side streets and residential neighborhoods. It would take longer this way, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy admiring the architecture of the brownstones and the beautiful array of plants and flowers hanging along the windows. In the open space, you skipped a few paces ahead, arms out wide and twirled around, simply because you could. You laughed and it echoed up along the buildings.  

Bucky could have handed you his heart right then. He could have pulled it straight from his chest and set it into your palms. He wondered if you would handle it with the tender sort of care he hoped you would. His heart was fraying and damaged, after all. It required a gentle touch.  

You fell back in line with him easily and you checked to make sure the next block wasn’t too busy before you led him down another side street. He tried to ignore the voices telling him he was a burden, that his baggage was dragging heavy at your feet, but it crept to the surface no matter how many times you smiled at him.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out, willing his voice to be stronger than it felt. “I don’t know why this is such an issue for me. I was fine on the way over.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky,” you said gently, slowing your pace until you came to a stop.  

Bucky dragged his feet, stopping along a bush of pink hydrangeas planted outside a stunning brick townhome. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your hand reached out to him instinctively, almost in slow motion, and you only paused as you realized what you were doing and pulled back. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not ever someone you have to apologize to about this stuff, okay?” you continued with a kind of sincerity in your voice, Bucky didn’t have a choice but to believe you. The way you looked at him nearly pulled him to pieces. “It comes and goes. Waxes and wanes. There’s no fault. No blame. Just tell me if something’s wrong, so I can help. That’s all I ask.”

Were you speaking from experience? Did you know someone who had been as shattered as he was? Was it the reason Sam wanted him to ask about why you were involved with the VA to begin with?  

It was quiet on the side street; the only sound the distant footsteps from traffic up ahead and the low rumble of car engines in the distance. A bird chirped from a low handing branch above.  

You shoved your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep yourself from reaching for his. He was surprised at the twist in his stomach when he wished you would have tried just one more time. Maybe he could have had some courage to take it.  

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. When you smiled again it was small— a little heavy— but it touched your eyes. There was a relief in it, maybe an appreciation, too. It swept away some of the anxiety from his veins.  

“Okay.” Your smile widened as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. Bucky found himself feeling a little lighter as he followed behind.  

When the two of you approached the main street again along the block Luciana’s was tucked away in, Bucky didn’t feel as though he was suffocating anymore. He could sense his reflexes picking up, a subtle increase in his heart rate, but he walked a little closer to you, your hip bumping against his every so often and he found that it grounded him. It kept him firm on the surface when he felt like he was floating up into a distant unknown. He wondered if you knew the extent to which you affected him.  

Luciana’s was quiet inside as Bucky jutted out ahead of you to reach for the door. A soft strum of an acoustic guitar and a Spanish speaking singer’s intricate melody hummed over the speakers. He felt a solid breath of air fill his lungs, tasting of coffee beans and fresh pastries.  

“Welcome to—” a voice called from behind the counter before she paused, eyes falling on you. “Y/n!”  

A woman ran out from behind the counter, dressed in a stained apron and a long, bright pink dress, and held her arms out to you. You laughed as she enveloped you to her chest.  

“My darling! It is not Sunday, you know. You’re getting your days mixed up!” she exclaimed, wagging her finger at you. She didn’t even give you time to explain before she turned to Bucky, who suddenly felt a burn of heat on his face. “Ah! You finally brought me one of your boys!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you quickly. His stomach dropped.  

“She means at the VA,” you explained, a little embarrassed at her implication as you shuffled your feet, eyes darting at the floor. Bucky raised an eyebrow in realization, eyes flickering back to the woman – who he assumed to be Luciana herself – as she scurried back around the counter. He noticed then that she was wearing slippers on her feet.  

“Come, come!” She called eagerly, waiting with a tapping toe at the register.  

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a breath of a laugh escaping before you stepped up to the counter. You didn’t hesitate in your order, though you took some extra time in looking over the pastries and donuts after Bucky told you to pick something out for him. You put so much thought into it, it was really quite sweet. He waited until you reached down for your purse to slip his card over the counter to Luciana.  

She wore that same smile he’d seen on Mrs. Jefferson at the library. That smirk. Like they knew something he didn’t.  

You heard the ring of the cash registered and looked up at him, agape. You swatted his arm without thinking twice about it and there was a comfort in that. He laughed, taking his coffee and settling in at a table by the windows as you followed behind.  

As he watched you across the table, your eyes glancing out to the pedestrians as they walked back, nursing the steaming mug of coffee between your hands, that morning suddenly felt like it was a life time ago.  

Had he really been paralyzed with pain, unable to move from his bed, just a few hours earlier? It felt like a century had passed in between. In a rare indulgence, Bucky let himself wonder what it would feel like to spend all his time with you; if maybe time moved so fast it swept him off his feet or if it moved slow enough to allow him to catch every second.  

All he knew was that he wanted more.