#if i dont come up with a solution i literally have to find a job instead of writing and thats miserable 😭

[girl-bateman]

Libraries save me.... 😩😩💗

[v4guelyv4mpiric]

ITS HALLOWEEN

the time of the year we are able to buy fangs in retail. and i've tried literally every brand of fangs that spirit halloween carries (and more), so this is my review and recommendations.

Scarecrow Fangs

unpopular opinion, but i did not like these. They're way too expensive, imo and the molding solution sucks and is a nightmare to work with. the fangs themselves are alright.

price: 19.99 us

rating: 5/10

Spirit Halloween

It's surprisingly good! i used these until i broke them - they use thermoplastic for molding, which i think should be the standard for fangs. It's far easier to work with. the plastic is cheaper than Scarecrow, but they feel solid and are a more realistic color (at least for me)

price: 4.99 us

rating: 8/10

Monster High

Oh my ghoul, i love these. These fangs are a bit on the smaller size, which is useful if you're going for subtle. and of course, being monster high, i'm all for them. i mean, that case is adorable

again, these use thermoplastic. Though its imortant to note not to put the fangs themselves in hot water while you're molding them- i warped one by accident. regardless, they are so comfortable and resilient. my second favorites.

price: 9.99 us

rating 9/10

Special FX

we've all seen that video of that girl using these in like 2008 and wanted to be her. at least i did... but im sad to report that these fangs dont work on my anatomy. they mold to your back molars with thermoplastic, and when you press on the bar, the fangs come down. these fit simular to a retainer as they just sit above your teeth.

i, however, am missing one of those molars and cannot line it up right to use them. (never beating the kentuckian stereotype)

price: 9.99

rating: 3/10

Now for the ones not sold at Spirit Halloween

Amazon cosplay fangs

You've most likely seen these before. they're nothing special, but they get the job done. i do like the case they come in! very convenient. But the color is far too unrealistic for me. still, they do use thermoplastic! which is always a win. and theres four sizes, again convenient.

price: 7.99 us (give or take)

rating: 4/10

Dracula Fangs

I had never heard of this brand before someone posted about these on tiktok. i bought them immediately (i am not immune to propaganda, and neither are you), and i gotta say... They're my favorite I've tried.

I got the large ones; and let me tell you, they're massive. definitely not for subtle vamp vibes. They're sharp, too! That's a plus for me, not for everyone, i assume. and they mold with thermoplastic! they come with way more than you need (which you can use to make more fangs if you desire)

they do come in smaller sizes as far as I've seen, but i haven't tried those yet.

price: 20.00 us (i know that's rather pricey)

rating 10/10

honorable(ish) mentions

...

vampire condoms. only get them as a bit. a /j fang if you will.

price: 0.99 (i got mine at dave&busters for 25 tokens)

rating: i am wampire/10

Walmart Fangs

i swore there were some in different packaging, but i can't find those now. these suck (not in the fun way). They're made of rubber, and i dont remember them having any molding agents. just skip these, okay?

price: 2.89 us

rating: 0/10

[evansbby]

OK so here is my dilemma

Basically everyone here knows that I’m really sad that I don’t have a boyfriend and have honestly never had a real true serious boyfriend.

And I always discuss this with my friends because I’m trying to figure out WHY like is there something wrong with me??? Am I seriously unattractive to men??

So I asked my friend and she obviously was like “no you’re hot” but she’s my friend so ofc she will say that. But then she asked two men she’s friends with, whilst I wasn’t there, and they said (about me) “No she’s hot but we’d be scared to ask her out because we know she’d say no.”

Which like… yeah OK I would say no to them because they’re lowkey not good looking BUTTTT WHAT THE FUCK??? And another one of my friends also told me this, she said men are not asking me out because hot girls are too unapproachable and men can’t stand being rejected and embarrassed in this day and age.

And another one of my friends HAS told me to be more open-minded and lower my standards but I just can’t you guys. Because unlike my friends, I grew up literally so IMMERSED in the world of fanfictions and the perfect man that I’m still just waiting for that to happen in real life 🥺

Anyways back to me being unapproachable. Maybe this is true because I remember once a guy told me verbatim: “you look like a total bitch and that’s hot” AND even that at the time lowkey hurt my feelings bc wdym BITCH?!? I am not a bitch!

But lately I’ve been thinking… I can’t help the character I am outwardly. Because I used to be so shy back in school and because of that people used to be so condescending to me. Fast forward now and I find that I’m super confident ON THE OUTSIDE bc we all know confidence is lowkey just an act. But anyways I’m acting confident to the point where people are intimidated by me 😭 not everyone, but a few people I can just tell they are.

Like once I remember back when I was a waitress, one of my coworkers was sat where I usually sit during lunch (but anyone can sit there) and she saw me coming and literally GASPED and apologised and moved 😭😭 LIKE??? Ofc I told her girl pls sit back down it’s not my seat!! But wtf!!! IS THIS HOW PEOPLE SEE ME!

Similarly recently in my current job, one of the girls was sitting where I usually sit and when she saw me coming she also apologised and moved 😭😭 despite the fact that anyone is allowed to sit anywhere 😂😭

ANYWAYS my point is… DO MEN THINK I AM STUCK UP?? I assure you I’m not but idk how to make THEM understand that???

And OK this is weird but my friend said to me “I’m not as pretty as you but guys go for me because I let them know I’m interested” and ok first of all she did not have to put herself down like that!!! I hate when people put themselves down but also… I AM SO SCARED OF REJECTION THAT I DONT KNOW HOW TO LET THEM KNOW I AM INTERESTED!

I feel like I’m rambling at this point but my point is… have I just built up this whole confidence around myself and now it’s come back to bite me in the ass because no man even tries to approach me now???

And before anyone accuses me of being vain, I am now trying out this thing where I don’t say anything self deprecating about my looks because it doesn’t do anyone any good to say those things. Also I work very hard on my appearance, I put in a lot of effort every day. And I’ve gone through my whole life thinking I wasn’t pretty, wanting to be white back in school because that was the beauty standard and the boys only seemed to find the white girls pretty. So yes now I will say that yes I do think I’m pretty because honestly realistically… yes I am.

BUT THE POINT IS THAT have I built up my confidence so much that now men are too intimidated or scared to ask me out??? If so what do I do??! I don’t want to change myself but how do I make myself more approachable??? I’ve already asked my friends but I need to ask more people. I wish I had guy friends to ask but I do not LMFAO. SO TELL ME WHAT IS THE SOLUTION

[worldsewage]

dont remember if anyones asked this but why does kingyoto work for grizzco? and does he not find any issue in what grizzco do? i need to learn abt this fish

His previous job was fishing dead remains out of the waters that run towards Salmonid villages, namely washed up ink so it doesn’t pollute villages. he’s always had a fascination with Inkopolis— it’s sort of the New York City of splatoon, which you see it a lot on cards and stuff it’s sort of a staple location.

Kingyoto does not startle at the things Grizzco does, Salmonids are all aware. The reviews on it still are mixed but at the end of the day most of the general consensus in their minds is “when we transform, we have a one track mind that ultimately can harm other species, it’s better that a company dedicated to protecting Inklings harvests eggs from home running Salmonid’s does this instead of Afraid Inklings in Farmland Territories, we were gonna die during home runs anyway” but also religiously the home run is considered completing the cycle, so before Salmonid’s leave their families are aware they won’t return.

Most Salmonids are unaware in the right conditions Homerunners are docile, and that they’re only violent due to the Inkwasted waters affecting how far they can transform. So they think Grizzco is a last resort solution.

But, Salmonids are aware, that because of Grizzco young Salmonids get hurt or killed, and because of Grizzco a lot of Inklings have negative opinions on Salmonids. Kingyoto knew this coming in, but I think after fishing up flesh from water you sort of become numb to the idea of wanting to be eaten or killed. And because most Inklings are so adjusted to Homerunning salmon, half of them assumed he wasn’t a salmonid at all and the other half wants him dead. So it’s a tough to please crowd but he’s a trooper.

Also, his original job was shitty and ruinous and owned by Senshin Corp, so when he essentially got replaced by Machinery management told him that an opportunity opened up at Grizzco, not many Salmonids are willing to go overseas. But Grizzco sounded sleek and professional in his mind. Grizzco is famous, it’s like being told you’re working at NASA or Disney. Grizzco literally has merchandise— probably to hide and normalize the things they do. But it’s kind of a mix of multiple of these factors, being the reason why he moved, I think a lot of Inklings don’t understand this considering how many of them view Salmon Runs as a Sport.

If you asked Kingyoto though, he’d probably say “because I’m a huge squid sisters fan.”

[squeakadeeks]

🥑🍊 sorry about the concussion!! Having recently recovered from one early in the winter… stay off electronics and screens as best you can (will hurt ya head worse!) (not that I’m… encouraging by sending oc asks LOLOLOLOL I am just very excited about your ocs lol That meme of marge Simpson going “I just think they’re neat!” Is me w ur oc lore)

hope you recover fast!

SORRY FOR THE DELAY ON THIS im already bad about responding to things but then as one would imagine, Concussion Job really threw a wrench into things. at this point, its significantly better. I'm still having a few ripples of the Bonk Effect, but no worries since the electronics thing was a losing battle haha.

🥑 [AVACADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad?

In Delta, after Rhea leaves the little Raken trio group to find her own solution to the whole "everyone is going to go to sleep forever" problem, Rem goes fully off his rocker and commits to this evil nightmare caricature. in the moment everyone is like "hey dude. i dont think this is a great way to cope with the situation at hand and its kind of weird and objectively making things worse" but at this point he refused to write a prenup the way he was so committed to the bit.

🍊 [ORANGE] Does your OC have a prophecy surrounding them? If they don’t, what would it be?

I actually try really really hard to avoid things like prophecies and "chosen one" type narratives bc its not my jam. but!! fun fact, way back in the day, Alliacea was a prophecy story. Like when Mansoa landed on the island, she found ruins that fortold what was coming. It didnt really make sense and was pretty goofy, I just wanted to draw cool rocks. I have now learned I can draw cool rocks without them being precognizant. also fun fact 2, this was also from the version of the story where Pacific straight up murked people for power. At one point in time he was literally a homicidal in a 'lord of the flies' style character, and now he cries if someone looks at him too long and spends all his time with cute tropical fish.

[jev-urisk]

A Musing Monday 🎐

Today I am musing on too many things! 😵‍💫

My brain feels crowded by little rabbit holes and I keep catching myself fully lost in them to the point where im getting salty or spicy or sad over imaginary scenarios. Ive been having more nightmares than usual lately, too. So I guess what im going to muse on today is processing things (I'll leave musing on innovation and the way its weaponized against the working class ((one of the rabbit holes🐰))for another monday)

WHY am I circle-thinking about stuff like 'what would I do if I was stuck in the past?' 'why didnt the industrial revolution provide more ease and profit for every class' or 'how would I convince strong people to protect me if I was in an apocolypse situation?' 😣💫

Now take this with a grain of salt, I may have a psych degree but im not a researcher or anything (just a nerd with autism 🤓); my brain is using fictional scenarios to practice processing🎭🧮. It feels the need to practice because there's a LOT within my brain thats unprocessed right now (hello trauma, hello issues with finding a better job, hello feeling very vulnerable lately). 👋😩

Our brains are solving machines geared to find the answer🤖, and when that answer is not immidiatly available we may experience things like nighmares and intrusive thoughts and maladaptive daydreams to try to get an angle on The Thing thats not processed.🔬

Thinking about The Trauma directly often puts the body in a stress mode thats not condusive to creative problem solving📉. Like being stressed is literally counterproductive to solving bc we go into 🔥survival mode🔥where fight flight etc are The Options Available. Imagining yourself in a historical fiction situation is not a 1-1 ratio to 'what exactly happened when abuse appeared in MY past' and but ya know what, its close enough for our brains to bring it up as a substitute. 🤷

And the fact that our brains have this reaction to The Bad Thing is interesting in itself. 🤔 Why are some bad memories just things that happened, and some are so triggering your mind would rather process terrifying nightmares every night than just.. face The Memory? 🫠 Like it's over, it can't get you now, the past is dead, right?

The solution? Well obviously it looks a bit different for everyone, particularly depending on where you are on your path. 🧭 Like if you have nightmares/intrusive thoughts/maladaptive daydreaming and dont uh... dont have any trauma coming to mind that aint my place to tell you whats next 🤐. I can only really mind my own gourd here and MY next step is Accelarated Resolution Therapy🗃, which is often used with war veterans with ptsd, to store my truama memories in a better, less triggering way. 📈

Well it turns out that memories like to be filed away by our senses 📂. Like memories sit best and retrieve easier (lets take xmas as an example🎄) if you're remembering the smell of xmas dinner, the sound of wrapping paper, the bite of the cold outside and the taste of hot coco✨️. When memories store poorly, as they usually do with trauma 😔, your body is not just remembering- it is acting as if You Are Still There. 💥📍

Infact to prepare for ART, I have had to purposly bring up all my old memories 😬, which has in turn signalled my brain to circle around pseudo truama thoughts when I'm 'at rest' in attempt to solve whats not really 'solvable' and with that weve gone fuuull circle on my musings here lmao ➿️

I got two weeks until that all important therapy session and until then I figure my brain is gonna keep trying to hampsterwheel 🐹🎡, but perhaps my loop will inspire something within you, or help you out of a loop, or perhaps make you realize you’ve been in a silent loop for awhile now.. 🔄👁👁

In anycase, thank your brain for me! Particularly if its doing these things I described above. It's trying so hard to help and protect you 🧠🫶 My apologies for giving it something so tough to chew on this Monday lmao 😅 Stay safe out there 🫂

(I don't have a taglist for my Monday posts yet, hmu if you want to be tagged on these zanny adventures plz)

[qualityrain]

ur right and im going to complain abt this for a sec because ppl dont get that the yandere trope is actually very broad. the requirement to be a yandere is very simple actually. its just a character who is obsessively attached to someone which makes them do extreme behaviour. like yeah theres a list of traits commonly found in the trope but u dont need to hit all of them yk. which is the problem. that people see the character and go oh yandere so they will def have [common yandere trait] right??? and disregard canon. anyway im going to rant abt terrible shinpei takes on twitter because im normal about media

the idea!!!! that hes an asshole or mean to people who are not satoko!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this makes me wish that the extras are more easily accessible because theres more shinpei interactions with side characters when satoko isnt there. but even then with what we have in the manga hes so normal?????? people r constantly calling him a psycopath and like broo just because he has low empathy doesnt mean he doesnt care. he struggles a lot in like. socialising? with people? in general? and he doesnt care abt ppls lives because of his job and he doesnt care about his either. i think its worse with the contrast of how we see satoko engage with people and shes very nice and kind and it makes shinpei seem worse? either way he isnt mean!!!! hes blunt and very detached but he cares in a weird way!!! he wants people to be happy and to be happy he does what they want!! which leads to things like him saying oh if aoi is sure she wants to kill herself so be it ig. which isnt him being mean its just how he understands things and hes very blunt!!!!

also the way people keep trying to pass hny off as like GIRLBOSS innocent girl x WORST GUY EVER she has to fix!!!! is so annoying. its so annoying. i saw somebody say that satoko puts shinpei in his place and gives 24 as an example like that is the worst example u could use why cant u use 8. 24 is them communicating, coming to an understanding and finding a solution that is not satoko putting him in his place!!! the idea that shinpei is just Bad and satoko has to make him have good qualities is just so bad. i think it completely undermines shinpei saying he likes satoko because she accepted him like she doesnt fix him she doesnt give him good qualities because IT WAS ALREADY THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. shinpeis good qualities are also his bad ones!! hes blunt which makes him seem rude but satoko thinks hes honest!!! hes extreme in doing things which includes violence and willing to drop everything and go fishing if satoko says so!!! he wants people to be happy so he copies and lies to people and also keeps trying to find out what makes satoko happy!!! every change shinpei does is a conscious decision made because he chose to himself!! he wants satoko to like him so he will be better for her!!

NOT TO MENTION THE FUCKIJG. SAYING SHINPEI IS LIKE KIRISHIMA FROM YAKUZA FIANCE. tearing my hair out. hny and yakuza fiance have the same tropes but the core is different!! yakuza fiance is yoshino (fl) and kirishima (ml) trying to destroy each other hny isnt that. when ppl compare shinpei asking satoko to be a prositute to kirishima asking yoshino being a prositute and i start throwing up because kirishima literally tells yoshino to sell her body to make money if not she isnt worth anything. also kirishima wasnt committed from the start!!! shinpei was committed since day 1!!!! he literally says he’ll do his best to be satokos perfect husband!! dont even put shinpei and kirishima in the same sentence dont do my boy shinpei like this he actually respects women

[lamedemoniaque]

Weed update:

Weed is great but the after affects and the waves of dread and despair hit me so hard in the morning. Waking up is supposed to be a rebirth; a new day is upon us and I choose to be how I was in the past (pessimistic, susceptible to negativity, letting things snowball)

I can’t find solutions to the weird problems I have. Root causes for things help to cope but the gravity of my potential impact on this world is jarring…it makes me dizzy and unable to dream and I dont know what’s right or wrong. Im damaging my brain day by day but as i’ve come into myself recently, I see that I am in fact, quite reasonably human and reasonable humans drink and smoke and fuck and work out and talk to one another; sometimes passionately but most times it is idle in nature. The root cause being that humans do thèse things because they are human, And that’s the only reason we need. It’s not so simple, nor is it so unbelievably complex but it’s oh so frustrating. The only thing I’ve wanted to understand was others and i’ve made amazing strides towards this goal, but in the end, while it’s not a futile effort, it is rather arbitrary and there’s too many dead ends.

My findings are that people, wherever they lie on social standings, will always go out of their way to express their ideals, beliefs and their artistic visions. There’s no true hiding that can be done, but lets be real: body language experts are such horrid cunts and that whole practice is suspect to say the least. That being said, I get called out a lot for stereotyping people, and they are correct to do so but I’ve noticed that people dont usually tend to break social contracts, even arbitrary ones like marriage, friendships and job obligations but they also don’t go against the social conventions of their communities. I believe that community is essential to human life and capitalism and other shit has really skewed this sonic truth about human life. People in certain groups will act a certain way, but that is not a guarantee because guess what? People are complex! We like the mystery of others, so if I make an assumption about someone based on what I know about their culture and their upbringing, that’s just a lead into learning the actual true things about one. People break stereotypes as much if not more than they follow them and I think it’s fascinating truly.

In other news, my love life has continued to be in shambles but I do hope for a change in that whenever the Gods believe that I deserve what I am worthy of. That being said, dating apps are a disgusting trap for those seemingly desperate enough to play a part in the company’s shitty game (me af) and while I just literally typed that out, I don’t really hate dating apps, I just don’t like the way it’s set up. There’s this disgusting aspect to seeing others show themselves off with no substance and the substance is impossible to find because it’s too fucking hard to bridge the gap between the mutual agreement that we live in the same general area and not getting a feel for someone automatically by meeting them in an “organic” matter, but I still dont think it’s bad. I think the thing that bugs me is almost having to pay for the services because dating and being seen by other’s in your dating pool is really fucking hard! Like extremely hard, even if you’re confident and attractive like I like to believe that I am. I dont want to sound anywhere close to a misogynist, but I’ve noticed that through these dating apps, people seem to pigeonhole themselves into seemingly being one-dimensional and that’s concerning because even the people, ugly in their heart, are filled with endless depth that many do not know of, and while the physical aspect isn’t there, it’s still an odd, new thing that we’re still wrapping our heads around. I’m also very concerned about cis-women because I’m not convinced that they like men, but aspects of “masculinity” that are derived from social expectations but that are inhabited by those who I describe as “men-adjacent” (fruits, transwomen/transmen, dudes who know about hello kitty, dudes with a decent to great skincare routine, etc.) and by that I mean that this notion of the definition of masculinity, some machismo enigma of hard labor and bad takes, is 1. Not sought after and 2. Behind the times, maybe even forgotten, and it’s destroying my brain because what the fuck is the point of Irish Spring, Axe bodyspray, Old Spice and beard oil if that’s not what I would presume their dating pool would be, women, want from them at all? It’s still hitting me and it’s not that im even affected by this in any romantic sense (I’m nonbinary and have a devotion to looking as attractive as possible by almost any means) it’s just baffling…

And i know what the variable is that I’m missing! Conservative “people”! That’s not a bad point to make, but even those fools do exactly what I was alluding too. The gun girl cunt bitch lady has the most twinked up gayed out husband and the other shapiro also has a husband that is so against the conventions that they preach and so with that, I will say that the biggest voice for this arbitrary nonsense are not the ones that practice, but the ones who preach…

I’m just very alone romantically and it’s really making my grit my teeth so fucking bad! It’s not a sex thing! I’ve already had sex I dont even care about these primal, carnal urges I just WANT A FUCKING HUG WITH SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT ME!!! I WILL NOT SURRENDER AND GIVE UP ON CIS WOMEN BUT GODDAMN THEY ARE RETARDS!!!

[autisticlee]

everyone is always saying things like "it gets better!/be positive!/you need to believe it will get better and it will!/look forward to/wish/hope for a better future!/etc" you know, those type of things? maybe they mean well, but sitting here hoping and wishing for things to get better doesn't necessarily mean it will. especially if you don't have the ability to physically do anything about it. "thinking positively" doesn't mean your life will positively turn around suddenly on its own.

if you can't put in the work because of obstacles and barriers you can't do anything about, or because of consistent parts of your life you can't simply cut off because it's literally part of you, you can't say "things will get better" and they just do. you can't tell someone wotj chronic migraines that last for life that it will "get better" and give them false hope that their migraines will get better. it's better to encourage them to find ways to work around them such as finding a job that doesn't trigger them as much or something like that.

or if I put it more relatable to myself, telling me things will get better when i'm dealing with people and generally struggling due to being autistic and adhd. it won't ever "get better" because i'll always be autistic and adhd and struggle with people and life. I can only try to work around it to *maybe* make it a little easier *sometimes* but it won't ever get noticeably and consistently "better" because the world isn't built for me

when does this hoping and wishing become toxic positivity? when does it reach the point where it's more unhealthy to keep thinking "it will get better" when everything points to that not being the case? when does this positivity start blinding you so you ignore your problems and avoid them in order to appear positive outwardly even if you're obviously still struggling? when does it reach the point where accepting how things are and finding a way to work with or around it is healthier than blindly looking into an uncertain future, claiming it will get better, with nothing to show for or prove it?

people constantly yelling at me to "be positive/stop being negative/stop giving up/etc" when i'm being realistic and trying to find a work around when there's no solutions have forced me into this toxic positivity of "it's fine! i'm fine! everything is fine! nothing to worry about!" where I need to hide and ignore my problems to appear positive to them and make them shut up and happy. this always leads to more problems on top of the already ignored problems. I don't see how this is sustainable and why it's what everyone wants you to do???

if you dont have the means to change things, I feel like there needs to be a point you realize this and need to be realistic. staying positive can be a negative thing at some points. it can stop you from working with what you have currently and become detrimental in the long run if things ultimately don't get better. no one ever talks about what happens or what to do if it *doesn't* or *cant* actually get better. if you don't work on a foundation because you were waiting for that magical "better" moment to come, you won't be able to ever settle. you also may neglect your current self in the present, which won't ever help your future self.

besides, even if things "get better" they can even easier get worse again. if you had built that foundation, you won't fall as hard when it gets worse again. that foundation can catch you. you've been there and set up things to help you get through it, even if it's not ideal. if you waste your entire life away hoping or believing it will "get better" but it never does, then what? you could have found a way to realistically make it more bearable and live a little better life, rather than regretting in the end that it never did better

this is why I have issues with the whole idealistic "it gets better" rhetoric. it angers me that anything other than that toxic positivity outlook is seen as "negativity" and therefore bad. I prefer the neutral realistic and present approach to things. i'm just tired of that getting miscondtrued as "negative" all the time by literally everyone

[ozziebaker]

I'm scared

I've been through and seen enough in my life that it has left me numbed to the sheer violence and tragedy of it all. I've thought for years now that when the time comes, I'll be ready.

It wasn't some macho bravado bullshit, it really felt that way. And the things that have happened, I reacted that way. I hate to say it, because it sounds so cheesy and like... I'm not trying to seem cool i swear I'm being real right now, im in such a bad place that I've no energy or care to try to seem cool. So I'll say it like it is because it's my truth:

I've stared into the eyes of death, and I've felt nothing.

especially after that accident in 2019, when the towing was picking up the truck I was driving after it smashed into the wall... I was looking at the twisted metal. and as a mechanic, i KNEW what kind of force it took to do that. I KNEW, and i had other people tell me... that i was lucky to get out with nothing. nothing.

And i think that's when i knew that something was very wrong with me. because i didn't care. i looked at the wreck, and i knew that i couldn't give a fuck if i had died inside that thing.

literally four hours later i was back on the road. i didn't stop. because it didn't matter - my life didn't matter. and when two weeks later the spare truck caught fire inside the cab, while i was driving, my sincere reaction was annoyance. Life man. it keeps getting in the way.

I've been close to death, and i stayed calm, i did what i had to do and i survived. but the stakes were so low. it didn't fucking matter to me

but now. im scared. i think for one of the first times in my life, I'm really fucking terrified. because this isn't some job, or an accident, or some stupid idea of mine. it's me. I'm going to be the one to take my life. and I'm scared because i know that I'm capable. i know that my actions won't be a cry for help, or an impulse decision. it'll be a carefully executed maneuver. I'm a fucking mechanic ain't I? i know how to build, how to modify, how things function. i know how to properly attach a rope and how thick it has to be so it doesn't break and i know how to calculate for the drop.

and it's terrifying. to share my body, my skills, this obstinate and ruthless mind, all that made me a good technician, someone who gets. the. fucking. job. DONE. to cohabitate. with someone who can and probably will murder me. myself.

because he's weighted the pros and the cons. he's looked at the data: years of memories and experiences. and he's come to the conclusion that it's just not worth it. it's too much pain, too much humiliation, too much compromise. he thinks it's enough. he thinks it's been enough for awhile now. and he's a solutions guy. he has to act, thats what he's been trained for his entire life. fix things.

i can't be fixed. I was born defective. came off the assembly line with faulty parts. and you know what mechanics do when the diagnose a piece of machinery with a manufacturing defect? they scrap it.

I'm scared. I'm so alone and there won't be anyone or anything that can stop me. And I'm so fed up and so tired. I know that there's a way to end the pain. to dix this situation. i know i can do it.

And suddenly, i don't want to die. I want to hang on, please, I'm begging, just give me something, anything to hold on to

but i cant find the thing. everything keeps slipping through my hands. and im scared because i can feel the patience running out, and i dont know when but soon, soon it's going to be too late.

[forestryfae]

its like. i KNOW, on some level, that its kind of fucked up that dad and mom are like. not talking to me or reaching out and they never have ven when i was a kid, and i know on some level its pretty fucked up how little they care about me yet somehow want a say in EVERYTHING in my life

and its kinda fucked up that i asked my dad about a hypothetical scenario where i rent that really shitty apartment he has in the basement for a little while after finally getting rid of the house i currently live in. just so ill have somewhere to live until i find a better apartment somewhere. and somehow my brother gets 12k a month and only pays 4k ish but i make 18k a month so i should ay 10k in rent just cus

and somehow im just a trash heap so when i moved into the house i got a bunch of crap my parents just didnt want. my old stuff from when i was a kid?? okay thanks for the toys but can i ssell them or give some of them to my little sister? NO. what if my little sister comes to visit. they dont fucking visit me more than once a year at most and they only visit my neighbours or show up when im not around. baby pictures??? stuff i had when i was a baby like a toy and some shit drawings from when i was a kid???? WHY WOULD THEY GIVE ME THAT. its stuff that should be sentimentally important enough for dad to keep, not give to me cus theyd feel bad throwing it away or give to me cus it was taking up space. mom kept the big photoalbum books i had to go get from dads house before they sold it even tho it was all packed away and probably hadnt been in a bookshelf for a while and i didnt even get my own babypictures or the album even tho mom said i was gonna get it when i moved out some furniture and shit?? mom didnt wanna get rid of a fucking bench with drawers so he asked me if i wanted it?? i said okay but like if i try selling it is she gonna want it back? and she even tried buying an unopened box with a dresser in it (i dont have space for it anywhere. YET.) from me even tho i said i needed it. she couldve just asked where she got it or some shit, they literally still sell it at the store and you can order it online and dad and stepmom came with some mats and lamps for me "in case i needed some" so thats lying in the garage taking up space cus i dont have any use for them. they even gave me a fucking roomba even tho i didnt think itd help and i never used it and now they want it back cus they wanna give it to grandma. like i get the logic but why give it away if you want it back.

and like. most of my shit is secondhand from family. because the solution to all my problems is apparently not getting me the fuck out of that house, its Giving Me Things. i just got picked up from the psychiatrists office or i have a headache and feel awful or i almost had a panic attack, but dad cant drop me off at home or even at moms house cus that takes 10 minutes extra so instead i get a soda. cus that makes up for him just letting me have a headache or literally driving me aorund for 3 hours cus hes got "chores" (checking out used car dealerships for more cars he can buy so he can fix them cus his hobbies are so important he cant just put them aside and make sure were fed or have clothes, thats mom and grandmas job)

so instead of actually trying to help me or spend time with me they give me shit. i dont see people for literal months and im literally crying daily for hours in the middle of fucking winter and nobody even fucking talks to me but the best way to fix that?? give me a christmas tree and ornaments. give me some of their old decorations too. bail on me to stay home for new years eve but thats okay cus i got a christmas tree they bought for me cus that fixes everything i dont have a table and chairs to sit in the livingroom or kitchen and im almost having a mental breakdown cus i think THATS whats missing and having more furniture is going to fix the complete lack of any connection with other people cus if i have a big house and i have stting space people will actually bother visiting. so ofc dad gives me their old furniture from their cottage, theyve been meaning to get rid of it so they can replace it anyways. literally giving me their unwanted shit cus its easier. going to the thriftstore with me is too much work and i cant get to any of the more remote but cheap furniture stores but thats okay cus they dont care and for as long as they dont have to drive me or spend time with me all is well.

like it is no fuckin wonder im struggling to even save up money when i keep buying shit cus thats literally what always happens when im with family. we go on a daytrip somwhere to buy shit cus there no fucking connection there thats worth even trying to deal with, so the whole idea of an experience or bonding isnt really applicable. being a kid and hanging out with the paternal side of the family was literally always a shopping trip where we bought new clothes. cus dads cheap and didnt wanna spend his precious hobby money on clothes, he wants to fix cars for months then sell them for a couple extra hundreds, and my uncle and aunt and cousin only visited for weekends every now and then so it wasnt often either. but it was practically every time.

like even when im alone in the city or somewhere i wind up spending money on shit cus i just. dont have the self control and who gives a shit anyways its not like ill be able to ever save up for anything and atleast this way i get something i want besides just groceries or whatever. and maybe if i buy the right things ill have motivation to actually do shit like having hobbies or fixing my life and if i have the right aesthetic ill atleast feel less like all my shit is embarrassing and childish and i wont get tired of it as easily ig. but also like whats the fucking point of anything. it feels like im no allowed to get things i genuinely want or thhink would help and im not allowed to switch things out when theyre not working. im not allowed to get a new desk cus i have an old one i dont want and never use, i have a new one ive never used and thats driving me insane because of the size and how can i know it doesnt help or work or makes me wanna draw if i havent even tried it. so i already have stuff so im not allowe dt get new things or nicer things.

except a new desk would atleast let me clean my room properly and itd give me more space and maybe if i was allowed to do that id finally draw again us id have somewhere to put my art stuff and somewhere nice to sit. maybe itd make stuff easier and nicer for me?? is that not a good reason. especially considering everything else. im fuckign depressed, ive been for years and im only now starting to get a little better, i have a house i dont wanna fucking live in most of the time cus its just one big boring fucking chore and i cant even afford it. i cant even clean it properly or fix anything cus why bother, i dont wanna fucking be here i hate it here. it sucks and its lonely and its not even functional and nothing works and i cant even decide on a wallcolor without everyone else giving me their input whether i ask for it or not. i have 40k in an account and im not even allowed to look at it and i didnt even know i had it cus mom never fucking told me about it. i literally just wanna get rid of everything and start over and move somewhere and actually have a car and a job i enjoy that i actually get paid for and some mental stability so i can go to the job and get dishes and laudnry done without it being a fucking struggle every god damn time.

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

I feel so bad for my mom rn. She's struggling a lot with her job because they need her to do a lot of tech stuff (not complicated, just unfamiliar to her), and they're doing it all through apple (think: recording, renaming, and uploading videos, plus similar things that she has NEVER done like zipping files) and I've tried my best to help her but apple is so ass-backwards that I haven't been able to be much help. I've been able to teach her the basics and helped her find solutions online for the things I'm unfamiliar with due to the differences between windows and apple, but this garbage doesn't work a good third of the time. She'll use solutions given from apple and they straight up don't work.

I'm glad I've been able to help her gain some computer literacy, but this whole situation has been a fiasco.

I think people who are even moderately tech literate underestimate how well the majority of people can navigate a computer, even when they've been using computers for most of their careers. The average person doesn't use their computer for much more outside the software their work has them use; they dont know much about things file types and whatnot because they don't have to in order to get their jobs done.

Honestly, the only reason I know what I'm doing is because I used gameboy emulators when I was a kid & pirated art programs & music. If I didn't do that I would've been so lost come college (I studied game art) and would probably freeze any time im presented with a computer problem & would fall for hardware scams.

Like, my sister doesn't know what an SD card is. Do you think she's going to know not to buy a $15 "all in one" file sorter from amazon?

I feel like teaching basic tech literacy would save people so much time and money when they need something done with their computers or need to do something new with them. I can't imagine what would've happened when I lost half my school projects during a computer transfer if I hadn't known to dig around in my computer and poke in commands to find the files. Or like, what would happen when I have to google tech problems and know what results are total hogwash. I only know what's what because of the red flags you learn from low grade pirating. I'd probably have an extremely infected computer if I didn't want to listen to phantom hourglass music on my ipod when I was a tween!!

I know this post doesn't really have a thesis but like

Whatever I'm just ranting

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Black

Prompts: After POF, Roman takes over the abandoned color black. He becomes the hated side that Virgil used to be. By most, anyway. Janus and Virgil are concered. Patton chooses to ignore it. Romans room is really cold? and boy is he touch starved - anon

(Sanders sides Prompt) Any one of the sides is touch starved. fluff. (You dont have to do this just thought I might ask) - anon

Hello there!! I just wanna say that I love your work and I think you’re such a talented writer. Idk if this is a weird ask but would you consider writing Roman angst with the song “it’s OK I wouldn’t remember me either” by crywank as like inspiration? Thank you so much <3 -anon

buckel up babes this one's a doozy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/reference self-harm by way of self-negligence, pretty intense self-hatred and neglect that could verge on suicidal, but NO ONE DIES, everyone's fine at the end, we don't break shit and not fix it in my house

Pairings: it is platonic found family hours

Word Count: 5697

Do you know what no one ever tells you about the color black?

It’s seamless.

There are no cracks, no tears, no imperfections, because everything’s so dark you can’t tell what’s a trick of the light and what isn’t. Everything blends together. At first, second, even third glance, it’s perfect. Pristine, even. It hides absolutely everything. It’s intimidating, honestly, that level of deception. The way it can make anything look like it’s meant to be there, as if to live the colorless and lightless life is all it was ever destined for.

Darkness has always found a way of feeling like home, even to the ones who are afraid of it.

You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding. He didn’t want to go, but it’s what Patton wanted. It’s what Thomas would’ve wanted. If Roman hadn’t been so loud. But it hurt, it did, when they said that they shouldn’t go to the callback because there was such a slim likelihood of Thomas winning. Because Roman couldn’t win. But Roman wasn’t supposed to be the villain and do something bad so he sent Thomas to the wedding.

Bruises were supposed to be yellow, or green, or purple, not black.

But if he had yellow, green, or purple bruises, he would’ve blamed a yellow, green, or purple Side. And that was bad.

So he hid them, because as he learned, no one was looking for them anyway. Patton cared when he didn’t show up to the video and then he was there and oh, having someone there, even if they only cared a little, was like rainfall in a desert, it was wonderful, Roman would’ve sung if he thought it wouldn’t make everything worse. But Roman was good, so he never complained, and he did his job to the best of his ability.

But what if his job was bad?

But there are two Creativities, a Roman and a Remus. And no one else liked Remus, because Remus was bad and Roman was good. But Remus isn’t bad, he’s just the opposite of Roman. And Roman didn’t want to be Remus because Remus was bad. But Remus isn’t bad.

Creativity isn’t bad.

Bruises aren’t supposed to be black but they can’t be red.

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain but what else do you call someone who laughs at vulnerability, who scorns people’s earnest attempts to help, who single-handedly ruins someone’s life?

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain, but bruises aren’t supposed to cover every inch of his skin unless he deserves it.

His skin burns. It crawls and aches and screams and darkens into bruises. His throat aches from the wordless screams and the horrible things he’s said to everyone. He’s been so selfish, he’s tried to make everything go his way, tried to make it about him, not about Thomas, because everything they do is supposed to help Thomas, help Thomas, that’s what they’re supposed to do, they’re supposed to help Thomas, not themselves, why is he doing this, why is he doing this?

Because he’s the villain.

Roman cries.

What else is he supposed to do?

He cries until the tears grow thick, sluggish, oozing out of his eyes until he can’t see anything but them, until his breath grows thick and his chest heavy. He cries until he has to struggle to open his eyes because of how swollen they are, how globulous the tears have become on the ends of his lashes. He cries until his head splits and his chest wails from the pain he isn’t supposed to have but deserves, deserves every little bit. He cries until his body is consumed by the bruises.

His costume is a straightjacket. He needs it off. The white hurts now, it burns his arms and cuffs his wrists. He doesn’t deserve it so he rips it off. Every seam that he ruins is another bruise. The rips are so loud they burrow into some soft part of his brain and live there. The white is still imperfect because it’s on him.

Only when his costume lies in tatters around him, his sash torn off and thrown away, far away, does the white look pure.

He cries himself to sleep with a smile on his face.

Far, far away, a black hoodie is tugged back into the Conscious Mindscape.

When Roman wakes, his head is full of static.

His lungs inflate and collapse on autopilot, driven by the merciless pump of some distant machine, turning the crank to draw air in and out, in and out.

His hands are numb, fingertips rubbed raw and inflamed from tearing relentlessly at fabric. He turns them slowly and it’s like watching himself in a video game.

His face is cold. He paws at his cheeks and feels sticky residue, etched into his skin. His eyes stick slightly when he blinks and he doesn’t know if that’s just his face or if there’s something else.

He is swathed in black fabric, an old threadbare hoodie that has gone years unloved, untouched, unseen. It’s selfishness that makes him tug it closer, feel a faint bubble of pressure on his screaming body.

He should get up, he should go make sure he hasn’t hurt anyone else with his tantrum again, he should apologize.

But…what would be the point?

Like Patton asked, does there come a point when someone keeps apologizing so much that you just have to admit they’re bad?

Roman isn’t good. Has he ever been?

Something interrupts the pleasant numbness and it shoots from his chest to the soft points at the base of his wrists, making his hands tingle. He decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it. He wants everything to stop.

He’s selfish, they all know that, he’s just going to end up hurting them anyway, so why bother trying to fix it?

Apathy, his tired brain supplies when he lies there, unmoving, on the ground, for hours and hours and hours, unwilling and uncaring to fix things.

But that can’t be right. Roman is here because he cared too much, he did too much, he was too much. How can he now be the epitome of not caring at all?

If only he never cared, if only he wasn’t so attached, if only.

If only he had been Apathy, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hurt.

His pride got him here. His pride, his wants, his his his. He wanted everything and burned down the things that would’ve helped him get there because he couldn’t do it right. He is the villain and villains always have too much pride.

Pride. Apathy.

Prapathy.

Apride.

I’m not Creativity anymore, he thinks to himself as he lies there, still on the floor as his chest aches and his eyes sting and the sticky residue drips down his cheeks onto the bruises. He stares and stares and stares at the wall and a faint part of his mind that exists outside of the static realizes he never did get around to fixing that crack in the baseboard.

Pride, apathy. It doesn’t matter. There’s a much easier word that he can use to describe both of them.

Wrong.

—————————————————————

“I don’t know, Thomas,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that’s a valid solution either.”

“But it makes sense,” Virgil protests, shoving his hands into his pockets, “all we have to do is not talk to anybody else—“

“But that will hurt their feelings!”

“But we won’t hurt ourselves.”

Janus and Patton look at each other for a moment before Patton sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“I—I don’t know, this…this feels weird.”

“None of us are happy about this, Padre,” Virgil mutters, “but it’s the best solution we’ve got.”

“Real high bar we’re setting there, isn’t it?”

“Listen, Snake Face, if you’ve got a better idea—“

“Virgil, enough.” Logan shakes his head. “We need to keep thinking.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour, Logan,” Thomas says cautiously, “I don’t know what else you think we’re gonna get to.”

“We’ve already passed the optimal point for productivity, yes.”

“Oh, well, we can’t just give up now!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “I’m sure if we just keep at it for a little longer—“

“You said that half an hour ago, Patton.”

“And I’ll say it again!”

“Because that’s going to make everything go much easier.”

Thomas sighs as the Sides fall back into bickering. Normally, this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary—pretty much all they do is argue back and forth—but Logan’s right. They’ve made almost no progress. He finds himself staring at the TV.

Why is he staring at the TV?

He frowns, tilting his head. It’s literally just his TV. Why is he so fixated on it right now? It’s not like it’s gone anywhere, it’s sitting right where it always is. He stares at it most of the day, why is it so weird that he’s looking at it now?

Wait—

“Guys,” he interrupts, still staring at the thing he’s not supposed to be able to see like this, “where’s Roman?”

The room pauses. Then Logan sighs.

“Oh, of course, that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time coming up with solutions, we don’t have Roman.”

At Virgil’s side-eye, he glances around to see similar looks of disbelief on the other’s faces.

“What?”

“Did you…did you just admit we need Roman?”

“He is Creativity, it makes sense that if we are struggling to be creative, he isn’t here.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Virgil shakes his head. “Thought you were admitting he was important or something.”

“Please, his head is big enough as it is.”

Janus hides a snort.

“Why didn’t he show up earlier,” Thomas asks, “he’s normally one of the first of you to get here.”

Virgil shrugs. “I dunno, I haven’t seen that much of him lately.”

“Is he…okay?”

“Who the hell knows, he’s Roman.”

“My guess is he’s been in his room,” Logan says, glancing at Roman’s usual spot, “I haven’t seen him either.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the way Janus and Patton glance at each other. “If you two have information now might be the time to share it.”

“Roman…hasn’t come out of his room,” Patton says after a beat, “not since…”

“Wait, he hasn’t come out since the wedding?”

Janus shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen him open his door.”

“That doesn’t…normally happen, does it?”

“No,” Patton says, “and, uh, he doesn’t normally ignore us either.”

“Ignore you?”

“We’ve tried knocking. It doesn’t work.”

“Perhaps Thomas can summon him,” Logan offers, “you have more power than any of us do, he’d have to answer you.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Creativity!”

Someone pops up in front of the TV.

Someone in a white costume with green embellishments and a mustache.

“Remus?”

Remus glares at them, his Morningstar at his side, his costume white, pristine, and light.

“What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

—————————————————————

It’s been weeks.

The fans have accepted Remus as Creativity. They think that the videos are better than ever. They think this was Thomas’s plan from the beginning.

There is one end card where the Sides are watching a movie and some of them spot a dark figure in the corner. Who could this be? Is this the mysterious orange Side everyone has been waiting for? Is this the Side that’s been hurting Thomas so much?

Zoom and enhance. It’s Virgil’s old hoodie. They’re sitting where Remus used to sit. They’re not staring at the screen, they’re looking at the others. What could this mean?

Someone spots the faint outline of a tiny crown perched atop the figure’s head.

And then, well, then it all makes sense.

There was always one Side that messed up everything, that made everything more complicated. There was always one Side that, if you thought about it, you could trace everything back to. There was always one Side that was told he was making the bad choice and yet, never seemed to learn.

They start to put together timelines, evidence, essay-length meta posts on how of course, this is the plan, why didn’t they see it before? Those that had disliked him from the start crow about how they were right, how everyone doubted them but look who’s laughing now. They point out how he’s become a Dark Side, maybe he was always a Dark Side, and how incredible would that storytelling be? To warn against the pressures of society’s expectations, the idea of good versus bad, or authentic versus forced. How of course, they’re wearing Virgil’s old hoodie because they’re the hated Side now. How they’re not looking at the screen because that’s not what they want, they want to be a part of the famILY.

Vitriolic rants. Accusations. Vent fics. The unsympathetic tag is overflowing.

Because who else could the villain be?

—————————————————————

Roman lives in the cold now.

His fireplace isn’t lit anymore. The door to the Imagination doesn’t work anymore. The blankets on his bed aren’t thick enough anymore. He drifts through a haze where only the emergency systems in his brain are online, where only the awareness needed to sleep, breathe, and move the little bits he needs to move are present.

He doesn’t know that there’s nothing behind the red door anymore, that when Janus and Virgil come to knock on it, worried, or when Remus storms through the Imagination and tries to knock it down by force, there’s nothing for them to find.

He doesn’t know that a new door, a black door, leads from his room to the hallway, far away from any of the other rooms. He doesn’t know that it’s so dark back here that no one would be able to tell there was a door if they didn’t put their nose right up against it.

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

A new kind of ache settles in his bones now. Pain is an old friend, but he’s yet to give suffering a proper handshake.

He misses when he could go and ask someone for help.

He misses when Patton would turn to him without any judgment in his eyes, without any ‘well, you know, kiddo—‘, without any ‘let’s start off with—‘, just the soft words of I’m here, I’ll help you. He misses being able to walk up to Patton’s door and knock on it and know that he would be safe on the other side.

Patton would open the door and soften, his mouth curling up into a small smile as he says hey, kiddo, come in. He would sit Roman down on the bed and press a glass of water into his hands. He would rub his back as he drank, taking the empty glass gently and cupping Roman’s face in his hands. He would ask what’s wrong, sweetheart, what can I do? And Roman would say he just wants a hug, he just wants to not be alone for a bit. And Patton would smile and coo about how Roman was always welcome here, sweetheart, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you. And Roman could fall asleep with his head on Patton’s chest and believe that everything was okay.

He misses when he could walk up to Logan and ask for help and he wouldn’t be scoffed at or turned away, he wouldn’t be looked at suspiciously and asked what he really wanted. He misses when Logan could come to him too and just spend time together.

Logan would knock on his door and ask if you have a moment, would you like to walk with me? And Roman would smile and say, of course, he always has time for Logan, and they could go somewhere in the Imagination and just talk. And Logan would say that’s an interesting idea, I wonder if—and they would walk and talk for hours. And Roman could bustle up to Logan’s door and say I’ve just thought of something, and Logan would open his door and be happy to talk with Roman and it would be okay.

Roman curls up tighter and feels nothing.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Virgil. He wishes they could have bonded over their love of Disney, their want to talk about the things they’re interested in, or even the need to just have someone else in the room with them for a bit. He wishes their relationship wasn’t just spitting barbs at each other, each hoping to hit the bullseye first and knock the other one out of the race. He wishes he could’ve done better.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Janus. He wishes they could’ve done this right, that they could’ve bonded over the want to keep Thomas safe but also have him be himself. He wishes that he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t scorned, hadn’t fallen back on his pride to keep himself safe at the expense of Thomas. He wishes that maybe, just maybe, if he had been a better puppet, then he wouldn’t have been dropped so suddenly.

But as it stands now, more than anything he wishes he could hear them when they say the things they say about him because then he could figure out which bruises were theirs and take comfort in knowing that they still touch him in some way.

The bruises are a constant now. From the online hate to the casual remarks from the others to the way that Patton hasn’t even tried to come find him anymore—he can hear that, you know—he can’t turn over without landing on a new smattering of bruises. The hoodie helps to cushion the blow a little bit.

He misses Remus.

Remus was…

…Remus was everything.

Roman misses his other half. Roman misses his brother. Roman misses his Creativity.

When they were small they would curl around each other as if they could fuse if they focused hard enough. They would wrap their arms around each other so tightly that it would be a pleasant ache when they woke, never minding because they were tighter. Remus was always so warm and Roman hoarded every single bit he could get.

Roman was cruel to push his brother away and now he understands how it feels.

He misses Thomas.

He misses when he was allowed to go and see Thomas. When he could talk to Thomas. When his presence was celebrated or at the very least, tolerated. He misses it. He misses helping.

But he’s helping now, by staying away.

He’s cold.

He’s so cold.

—————————————————————

do you remember what it felt like

to be touched?

press of fingertips against shoulders

bump of a forehead against yours

palms meeting and parting a mere second later

in days gone by

do you remember

warm?

humans thrive off physical contact,

we’re not built to hold each other

at arms’ length.

infants will die

if they aren’t held enough.

and I am so

so

cold

—————————————————————

Something is wrong and even Patton can’t ignore it anymore.

The Sides shuffle uneasily in front of the red door until Remus raises his hand to knock against it.

“Roman?”

Silence.

“Roman, please, please, just—just say something.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you, Roman?”

“Don’t yell,” Logan mumbles, “you’ll make him think we’re angry at him.”

Remus takes a deep breath.

“We’re not angry, Ro-bro, we’re just—just please make some noise.”

Silence.

“…we’re coming in, Roman.”

But they can’t. Because as Remus turns the knob on the door, it falls forward. The entire door comes off just to reveal—

A blank wall. With no sign that there was ever a room behind it.

Thomas can hear the scream.

—————————————————————

Roman hears the scream and can’t move. But he can close his eyes and reach out and see what’s going on. After all, he hasn’t done anything, so something must be wrong if someone else is screaming.

He feels something in his chest twist and snap.

“Re?”

Across the Mindscape, Remus’s head jerks up.

“Ro,” he breathes, getting to his feet and rushing off down the hall as the others hurry after him, “Ro!”

“Remus, what’s going on?”

“Why isn’t Roman’s room there anymore?”

“Where are you going?”

They barrel into the hallway and smack into a black door. Logan’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“Roman’s become a Dark Side,” he says, fingers scrabbling where the door meets the wall, “he’s—he’s really hurt, we have to help—“

“Move, L, I’m gonna break the door down.”

“You’re not gonna do it without me.”

“Roman!”

Roman turns his head to look at the door. Are they…here? The hoodie rasps against his undead skin and he winces. There are still bruises.

“Roman!”

The door shudders its frame. He could open it. He could. He just has to reach out and—

“Ro!”

Remus.

The door unlatches and his brother pours into the room, letting out a wail when he spots Roman in the bed.

Janus hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold, this room is freezing. It feels as if no one’s moved for years inside, as if the heat has been sucked out entirely. His gaze flies to Remus, who’s over on the bed, his hands scrabbling at something in black material.

Roman.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, horrified, “no, no, no—“

“We have to get him out,” Logan orders, startling Remus into action as he scoops Roman into his arms, “we have to get him warm. His core temperature is too low.”

“Shower? Bath?”

“No, if we shock his system we could make it worse. Janus, I need your heating pads, Patton, something warm to drink.”

Janus and Patton vanish.

“Virgil, weighted blankets, Remus—“

“I’m here.” As Virgil ducks away as well, Remus helps Logan cradle the limp and freezing form of his brother in their arms as they begin to rush out of that horrible, horrible room. “You thinking bathroom?”

“Get him to Janus’s, that’ll be the safest place.”

“Got it.”

Sure enough, Janus has no objection and sweeps them inside, setting down the heating pads as Patton bustles in with two thermos flasks and a mug. Virgil pops back with thick blankets as they lay the cold form on the ground. Roman’s eyes blink sluggishly as he stares up at Remus.

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Roro, it’s me, I’m right here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster.”

“What’s…wha’s going on?”

“You’re too cold, Roman,” Logan says gently, “we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oh…”

“It will be easier if we take a few of the layers off,” he explains, still careful to keep his voice low and even as the others scurry around, “is that alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to unzip the hoodie.” Logan works slowly, patiently, stopping when any flicker crosses Roman’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing very well, I’m almost done.”

By the time he’s coaxed the hoodie off of Roman’s shoulders, there’s a little bit of color back in his cheeks.

“Very good, Roman, you did well. Virgil’s brought a few warm blankets and Janus has heating pads for you, do you think you can sit up?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you’re doing alright.” Logan glances up at Janus.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, sitting by Roman’s head, “if you can sit up, I can sit behind you and help warm you up, does that sound alright?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sweetie, we’re going to sit you up now.”

Logan and Janus sit Roman up slowly, only to pause when the long sleeves of his shirt fall down.

“Roman,” Logan asks, trying frantically to keep his voice calm, “are you hurt?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back the fearful response and patiently asks where, how bad, can he see?

“Everywhere.” Roman lifts his arms weakly. “’S all bruises.”

“…can we see?”

“Okay.”

Logan’s hands begin to tremble as he works the shirt over Roman’s head. He wasn’t kidding when he said everywhere.

There’s barely an inch of skin that doesn’t look bruised black and blue. Patton stifles a cry as he drops to his knees next to them, looking at Roman like he’s never seen it this bad before.

Oh, Roman, how did they not know? How could he just ignore him like that?

“Get him covered,” comes Virgil’s voice, “he’s still too cold.”

Janus grabs one of the blankets and wraps it carefully around Roman’s form. It should help distribute whatever pressure they apply so it won’t aggravate his injuries too severely. He takes one heating pad and scoots forward, bracketing Roman’s legs with his own and wrapping one pair of arms around him to press the pad to his chest.

“Can you feel that, sweetie,” he asks softly, “is that too warm?”

“No.”

“Good, good, little prince, you’re being very brave.” He turns away to reach for another and so misses the little shudder that goes through Roman. “Do you think you can handle another if I press it to the back of your neck?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try, little prince, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Here we go, sweetie—“ Janus presses it carefully to the base of Roman’s skull, just at the edge of the blanket— “there, does that feel okay?”

“Mm.”

“Good, sweetie, you’re doing so well, so good for us, that’s it, you relax now.”

Roman starts to tremble.

“That’s alright,” Logan soothes, “you’re warming up, it means you’re going to shiver a little more, you’re alright, Roman, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

It certainly doesn’t seem that way once Roman’s breath starts to come in gasps. Virgil nudges Patton out of the way and sits, gently calling Roman’s name until his gaze snaps to Virgil’s.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says slowly, “you gotta stay with me now, okay? We’re right here, no one’s angry, nothing’s going to hurt you. Just focus on me.”

He ignores the startled noises when Roman starts to cry thick, black tears.

“Eyes on me, Princey, that’s it, stay here. We’re just gonna sit here and breathe for a moment, okay?” Roman nods and Virgil starts to take big, exaggerated breaths. “Good. That’s it, Princey, you focus on me and you breathe. It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just stay here.”

When the viscous black liquid slows, Virgil reaches out and begins to tuck Roman’s hair back. A moment longer and he pauses, noting how the scratch on Roman’s face is covered in the thick black tears.

“Princey, can I clean your face off for you? You’re doing really well at breathing, I’m proud of you. Can I help you with the rest of it?”

“O-okay.”

There’s a bottle of micellar water and a pack of cotton circles pressed into his hands. He moves in slow, careful strokes, changing out the circles as often as he needs to. A pile of them grows beside him as he works, doing his best to get all the black off of Roman’s face. Roman just cries.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs when Roman’s cry gives way to a wail, “it’s okay, you cry all you need to, we’re not going anywhere, it’ll be alright.”

“We have you, sweetie,” Janus says against Roman’s neck, “we’re here.”

Remus lets out a broken noise.

“Oh, Roman, you didn’t…”

Logan’s head whips sharply around to scold Remus only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Remus’s costume is bleeding too. The same black that drips down Roman’s face is slowly coloring Remus’s costume again, back to what it normally looks like. Remus’s mouth is agape, staring horrified at Roman.

“Oh, Ro—“

“What’s going on?”

“Check the bruises on his neck,” Remus orders as Janus pulls back the blanket, “are they still there?”

“They’re here, but they’re…lighter, how is that—?”

“Roman is the Ego,” Patton mumbles, “he gets bruised when—when—“

“Oh, shit,” Virgil curses, before quickly hushing Roman’s discontented mumble, “and with all the hate that’s been gunning for him—“

“Oh, sweetheart—“

Roman lets out another sob and the tears run clear.

“The Ego is kept healthy by positive attention,” Logan says softly, scooting closer and rubbing Roman’s shoulder through the blanket, “you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

“He’s not cold because he’s hypothermic,” Remus blusters, “he’s touch starved.”

“It’s still not safe to introduce him to direct contact all at once,” Logan warns when Patton and Remus look like they want to rip the blanket off, “we have to take it slow.”

“So what do we do?”

Janus just leans down and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. “You’re so brave, sweetie, you’ve been so strong.”

They watch as Roman’s tears begin to wash away the black.

“We love you, sweetheart, you’re so important to us.”

“Stay with us, Princey, we need you.”

“You’re doing very well, Roman, we’re very proud of you.”

Roman cries, ducking his head into Virgil’s waiting hands as Remus’s costume colors itself black again.

After a long while, when Remus looks like he normally does, Roman shakes his head and looks up at them.

“Where am I,” and he sounds like Roman again, “what’s happened?”

“You were starving, sweetheart,” Patton mumbles, “and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“O-oh,” Roman blinks, “is that…is that why I’m so cold?”

“You’re touch starved too,” Virgil adds, “and we, uh, L said it wasn’t a good idea to try and shock you out of it.”

“Try and drink something,” Logan says quickly as Patton reaches for the mug, “you’ve been crying for a while and you’re dehydrated.”

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Your favorite, kiddo.”

Remus sits down at Roman’s side as he drinks, staring at him like he’s not seen him in ages. Which, well, none of them have, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeats, looking sheepishly at all of them, “I, uh, well, the last video I messed up a lot. I, uh, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name, Jan—where are you?”

“Right here,” Janus mumbles, giving him a gentle squeeze, “and you’re forgiven.”

“Oh. Uh, that was easy…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Yes, it wasn’t great of you to do, but I’m not exactly blameless either and…”

He squeezes him again.

“…you’ve been hurting enough.”

“Logan, you too, I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Roman, but I agree. It’s alright.”

“Why are you all forgiving me so fast?”

“Because,” Remus mumbles, cupping Roman’s head and resting their foreheads together, “this happened.”

They all watch as Roman shudders as Remus shows him what happened.

“Oh—oh—I—oh no—“

“It’s over now, sweetie,” Janus reassures, “we’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“C-can I have a hug?”

“Of course, honey, come here—“

“Let’s get the blanket out of the way, L, is he—“

“It should be safe now, yes.”

“Remus, I—oof!”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“It’s still—I’m still—“

“Patton, grab that end of the blanket.”

“This one?”

“That’s it, yes.”

The Sides end up swaddled in the blanket, their heads poking out, as each of them pulls a little bit of Roman into their arms to warm up. Janus and Remus wrap around his upper body, mindful of the few bruises that haven’t been healed yet. His legs are in Patton’s lap, as Logan and Virgil each hold on to his hands. The poor thing is still shivering, still shaking, still a little overwhelmed.

But Janus coos into his ear as his head lolls back, Remus holding him tightly. Logan’s thumb strokes over his palm as Virgil lets him squeeze as tight as he needs to. Patton makes sure he’s off the cold tile and he’s warm.

They’re going to have to work out what to do about the fans, about the videos, but right now they need to worry about Roman.

Speaking of Roman—

“I—I need to apologize to Thomas.”

A cry goes up as he says so, Patton reaching up to pat his knee. “You don’t have to do that right now, sweetheart, rest, it’s okay—“

“I won’t—he won’t be able to rest until he knows what’s happened.”

As if he can hear them, they feel the familiar tug of one of them being summoned. A quick glance around shows that if one of them is going, all of them are, so they appear on the floor of the living room, swaddled in the blanket.

Thomas’s mouth drops open and he rushes to their side.

“I was gonna ask if you found Roman, but I—Roman, buddy, are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, “but I’m sorry.”

“For what, buddy?”

As Roman begins to apologize, for being away, for hurting Thomas, for being selfish, Thomas just shakes his head.

“No, buddy, that’s not all on you. You—yeah, okay, some things happened, but it’s not entirely your fault. You don’t need to think of it like that.”

“Well said,” Logan mutters, “now help us get Roman to rest.”

“So what Disney movie are we watching and how many pillows do we need?”

A lot, as it turns out, is the answer. And they have to bite back laughs at the way Thomas makes a noise when he’s swept into the blanket too. But Thomas is warm and Roman is still cold and the movie plays on the screen.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my hero.”

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if you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[hxseok-honee]

new update schedule!

hello friends!! first of all let me just say wow im sorry for going right off the map the last couple of weeks. i wont be answering all my asks bc theres a LOT but i just want you guys to know that i have read everything single one of them and i want to thank you so so much for all the kind belated birthday wishes and also for checking in on me while ive been MIA?? so many of you checked to see if i was alright which is so sweet?? thank you?? anyway here's why ive been missing yikes :

it seems that literally the minute i turned 23, everything in my life was like,,,,, what if we just implode??? so thats been fun

to make a long story real fuckin short, i have no monies and a lot of very big expenses coming my way very soon so i went into what i like to call Panic Mode, which entails tunnel visioning onto what is stressing me out most until i can find a solution for it

ive spent the last few weeks essentially applying for any job i could find and also trying to scramble because september is officially the start of Honees Grad School Applications, so ive been really trying to fine-tune my applications and my paper and just about everything because if i dont get into any of these phd programs im very screwed (also, applying for grad school?? very expensive!! which is yet another reason i need like 2 more part time jobs)

the good news!! is that i actually did end up getting a job, so im very happy about that! i also just finished testing for a second job (its a translator job so i needed to do like 72 hours of translation tests which hurt me but its okay) and i should be hearing back about that this week so i really hope i get that one too

all of that is to say, i have really missed you guys and writing sundress and planning aus and just everything about this place, but i literally could not concentrate at all any time i sat down to write the next update because i have been a big ball of anxiety about money and school so!

now that im in a better place, im gonna set up an update schedule! because, unfortunately, updating every day is no longer feasible for me until at least mid-january. and i dont wanna just kinda not set up some kind of schedule bc i will absolutely end up disappearing again when life gets hard, so i want some structure both for me and for you guys so that you know what to expect --

for now, im going to be updating twice a week : wednesdays and sundays! im gonna try my best and if i can afford another day of updating, i will adjust the schedule, but i really think two days is all i can promise right now

i will try to be online more often throughout the week to answer asks and chat w you guys about the aus and life and everything, but the updates are gonna be kinda strictly set for those two days for now

thank you to everyone who was so kind in my asks and dms, and pls look forward to the update on wednesday! ily <3

[whumpmatsus]

Is it alright if i ask for something comforting with the matsuno boys? Its just that i feel overwhelmed with my life lately. On one hand i got the job i wanted but on the other hand im expected to just suck it up, be an "adult" and abandon my hobbies or other skill learnings that i have been so proud of- funny enough i was encouraged but then suddenly im expected to leave everything and dont have a decent balance? Im so confused by the way im treated and by the expectations that others have from me. Even art doesnt feel as enjoyable i feel guilty picking up a pencil because im scared ive wasted time on not studying or if i dont make a certain deadline. Everything is about " completing tasks as quickly as possible" i feel like i havent stopped and caught my breath for so long. Your writings are very soothing esp in this field, of course you dont have to pressure yourself to write it quickly or anything! Keep it at your own pace! i guess its because of this hectic looking life that i find osomatsu san so comforting right now.

AH MAN honey....... I totally getchu, I feel like this a lot too

I'm not in college/university or anything yet, but I do work in a fast-paced environment where sometimes it feels like lots of stress for little money and when I get home, even after not working very long, a lot of the time I'm just too tired to do the stuff I enjoy. it's a little better on some days, but this feeling is SO understandable and I'm sure lots of other people can relate too

honestly that's probably why I find these boys so comforting too, just thinking about goofing off and having fun with them is such a great escape 🖤

I hope this is a comfort for you, bb!!! 🤗

-

❤️ Osomatsu's solution is literally to just drag you out to do something fun with him! As far as he's concerned, you need to chill, big time, so why not dinner and drinks or pachinko or something? An hour or two relaxing isn't gonna fuck up your whole life or anything, so Osomatsu being Osomatsu, he's not taking no for an answer. He makes sure you have a good time, but he's actually responsible in also making sure he doesn't keep you away too long. He'll even help you study after the fun's over, if you want; he's good at flash cards, because his reward system is that every time you get one right, he gives you a kiss! (... And/or, maybe something a little dirtier, if you prefer~)

💙 Karamatsu has been trying to find his own balance lately, so he certainly understands where you're coming from. He knows it's difficult, and the anxiety that comes with feeling like you've wasted time. After all, time is limited, and once it's gone, there's no getting it back. But he's also slowly learning to remind himself that if you're not enjoying your life, then what's the point of all the work? So he somehow manages to coax you away from it, doing your own hobby sitting side by side with him while he plays guitar. Just for a little bit; because if something makes you happy, it's never a waste of time.

💚 Choromatsu feels the same way maybe more than anyone, and he's never sure what to do about his own feelings. He works as hard as he can, but in the end, he always feels like he could have done more and not slacked off so much. He's just kind of accepted those feelings. When it's you, though... he can't stand seeing you so anxious and worried. He'll gather up all his courage and sit down next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder. He takes your hand and murmurs softly that you've earned a break, it's time to do something fun. He's here to spend time with you now, so maybe the two of you can focus on something else for a little bit.

💜 Ichimatsu couldn't really care less about all this stuff that's making you stressed and unhappy, but he knows it's something you want to do. Just... maybe a little less. He'd tell you to just give it up if it's stressing you out, except he knows you don't want to do that, so he can't really say that. Still, balance is important. People just shouldn't be pushing at you. As someone who has a hard time feeling his feelings, it makes him a little angry that you're being pressured to just never be happy again. It should be the opposite. In true catlike fashion, when he thinks you need a break, he kind of just... pushes himself into your lap, shoving everything else away. Just cuddle for a little bit, and then you can get back to all this other shit.

💛 Jyushimatsu is pretty sure everything you're working on is really really stressful, so, why don't you just take a break?? He doesn't quite get how pressured you feel or what the anxiety is like, simply because he doesn't usually deal with those things. It's pretty clear how much this is affecting you, though; if he plays too much baseball in a day, it makes him sore, so he likens the same thing happening to your brain and feelings. That means you need to relax and not overdo it! Putting that into practice is harder. But, that's what he's here for! His favorite method of getting you to take a break is to make you laugh so hard you literally can't do anything else for a minute. Then maybe some snuggles, because, well, he knows you can't say no to him wanting to snuggle!

💖Totty is working part-time himself, so he knows work schedules can be hectic as fuck, plus all the studying you're doing on top of that? He's a little surprised you haven't keeled over yet. You work really hard, and that's a good thing... but it can also be bad for you. So he'd like to see you being a bit less hard on yourself. You're only human, you know? You're just one person! You need to take breaks to be able to function properly, and doing things you like is one of the things that makes all the work worth it. He can be sort of manipulative about it, only because he knows being direct probably isn't going to work. He starts with massaging your shoulders and giving you kisses, talking about how much nicer it'd be if you did something else for a bit. If he can drag you away from everything else, maybe get you to do a face mask or take a bath with him, just relax, he'll count it as a win.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part five

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: alright things escalated VERY QUICKLY but shit had to go down sometime. i hope you enjoy! and sorry for the delay, i really been goin thru it recently. this part is 7k to make up for it lmao i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | my ko-fi

masterlist

It’s a big day. You had held Bucky’s hand as you stood in the doorway to his apartment, playing with his rings so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. You were nervous, not because you didn’t trust Bucky but because with every secret spilled you felt like a layer of your skin was being peeled away. But you’d held his hand and told him to pick you up tonight from your office. You handed him your business card, a physical embodiment of trust you hadn’t given to anyone else. It wasn’t your apartment address, sure, but it was something and Bucky held the card with the biggest, boyish grin on his face that melted your heart.

The real reason you’re so nervous is because if whoever followed you from Bucky’s apartment is following Bucky, then they’ll follow him right to your office door. You’d had a long talk to yourself in the bathroom mirror the other night, however, and decided you weren’t going to let a hypothetical stalker ruin yet another relationship for you. Not that stalkers are common in your life, but using any excuse to distance yourself and cut people out is most definitely your regular MO. Not this time.

That being said, stalkers aren’t common in your life so you are, understandably, fixated by it. You are sure it has something to do with Bucky because you don’t believe in coincidences and the guy literally followed you from Bucky’s apartment. The big question is, was the stalker after Bucky or were they after you? Since you have next to nothing to go on, you aren’t exactly on your way to answering that one yet. But you’ll get there, eventually, and you’ve got some ideas.

In the meantime, you wait for Bucky and attempt to tidy your organised mess. He’s meant to show up at seven on his bike, but seven is going on eight and he’s yet to show. You try not to picture the worst or convince yourself you’re being stood up, even though that’s what it feels like. The one time you give out personal details and he doesn’t show. That would be your luck. You kick a filing drawer closed a bit too harshly, the metal clanging loud in your deafeningly silent office. Whatever. It’s not like anyone is left in the building to judge you because Bucky is over an hour late and every other office in the place is long empty.

You water your desperately dry indoor plants, even the one on top of your bookshelf - a testament to how hard you’re trying to distract yourself from the imminent heartbreak. You stand on tiptoes on your swivel chair to reach the crispy fern, something your dad would yell at you for if he could see you, but he can’t so you just pray the wheels don’t slip out from under you. It’s a very precarious precision for you to be in when someone bangs your office door open and stumbles inside, that’s for sure. You nearly break your entire body falling from the chair, but catch yourself on the bookcase before any real damage can be done.

The invader slams the door shut behind them, making you flinch once again as you spin around to face your would-be attacker. Only it's not someone breaking and entering - it’s Bucky, panting heavily and bleeding from his temple while he turns slowly on his heel and assesses every corner of your tiny office for threats.

“Bucky?” you call out, hesitant to approach and startle him incase it’s not your office that he’s seeing. His dog tags hang out the neck of his t-shirt when they’re usually always carefully tucked under the fabric, and you notice now he’s not just bleeding from his head but somewhere under that shirt as well. He looks over at your voice and it takes a second for him to focus properly on you, shoulders visibly slumping, closing the space in three quick strides.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling you bodily into a crushing hug. You wrap your arms around his waist, carefully holding him in case he’s got even more injuries you can’t see, but he squeezes you so tight you find it hard to breathe. He has one arm around your shoulders, that hand tangled in your hair and he presses your head into his shoulder. You feel him nose into the hair at the crown of your head, breathe in deep, let it out in shudders.

“You’re hurt,” you say into his t-shirt, and he shakes his head while still pressing his face into your scalp.

“M’fine, s’just blood,” he mumbles, barely coherent, so you let it go for the moment. You let him hold you and you hug him back, splaying your palms flat against his back and pressing him impossibly closer to you.

Eventually, you peel yourself from him in order to give him a once over. He smiles down at you like he’s amused, but you hardly find the situation funny when Bucky’s blood is literally all over you, now. You take his hand and make him sit on your swivel chair, spinning uselessly in the middle of the room from where it slid out from under you and rolled away. There’s a first aid kit in a box near the window, because you can never be too careful, and you take to soaking gauze in alcohol solution instead of speaking. You don’t trust what would come out of your mouth right now, anyway.

Luckily, Bucky fills the silence for you. He bites his lip as he looks over at you, taking in the tense set of your shoulders and jerky movements as you dig around for bandages. Then he says, “I got caught up, I really am sorry.”

You nod, but you still don’t speak. Instead you grab your supplies and move over to Bucky, avoiding his eyes as you assess the one wound you can see. Bucky has a thin cut from the corner of his eye to his hairline, shallow but bleeding profusely due to the thin skin there. You suck in a deep breath and start dabbing the soaked gauze on the wound, outside to inside, watching as the white turns coppery red with every swipe. Your stomach twists at the sight, and to your horror, you find you could almost cry.

“Doll,” Bucky says, eyebrows creasing up as if he’s just as upset as you feel. He hooks one big hand around your thigh, tugging until you let him manhandle you onto his lap. “I mean it, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I don’t care that you were late,” you snap, clenching your jaw until you can get your flash of frustration under control. You drop your hand from his face, curling up further onto Bucky’s lap despite yourself as his arms come round to hug you to his chest. His bloodstained, most likely injured chest. You take a deep breath and ask, “What happened?”

“You wanna know?” Bucky asks. When you finally meet his eyes he doesn’t seem to be shutting down, shutting you out like you expect when it comes to talking about Bucky’s biker lifestyle. He just looks sad, and you let yourself soften just a bit to run your fingers down his jaw.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed when you touch him, and you say, “I already told you - I just wanna know. No secrets.”

“No secrets,” Bucky affirms, smiling as he opens his eyes again. The corners are tight, though, as he starts to explain. “One of the things we do - the gang, y’know - is run protection details. Me and Sam were on it, supposed to be a simple job, but we got shitty intel and ended up having to fight our way out of a crappy spot. We got out, finished the job, but it definitely didn’t go to plan. ”

“Protection for what?” you ask. This is the most open Bucky has ever been when talking about his gang, so you’re not going to pass up this opportunity for a bit more information.

“For who,” Bucky corrects, smiling at you like he knows what you’re doing. He starts stroking up and down your shoulder blades as he talks, soothing the both of you it seems. “Rich businessmen, low-level politicians, mob affiliates - anyone who’s got a target on their back and need to get from point A to point B. They’re easy jobs for us ex-army guys and they pay well.”

“Better pay than fixing cars, I bet,” you say. Your attempt at levity works and Bucky grins. The way it makes his face turn young and open is so at odds with the trickle of blood down his cheek.

“Gotta be able to pay for your drinks somehow,” he says, and you slap his shoulder. He mock-winces and says, “Hey! I’m bleeding, ya gotta be nice to me.”

“Don’t gotta do shit,” you mumble, reminding you to press the gauze you’re still holding back on the wound on his temple to stem some of the bleeding. He hisses for real this time, the sting of the alcohol probably burning a bit, especially so close to his eye. You press a kiss to his cheek and in apology and Bucky hums, tightening his grip around your body to hold you close again.

“M’sorry I ruined our night,” he says, “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again, but I can’t.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, and he meets your eyes, slightly confused. You smile and say, “Not when you’re hurt. I know what I signed up for, I just want you to be ok.”

“What if, one day, I’m not ok?” Bucky asks, serious now, and you take your time before you answer him. His cut is clean of dried blood, and it’s stopped oozing any more. You doubt it’ll get infected so you should bandage it up but you can’t make yourself move from Bucky’s lap. Not just yet.

“I’ll fix you up,” you say. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Taking care of each other.”

Bucky blinks, once, as if allowing your words to download in his brain like a data file. Then he kisses you. He slides a hand up to cradle your head and presses soft, slow kisses to your lips like he’s got all the time in the world. He came storming in like a hurricane but now you’re in the eye, calm and quiet settling over you both as you cup his jaw and kiss into him all the tenderness you're too afraid to say. You mend his bleeding head and adrenaline-addled heart while he soothes your fear. Taking care of each other, and it feels nice to let someone else do that for once.

You know what Bucky is leaving out. The I hurt people admission, the fact he might have killed someone tonight, that the blood on his shirt isn’t just his. You really thought you’d care more - about the not knowing, about the truth of it, about everything. But he’s breathing and alive underneath you, trailing kisses and stubble burn from your mouth to your cheek to your temple, and all of those superfluous details become white noise. You’re surprised to find the simple fact that Bucky is alright is enough to supersede all the gaps you would usually itch to fill.

Bucky spins you both, tucking your legs up closer so you don’t overbalance as he looks around your office in a dizzying circle. A spike of nerves makes you feel sick for a second but Bucky smiles as he looks around, like he’s pleased with this part of your life he’s been able to see, and it makes you feel less afraid.

“This is where the magic happens, huh?” he asks, and you laugh at his teasing. “It’s very normal.”

“What did you expect? Like ‘Sherlock Holmes’ or something?” you ask. Bucky shrugs, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Maybe,” he says, then squints at you like he’s considering something. “So, no violin?”

“No violin, and no Mrs Hudson. I make my own tea,” you say, grinning up at Bucky even though he’s being stupid.

“Yeah, right,” Bucky snorts, “Pour your own wine, you mean.”

“Are you calling me a drunk?” you gasp, reeling back from Bucky and almost sending yourself off his lap and onto the floor. Bucky grips you tighter, laughing at the offence written all over your face, and then extracts an arm to point meaningfully at the half empty bottle of red by the side of your desk.

“The evidence speaks for itself,” he says. You fold your arms in a huff, if only to have him kiss the top of your head in a silent apology.

“You stick to the gang stuff, I’ll stick to the investigating,” you huff, and Bucky kisses you again until you wipe the frown from your face.

“Alright, smart girl,” he says. He stands, holding you up like it’s nothing and you can’t deny how hot that is, even if he is being condescending to you right now. He sets you down on your feet and smooths out your jacket, the warmth of his hands seeping through the leather as they pass over your shoulders and down your arms. He links his fingers into one of your hands, smiling down at you, and says, “Can we rain check dinner? I think I need a shower.”

Bucky stands unnaturally close to you as you lock up your office and head out, scanning the street while you lock the back door and set the alarm system for the building. He takes your hand wordlessly and leads you to his bike, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and just begging for a ticket. He hands you a helmet but is looking over your shoulder, not at you, and both of those things are worrying - you’ve never known Bucky to wear a helmet, let alone offer you one. You didn’t know he owned one. You feel fidgety, your skin crawling like you’re being watched, and Bucky must feel it too because he’s a bit rough in manhandling you onto the bike as quickly as possible.

“Bucky,” you say, and he twists around to give you a clinical once over - much like you’d done to him when he’d come to you bloody and breathless. You feel sick to your stomach, guilt and fear twisting in your gut, as you ask, “Do you think someone followed you here?”

Bucky’s face is impassive, but you’d like to think you know him well enough to read the tick by the corner of his eyes as a silent, muttered, shit. He licks his lips and says, “I can’t know the answer to that for sure.”

“But there’s a chance,” you say, and your heart is hammering so loud you barely hear your own voice. If someone finds your office then they find you, and the carefully constructed bubble of anonymity you’ve created is shattered in the space of a second. But you knew that, that’s what Bucky asked you on his couch - will you stay? Knowing Bucky is the antithesis of your comfort zone, will you stay anyway?

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Bucky says definitively. You scan his eyes for trace of a lie but there is none. Bucky’s jaw is set, and he reaches up to grip your chin and hold your gaze on his, making sure you hear him. “Just like you said - we take care of each other. I’ll always take care of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, one you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and Bucky kisses the trill of fear away. You feel like you’ve dived off a cliff face, Bucky holding your hand all the way down the precipice of trust you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. But Bucky promises he’ll take care of you and god, it’s stupid but you want him to. You want his to be the arms you land in at the end of this free-fall. Even if, given who Bucky is, that’s the most dangerous place to be.

“Speaking of no secrets,” you say, more of mumble into his mouth than anything. Bucky pulls away, adorably puppy-like look of confusion on his face, and your stomach twists with guilt. “Remember the night of the party? At Sam’s bar?”

Bucky nods. He’s twisted uncomfortably on the seat of his bike and the helmet you’ve yet to put on is digging in o your stomach where you’re holding it. This isn’t the best place to be having this conversation but Bucky’s promise has made you brave, and if you don’t go against your own word now you never will. Not once have you ever spilled details of a case before you’d cracked it. This isn’t a case, you have to remind yourself. This is your life.

“That morning, when I left,” you say, omitting the fact it’s the first time you ever used his front door and will most certainly be the last, “someone followed me from your building. I shook them off, but they were waiting for me to leave and I don’t know if they were casing your apartment or if they were there for me, or what. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, I just-“

“You just what?” Bucky doesn’t sound angry. Worse, he sounds cold. Shut down, clinical, and the way his face has pinched off makes your heart break.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you,” you say, looking down at your lap to avoid the way he’s looking at you like a stranger. Saying it out loud makes it sound so much worse, but it’s the truth and Bucky deserves that at least. “To be honest, I’m still not sure. But I want to. If I’m going to trust anyone, I want it to be you.”

It’s several moments before you’re brave enough to meet Bucky’s eyes again. He is coming back to you slowly, the shutters pulling up from his eyes as confusion seeps out. He scans your face and says, “Usually I would tell you that’s a really stupid idea, but I think you already know that.”

“Stupid ideas are kind of my thing,” you say, and that makes Bucky smile. Relief is bone deep, hits so hard you could slump from the bike in a pile of goo. He’s not mad. In fact, he leans forward in what must be a truly uncomfortable twist to press his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, breathes in deep. You follow suit, so ridiculously relieved you still get to do this while simultaneously trying to control the adrenaline rush from handing over what feels like you’re entire life to someone else.

All your life it feels like it’s always been you versus the world. Your dad raised you that way, to rely on no one but yourself so you can never be let down, not even him. It feels wrong on a cellular level to trust Bucky like you are so blindly doing. Every instinct screams at you to run, to figure this out on your own, that Bucky would normally be one of your main suspects in a regular case. But here you are, showing Bucky all your cards, hoping against hope that you won’t live to regret it.

“No more secrets,” Bucky says, and you nod. You feel his eyelashes tangle with yours as you move, pressed so close like this, and you open your eyes to stare at the veiny lids covering his. “Next time someone follows you, you tell me.”

“Yes sir,” you say, grinning at the warning pinch he gives to your hip.

“Let’s go to the shop,” Bucky says, pulling away from you and turning back to gun his bike to life. “The guys can help us figure this stalker shit out.”

“The guys?” you ask, and your chest does something painfully restrictive at the thought of letting more people in. “As in, everyone? Like, your gang?”

Bucky laughs, like the way you say ‘gang’ is so goddamn amusing, and throws you one last look over his shoulder. You tug the helmet on as he revs the bike, suddenly regretting every other time you’ve gotten on this thing without one, as Bucky says, “Yeah, doll, my gang. That’s kinda the whole point - we help each other out.”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that before. Truthfully, your mind had been filled with shady drug deals and bloody fights, turf wars and tattoos and angry men on bikes. Bucky’s friends and the nights you’ve spent with them seem like a different world, the joy and love entirely removed from the illegal life Bucky leads outside of your reach, but you have to remind yourself - they’re one and the same. Your Bucky cannot be removed from the biker you’ve been kept seperate from.

Clinging to Bucky’s waist, you say, “Sounds very after school special for a gang, tough guy.”

You can practically see Bucky grinning just by looking at the back of his head as takes off, the streets of Brooklyn peeling away as heads for White Wolf Mechanics. Your anxiety and fear sheds off as well, floating away in strips down the tarmac like an outer layer of skin. You feel vulnerable, all new and exposed as you hold Bucky close so you don’t fall. That’s what makes it feel bearable - Bucky’s back against your cheek, the hand he places over yours against his stomach when you pull up at a red light. His promise, echoing under the rumble of the bike beneath you. I’ll always take care of you.

~~~

The shop looks closed from the outside, but you can hear a low bass-line from the street and people laughing somewhere inside. Bucky brings you round the back, the roller doors out front closed this time, and into the back rooms you’d yet to see since that first visit a few weeks ago. To your left you see what must be Bucky’s office, but the room he tugs you to looks more like a bachelor pad living room than a mechanics break room.

Sam and Steve lay sprawled on leather couches, beers open on the coffee table made of old crates stacked together. The Killers pumps through a very, very nice sound system which Natasha is quietly singing along to where she lays on top of the pool table, legs kicking off the edge to the beat. Her beer rests on her stomach, rising and falling with every breath, and she doesn’t even raise her head as she waves at the two of you entering. Sam lifts the icepack from his eye to look at you, grinning wide, and kicks Steve in the shin to get his attention.

“Barnes is back,” he says, rolling his eyes as Steve blearily blinks awake from what was clearly an unplanned nap. Steve focuses on you and Bucky, eyebrows drawn down in confusion, and Sam adds, “and he’s brought his girl.”

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner or something?” Steve asks, then seems to remember himself and smiles all big and perfect at you. “It’s great to see you again, by the way.”

“Quit brown-nosing, it’s embarrassing,” Sam says, and throws his icepack at Steve’s head. He swats it away, squawking at the wetness it leaves behind on his hand and cheek, which makes Sam grin.

“I need a beer for this,” Bucky mutters so only you can hear, which makes you smile. You lead the way to the minibar in the corner, right by the bookshelf full of video games and the cardboard cut-out of Guy Fieri (you don’t want to ask). Bucky follows, grabbing your hand and tugging you back into his chest as you walk - even without the watchful eyes of the other gang affiliates which usually follow you at his parties, Bucky seems hell bent on making sure everyone knows who you’re here with. Even his closest friends.

You can’t say you entirely mind.

“So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Natasha asks. She’s sat up now, twisting on the pool table to face you both as Bucky grabs you some beers. Sam and Steve still continue to argue about nonsense on the couches and are ignored by the three of you for the moment. However, they stop bickering as soon as Bucky speaks again.

“Someone’s been watching my building,” he says. The silence is thick, and you feel almost guilty for ruining their fun night with your stalker woes. Bucky hands you a beer and looks at you pointedly, eyebrows raised. You take a sip before you follow his not-so-subtle direction to start talking.

“I was followed home the morning after Sam’s party at the bar,” you say. You have the full attention of Bucky’s closest friends, and you can’t help but feel a little intimidated. You take a deep breath and decide to look at the situation like you were debriefing a client on a case - remove yourself from the equation. “There was a man smoking against the building next to Bucky’s. He followed me about four blocks before I lost him. He was over six foot, caucasian, brown hair and stubble.”

“Sounds like every white guy,” Sam says. “You could be describing Bucky, for all we know.”

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “If I was putting a tail on someone, I would make them very nondescript. Makes sense, right?”

“And you’re sure he was following you?” Natasha asks. You glance at her, but she doesn’t look like she’s condescending you or anything. Surprisingly, she looks like she believes you far more than the other two men in the room. Maybe your trial by fire proved to her you know what you’re talking about, so you nod.

“Definitely. Either he knew I was there and was waiting for me to leave, or he was watching Bucky’s apartment and would have followed anyone who came out of it. Without more information I can’t be sure if he was there for me or Bucky.”

“You’ve never seem him before?” Steve asks. You shake your head, and he says, “Could you describe him a bit more detailed? I might be able to draw him.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “Or, we can just wait until he shows up at Bucky’s again and follow him.”

Bucky does not like that idea at all. He practically growls, grabbing your elbow and turning you to face him as he glares at you. Roughly, he says, “Are you fucking insane?”

“What?” Mildly annoyed, you tug your arm from Bucky’s grip and say, “If this was a case, that’s what I would do.”

“This isn’t a case. This guy is going to be a hell of a lot more dangerous than some rich businessman cheating on his wife,” Bucky says, voice raised to an almost shout in one of the quickest escalations you’ve ever seen.

A switch flips in your brain, and you see red.

“Thank you for the condescending analysis, Bucky,” you snap. You ignore Sam’s muttered ‘oh shit!’ for your own health and sanity. “But you have no idea the kind of people I’ve dealt with in my life. I can manage a fairly mediocre stalker.”

“A fairly mediocre stalker who works for someone who won’t hesitate to use your hamstrings as handcuffs,” Bucky hisses. He steps towards you, chest brushing yours as he breaths deep and ragged, and oh- there’s the Bucky you’d been missing. The guy who’s still wearing clothes stained with blood, most of it not his, angry in an incandescent kind of way which reminds you he could hurt you in many more ways than just a broken heart. He leans down to say into your face, “This isn’t something you fuck around with, alright? There’s a reason why I’ve kept this world from you.”

“I thought we said no secrets?” you say, raising your eyebrows. You will yourself to hold your ground, even if you are shaking like a leaf and your words come out soft in the face of his anger. Like you’d poked a pin in his chest, Bucky deflates. He backs off of you, face crumbling from anger to guilt as quickly as he built himself up there.

“I won’t let you get hurt because of me,” he says, shaking his head. The switch in your brain flips back, all indignation and pride fading away. He’s still trying to take care of you, just like he promised. Already it’s abundantly clear you’re not going to make that easy for him, and you wonder how long it will take until he gets sick of trying.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me,” you say, gesturing between you. “I let you into my world, now it’s your turn. I know it’s dangerous - I could have left, remember? But I’m here. So let me be here.”

“If someone touches you-“

“I’ll get over it,” you say. Bucky stares at you like you’re crazy, and maybe you are, but it’s true. “You said you were going to take care of me - how’re you gonna do that from all the way over there?”

You don’t mean the other side of the room, the valley of the pool table and the metaphorical arms-length which which he’s keeping between you. There’s only so much Bucky can hide from you before you either dive right in or walk away. This is the turning point.

“Fine,” he says. He looks physically pained as he scrubs a hand over his cropped hair, but at least he’s not angry anymore. “I still think thats a fucking stupid idea.”

“Like I said,” you say, offering him a smile he shakily returns, “stupid ideas are kind of my thing.”

“Uh, can I say something?” Sam asks, breaking the illusion that it was only the two of you in the room for that particular argument. You both turn to look at him, and he almost backs down with the weight of both your gaze. He carries on, however, saying, “I’m glad you guys have had this breakthrough in your relationship, but that doesn’t really help us in figuring out who this guy is. Or who he works for. Or why he followed you. Or how he knows where Bucky lives in the first place.”

“We could go around and ask,” Steve says, shrugging at Natasha’s eyeroll. “What? Baseball bats really jog people’s memories.”

“Why don’t we ask the private investigator for some expert advice,” Natasha says, giving you a look that seems to say men, right? You’re still trying to get your head around the image of Steve threatening someone with a baseball bat when you’ve seen him with his own puke on his jumper singing Sweet Caroline into a toilet bowl.

“Well,” you begin, darting Bucky a look but he seems to be listening and not getting ready to yell at you again, “since apparently following the guy is off the table for now, I would start with me and Bucky. Enemies, bad blood, someone with an axe to grind. Pull at some threads and see what happens.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Sam says, “Bucky’s got more enemies than friends.”

“So do we all, punk,” Bucky grumbles, glaring at Sam. “We’re in a gang.”

“This ain’t about me.” Sam holds his hands up in mock innocence, grinning big like he gets unrivalled joy from making Bucky’s face do the twitchy, dark thing it’s doing right now. The impact is somewhat lessened by the swollen, black eye Sam’s sporting from the mission gone wrong today, you assume, but it doesn’t curb his enthusiasm.

“I can put together a list of the most recent run-in’s you’ve had by tomorrow,” Natasha says to Bucky, ignoring the bickering with practiced ease. “Until then, we should put some protection on your building.”

“You guys have bodyguards?” you ask before your brain can tell you that’s a dumb fucking question. All three of them laugh, Bucky hooking an arm around your shoulder to ruffle your hair as he tugs you into his side. Point taken, you think as you pout under Bucky’s arm.

“I’ll stay in the spare room,” Steve says, swinging himself off the couch to his full, ginormous height. That image of him with the baseball bat starts to take a bit more shape in your mind, and you don’t doubt for a second he could offer some extra protection where the stalker is concerned. To you, he asks, “You don’t mind if I third wheel?”

“It’s not my apartment,” you say, attempting to hide your blush under the weight of Bucky’s arm. You are unsuccessful, if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by.

“We’ll survive one night, punk,” Bucky says, giving you a squeeze. “Or just buy some earplugs.”

“Gross!” Sam cries, flailing an arm around. “Too much information!”

You have a feeling akin to whiplash at how well these people are taking a stalker and potential threat on their lives. Joking around, Steve fake-moaning just to make Sam scream, Natasha laughing until tears form in her eyes at the antics of two grown men chasing each other around the couches like school children. Glancing up at Bucky and the warm look he’s giving them all, you suppose it must be lot less scary to face something like that with friends. Family, you think, as Sam crash-tackles Steve into the couch and smothers his face with a pillow.

“You’ll be alright?” Natasha’s soft voice manages to scare you, jolting under Bucky’s hold as you turn from watching Steve and Sam to find her right by Bucky’s other side. She’s looking up at him, lips pressed into a firm line, and you remember the last time you were here - James is the only family I have. Maybe some are taking this development a bit easier than others.

“Always am,” Bucky says, using his free arm to punch her lightly on the shoulder. She gets him back, much harder, and you feel Bucky wince away from her and into your side. “Serious, Natashenka. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she says. Smirking, she adds, “I’ll kill you if you aren’t.”

You look back to Steve and Sam before they can notice you eavesdropping, a hot, honey-thick feeling melting through your skin. You want to know what that feels like in a way which burns; to have people who have your back like that, and your dad doesn’t count because he literally has to. You understood Bucky’s gang even less than you originally thought - he’s not just a biker, a criminal, a hit man or an ex-army vet turned enforcer, whatever the case may be. He’s a guy doing what he has to do to protect the people he loves, because he’s surrounded by them. You’ve never had to protect anyone but yourself.

You tuck yourself closer into Bucky’s side, letting the warmth and smell of him consume you. That’s gonna change, you think. This feeling in your chest is telling you that change is already happening.

~~~

Steve does not have to get ear plugs to survive the night, and you make both him and Bucky coffee before you head off. Shower, new clothes, work - all that normal people stuff you have to do. Steve, golden in the morning sun with the brightest smile on his face, and Bucky’s moody scowl at the early hour and dark rings under his eyes, wave you goodbye. You kiss Bucky’s pout before you go, letting him grab your ass for a second before you slip away.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, and Steve snorts like there’s some joke you’re missing.

“I’ll go out the laundry window,” you say, as if this is a new development and not your usual routine. “Nobody’s gonna follow me, promise.”

“Hmph,” is all Bucky says and then you’re really gone, racing down the stairs and out the window like you always do.

Sorry Bucky, you silently think towards his apartment as instead of making to cut through the gym parking lot, you wrap back around his building and scan the street from behind the bins. Sure enough, opposite Bucky’s building with a baseball cap on and another cigarette, stands the same dude who followed you the first time. You really weren’t lying - stupid ideas are kind of your thing.

You make sure you’re hidden by a group of pedestrians as you slip out the side alley of Bucky’s apartment building and walk away from your stalker. He doesn’t notice, and you manage to walk a block and cross the road without him any the wiser. Your roles have switched as you hang out at the news-agency a few doors down from where he’s waiting, pretending to flick through a magazine. It’s easy to take a few picture of him over the top of the page with your phone, grainy but useable for when you show Bucky later.

You can deal with Bucky being angry at you, because you know how to do your job and this is the most efficient way to get intel. It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Eventually, you watch your stalker watch Bucky and Steve leave his building. It’s 9AM and they head to their respective bikes, revving off down the street in the general direction of Steve’s tattoo shop. Your man hunches his shoulders and pulls out his phone, taps into it for a bit, before he walks off in the opposite direction to Bucky and Steve. Not following them, then. Your stomach twists as you fall into pace a few people behind him. Just following you.

He gets on the subway, which makes  it very difficult for you to remain unnoticed but you manage to sit at the internal doors in the next carriage and watch him through those. He gets on his phone again, talking to someone with evident frustration if his clenched jaw and balled fist is anything to go by. He gets off in Manhattan, walks a few blocks, before ducking into a darkly lit bar called the Lerna. You decide it’s probably best not to follow him there, but you snap a few photos on your phone of the bar before doubling back out to Brooklyn.

You call Bucky as you go, a bit jittery at the incoming argument you know you’ve created, but you can’t help but feel it will be worth it. Now you have something to actually go off - a face, a name, some concrete facts. Much better than stabbing around in the dark. A few rings go by before Bucky picks up, saying, “Miss me already?”

“Get over yourself, tough guy,” you say, but you’re smiling. Maybe you do miss him already, just a bit. You were so focused on getting your information you didn’t get to fully savour Bucky this morning, all tanned muscles and tattoos, all yours. You force yourself to ruin the moment by saying, “I’ve got some information for you.”

“Me too,” he says, which surprises you. “Nat’s gotten together some potential candidates for your stalker. Have you got time to come to Steve’s tattoo place?”

“Sure,” you say, beginning to pick at your nails as the nerves set in.

There’s a beat of silence before Bucky must realise what you’d said before, and he doesn’t sound nearly as light and playful anymore “You said you had information? On what?”

“I’ll just show you when I get there,” you rush out, closing your eyes at the way Bucky sucks in a breath like he already knows what you’ve done. “Don’t be mad.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” he says, as if through gritted teeth. “I’m fucking livid. Please tell me you didn’t follow that guy this morning.”

“Ok, I won’t tell you,” you say. “See you in twenty.”

“You’re dead meat,” he says before you hang up.

It could’ve gone worse, you muse as you round the corner to the subway station. Sure, Bucky threatened you with lethal violence and sounded even angrier than he’d gotten at the shop yesterday, but you can still imagine him smiling at his phone as you hung up the same way you’re smiling at yours now.

You text him the photos with a quick, Don’t say I never do anything for you xx

A minute after the photos deliver, Bucky is calling you again. You frown down at his caller ID, confused - you were on your way, why is he calling you back already? But before you answer that question, someone grabs your arm and tugs you away from the subway steps and into an alley instead. His grip is bruising, unbreakable, even as you scream and kick before he shoves a gun into your neck and you fall deathly silent.

“Scream and you’re dead,” the man says, hot on your ear. You can’t shudder away, his vice grip too tight and the cold steel on your jugular paralysing. You twist a bit to look behind you despite yourself, your stomach bottoming out at the familiar face which grins back at you. Baseball cap, brown hair, stubble - just like any other white guy. He sneers at you and says, “Not so clever now, huh?”

All you can hear, as your stalker marches you down the alley and into a waiting SUV with a gun to your back, is Bucky’s voice yelling this isn’t something you fuck around with. You’d let him say ‘I told you’ so a thousand times if it meant you got out of this alive. Hopefully, the phone tucked into your back pocket will be enough to save you. You hope Bucky is listening, the call you just managed to answer still catching the grunted conversation your kidnappers are having. You’ve never needed someone before, but god, do you hope Bucky’s got you now.  

Part 6