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ultra-raging-ghost · 4 months

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I REACHED POST LIMIT SO HERES MY POST FROM 9:20 ONWARD

"Goodbye my three little ones, your father has to go"

"Im sorry chat, i guess ill just speak from the heart. the way i lost dapper and pomme i dont think i really.. had time to process, so losing him like this feels like losing all three of them at the same time"

Visiting bagis... poor zeno fucking died to a rooster LMAO i missed bagis place so fucking bad

searching for pepito.... where is my baby.... where is my little pepito, there pepito is

Bad doesnt really know what to do with himself, hes still sad but richas is like. Officially gone. Which is a crazy thing to process. I was having a hard time dealing with it but i think richas' final goodbye made me feel a lot better about it,it doesnt feel like theres a nail in the back of my brain now, im a little more content with this at least. Wont really be happy about it, but more content with it

We're gonna go leave a richas flower (blue orchid) at bagi's old base <3 just like how we left a cornflower at a place special to pomme.

hehehe agent 18/panks_ is in chat and theyre tormenting bad for fun

Offering pepito the opportunity to visit one last place, bad plans on coming back and visiting a couple final places sometime soon, not tonight but soon. Probably gonna end after pepito picks where to go

pepito cant think of anywhere, bads picking one more place to go

PEPITO TIME AT THE OFFICIAL DAPPER TIME SPOT??? LETS GOOOOO

Pepitos gonna be temporarily dapper while in the official dapper time spot <333

bads back, i got so comfortable in the old house that i forgot we have to leave. Just a wave of sadness washed over me, it feels like leaving home all over again, it feels like we should be able to walk into the old spawn from dappers train station and see pierre and pomme and etoiles again

pomme in chat... assuring bad she and dapper wont be leaving any time soon. Bad promises us he has some really fun stuff hes been working on he thinks we'll enjoy, this journey isnt over

while waiting for pepito we're reminiscing on when he had to triangulate the Dont have Your Gun thing that was playing that he couldnt find LMAO

currently visiting the old subway bad was building with dapper underground.... the new terrain generation generated a FULL end city RIGHT next to it!!!!

gonna visit bobby fields another day, thats another day issue, but dapper wanted to go see it with him lol

Bad found out Lullah and Richas were leaving yesterday, sounds like he didnt know chay was leaving till today

BOOOOOOOO BOOOOOO BOO IS HERE!!!! HELLO BOO!!!!!!

Pepitos playing around in the balloons Boo left <33

Bad: Yeah i remember when pomme and dapper came in one of these end cities and scared the muffins out of me Pomme: ?????? Pomme: bro you were dead Bad: I STILL REMEMBER.......

We're gonna go play Wordlos (or however you spell it) one last time before leaving the old spawn <3 gonna see if we can get it to work!!!

kinda works!!! Kinda!!! It mostly works!!!! gonna play!!!!!

"I am so proud of your spanish uncle bad!!! its a great advance to know how to explain something, its the most important thing"

We're looking at the paintings, this is it for the day. Richas logged off with bads statue painting so hes probably never gonna see that again LMAO "thats why we get screenshots"

Pepitos saying a little goodnight to the ghosties <33 pepitos gonna eat all of us up because we're so cute. "I see everything, too. EVERYTHIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG". Pepitos telling us to rest, eat, and drink water, and do our favorite things. We deserve it, to remember not to be sad it ended but be happy it happened at all <3

Bads planning on streaming tomorrow, hes not 100% sure what we'll be doing but he isnt gonna let this crank his steam

Pepitos planning on getting on tomorrow! or whenever! pepito doesnt know when pepito gets on LMAO

Thats all for todays stream, ending at 10:15, goodnight bad, richas, pomme, and dapper <3

#qsmp #liveblogging

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cleverwordsandotherstuffilike · 8 months

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"The day my father died, I was at the grocery store buying bananas. I remember thinking to myself, “This is insane. Your dad just died. Why the h*** are you buying bananas?” But we needed bananas. We’d be waking up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and there wouldn’t be any bananas—so there I was. And lots of other stuff still needed doing too, so over the coming days I would navigate parking lots, wait in restaurant lines, and sit on park benches; pushing back tears, fighting to stay upright, and in general always being seconds from a total, blubbering, room-clearing freak out. I wanted to wear a sign that said: I JUST LOST MY DAD. PLEASE GO EASY. Unless anyone passing by looked deeply into my bloodshot eyes or noticed the occasional break in my voice and thought enough to ask, it’s not like they’d have known what’s happening inside me or around me. They wouldn’t have had any idea of the gaping sinkhole that had just opened up and swallowed the normal life of the guy next to them in the produce section. And while I didn’t want to physically wear my actual circumstances on my chest, it probably would have caused people around me to give me space or speak softer or move more carefully,—and it might have made the impossible, almost bearable. Everyone around you; the people you share the grocery store line with, pass in traffic, sit next to at work, encounter on social media, and see across the kitchen table—are all experiencing the collateral damage of living. They are all grieving someone, missing someone, worried about someone. Their marriages are crumbling or their mortgage payment is late or they’re waiting on their child’s test results, or they’re getting bananas five years after a death and still pushing back tears because the loss feels as real as it did that first day. Every single human being you pass by today is fighting to find peace and to push back fear; to get through their daily tasks without breaking down in front of the bananas or in the carpool line or at the post office. Maybe they aren’t mourning the sudden, tragic passing of a parent, but wounded, exhausted, pain-ravaged people are everywhere, everyday stumbling all around us—and yet most of the time we’re fairly oblivious to them: - Parents whose children are terminally ill. - Couples in the middle of divorce. - People grieving loss of loved ones and relationships. - Kids being bullied at school. - Teenagers who want to end their lives. - People marking the anniversary of a death. - Parents worried about their depressed teenager. - Spouses whose partners are deployed in combat. - Families with no idea how to keep the lights on. - Single parents with little help and little sleep. Everyone is grieving and worried and fearful, and yet none of them wear the signs, none of them have labels, and none of them come with written warnings reading, I’M STRUGGLING. GO EASY. And since they don’t, it’s up to you and me to look more closely and more deeply at everyone around us: at work or at the gas station or in the produce section, and to never assume they aren’t all just hanging by a thread. Because most people are hanging by a thread—and our simple kindness can be that thread. We need to remind ourselves just how hard the hidden stories around us might be, and to approach each person as a delicate, breakable, invaluable treasure—and to handle them with care. As you make your way through the world today, people won’t be wearing signs to announce their mourning or to alert you to the attrition or to broadcast how terrified they are—but if you look with the right eyes, you’ll see the signs. There are grieving people all around you. Go easy."

John Pavlovitz

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crushingcasanova · 1 month

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HI I JUST GOT BACK and i saw your post about missing me and immediately blushed and started giggling like a madman im so crazy bfbdhdhdhf

i love his mc videos, and i also watch his try not to laugh series, AND his three scary games series!!! also he played yandere simulator and ddlc at some point, so i dabble in watching those. i loooved when he played dream daddy (such a silly name, i know) because he would get so excited and joke around a lot. he has so many series and i love all of them :DDDD

I WOULD LOVE THAT ))): we could have froyo and a picnic at a pretty park and GASP i could even bring like a picnic basket.. i love picnic baskets, yknow the wicker ones n stuff? theyre so pretty. i would even dress up for you, too!!! i have such pretty outfits and i would wanna look my best >.< ill also probably be thinking about it a lot now..

:0 that sounds so fun, im glad you got to go so often!!! i live in a village, theres only one gas station and a few little shops around, but its so pretty cus theres so many trees that im. allergic to D:

YAY I WOULD LOVE TO, im free tomorrow, not the day after (friday) but also saturday too, and probably some of sunday! i dont mind any way of communicating, we can vc or just message, anything you're comfortable with lovely. and it doesnt have to be this week either, it could be anytime

THATS SO SMART?? im so happy you got second, thats such an accomplishment brbbrbfhf

ill try not to be up too late, but i cant make any promises.. muhe.. rubbing my hands evilly. but i care about you too :D exploding on the spot

mario kart was very fun!! im actually pretty good at it on my ds, which is a change from when id always lose on the wii. i usually play as king boo, yoshi, or maybe shy guy!! king boo is my favorite, hes such a silly

-🫧

WAVES HELLO !!! I was thinking about you!!! I'm glad I could make you blush but it was a bit embarrassing that you saw that so fast,,,, I don't mind as long as it makes you happy, though!

I do love minecraft videos, so I'll binge some of those probably! Yan sim and ddlc sound like such fun too! I'll keep the three scary games series and dream daddy in mind too, hehe.

Froyo and a picnic,,, I do love those little wicker picnic baskets too! What kind of fashion do you like to wear, dearie? I'd love to know! It's also cool to hear you live in a village! I live in a pretty suburban / urbanish town, so we have some nice parks and such and lots of cool restaurants and stores! I'm allergic to grass pollen, so I get the trouble with trees,,, mine isn't so severe, thankfully!

I can do tomorrow (I think) or this weekend if you'd like! I might see some family friend on saturday, but other than that, I think I should be free! And if we do tomorrow, that's not an issue either. Let me know what you'd prefer and when tomorrow! And let me know your preferences on vc and messaging too, hehe. I'd need to find some other way to vc,,, if you have a discord or something you'd be willing to give out, but it would mean some anonymity is gone (though I could always hold back on texting you!)

King boo is a good choice! I used to play Luigi's mansion a lot, so I've seen him a few times, haha. And shy guy and yoshi are good picks!

#casanova's posts #casanova's collection #🫧 anon

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thegeminisage · 11 months

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for posterity (and so i can close the tab), i'm posting screenshots of the private skip/watch list i made for friends only - since i was too big of a dummy and didn't liveblog my initial tos watchthrough, to my ETERNAL FUCKING WOE, this is as close as i'm ever getting. sad! DISCLAIMER that i disagree with my past self on some of the skip/watch verdicts so please use the official spreadsheet (still a wip) as a guide if you're looking for that kind of thing.

of note from this first screencap: dagger of the mind, which i continue to feel normal about for no particular reason and definitely not relating to a movie with a brainwashing chair that came out in 2014. the corbomite manuever, which i dismissed at first and then came around to liking better later because of the little character moments. conscience of the king, which was actually the first trek episode i ever watched before i went back and did them all in official order (mistake, production order is better) and which of course got me into this mess. squire of gothos, which has this scene that inspired this fanfic. don't text.

it's also worth mentioning that i had to watch not one not two but THREE bad to mid episodes before i hit naked time and enemy within and then they put me right back in it with mudd's women. if i hadn't already seen conscience of the king and knew what was up i would have fucking quit. and that's why production order is superior

of note for this batch: the city on the edge of forever, in which a lot of important stuff happened, but also spock wore a little hat. catspaw, which is the first time i had an inkling of the idea that would later spawn this powerpoint (this is what "giving john crichton" means ifykyk). mirror mirror, which i didn't get until like a week later and then went insane over. metamorphosis, which made me so frothing mad it's unreal.

of note here: the immunity syndrome, which i have rewatched 60000 times for the spones. return to tomorrow, during which my eyes were dinnerplates start to finish. by any other name, which truly had so much going on including what i know in my heart was a tarsus iv reference. bread and circuses, which did indeed make me blush when bones pushed spock against the wall and spock went "really doctor?" i still can't think about it.

of note: the enterprise incident, which again caused mental illness related to the previously linked powerpoint. the paradise syndrome, which was the only amnesia episode, the first time kirk and spock mindmelded on screen, and so utterly fucking racist that all of that stuff was absolutely ruined beyond belief; i instantly moved to a google doc and to write down my mind palace version that doesn't involve All Of That. the one-two punch of the world is hollow + the empath, which made me a bones understander. the tholian web, which made me bonkers because i love a good fake death. plato's stepchildren, sections of which i had to watch through my fingers.

finally, of note for this batch: whom gods destroy, which unexpectedly brought back the brainwashing chair and excited me so much i had to pause the episode to collect myself. that which survives, bc the looney toons sfx made me scream laugh. requiem for methuselah, which genuinely induced a november 5th-like mania i didn't think i'd ever feel again. all our yesterdays, which was the worst i'd EVER felt for a space babe. and finally, turnabout intruder, which introduced "it's better to be DEAD than to be in the body of [x]" into my own personal lexicon.

ok that's everything! we have nine episodes left of tos to go back and watch before we move onto tng, but i know in my heart that tos will always be my favorite. i'll miss you tos :(

#personal #star trek blogging #tos lb

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the-amalgam-house · 5 months

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Haven't posted here in a while but tbh it's been kind of quiet anyway.

Aside from the usual gripes (capitalism, depression, illness, etc), nothing much is happening in life atm, and my roommates aren't super active. Mostly just Grey and Noey, a little bit of Belly here and there. Had like one milo encounter on a really rough day sometime last week, but overall just. It's very mundane. Which I'm not too upset about rn esp since a couple weeks back was SO stressful!

I think that either I'm noticing their presence less or it's become so common that we're all just kind of flowing around whenever needed. Idk. Sometimes I miss having people in my head to talk to. Sometimes it's my own fault for never reaching out first, just like with my outer world friends. I'm really bad at communication and even worse at remembering people exist. Out of sight, out of mind, you know? ADHD has been really fucking up my everything lately, and I'm wondering if I should try to get medicated for that as well. I already take so many meds though, idk if I want more just to focus better? Maybe. I just want to be able to actually do things on a regular basis like a regular person.

Uh there's development with Noey? She still rarely if ever changes age anymore but her range of age sliding grew recently, up to 19 years old. She's a bit frustrated that she can't hit 20 though, she fells like stopping at the end of the teens is unfair. I guess personally I feel it's not really much different than 19, still a very young adult, but she says she doesn't FEEL like an adult even though her age range has technically reached adulthood. She usually just sits around 14-17 anyway, but even so I'm sad I can't help with that frustration. It used to be that she was afraid of growing up, but I guess we've worked through some stuff and now she wants to be a proper adult? Maybe something will change with time, we'll just have to see.

Belly just wants toys now. He only has one toy that's his own and he wants more, but I don't have money to buy them for him. He likes building sets like I always did, and he wants colorful toddler toys and plushies too. Idk what to do with that though cause I barely make any kind of money and when I do it has to go to necessities. I'd love to get him some bird plushies, and both he and Noey like rabbits now. And he likes colorful building blocks and the like. I want to get SOMETHING but ugh! Everything costs so much!

I need sleep though. Tomorrow Nina has an appointment I need to take her to, so I need to be well rested. I guess it isn't the biggest deal about sleep since we're going in her car anyway and she's driving, but I would like to be proper support and be like. Awake lmao. Idk I'm too tired to think anymore. I'm tired and broke and just want life to be better.

#toby talk

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type-goblin · 1 year

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Train Pains.

ALORA

"What will you do when you get home?"

STEVE

"I dont know, probably do some writing."

ALORA

"wow, I didn't know you wrote. What's it for?"

STEVE

"It's so I can get better at writing, so people can hire me, so I can do freelance writing."

ALORA

"What did you write?"

STEVE

"I wrote an article about orcas."

ALORA

"killer whales."

STEVE

"orcas. and I did a blog post."

ALORA

"See, that's cool. I dont do any cool stuff-"

STEVE

"No! I'm not cool, don't let me trick you into thinking I'm cool; I just started writing recently, I'm not good. The only reason I started is because I ran into a friend from school on the bus the other day, and he graduated and joined the union. I dropped out, he graduated, and will be making 60 dollars an hour, while I work at a coffee shop. Like, what am I doing."

ALORA

"60 an hour, what the fuck"

STEVE

"yeah, he showed me some other friends I haven't kept in touch with. One is in the union with him; the other joined the army and got a full leg tattoo."

TRAIN PULLS UP

Steve and Alora entered the train and noticed the right side of the train didn't have seats,

STEVE

"no chairs."

ALORA

"Yeah"

They stand against the wall, Steve leaning against it and grabbing a support pole. Alora facing him, holding that same pole.

ALORA

"I have tomorrow off."

STEVE

"I know you've mentioned it."

ALORA

"I've just been working every day. This will be my first day off."

STEVE

"how many hours did you work last week?"

ALORA

"43 and 41 the week before."

STEVE

"with how you've been working, you should have enough for your trip."

ALORA

"yeah, but my friends want to go to Greece and the UK."

STEVE

"you're going to be so otherworldly when

you get back."

ALORA

"Did I miss my stop!"

STEVE

"I dont think so."

ALORA

"I do that a lot. I'll be talking to someone and forget about everything going on around me and miss my stop."

STEVE

"you didn't miss it."

ALORA

"Are you sure"

STEVE

"yes, im sure I ride this train all the time."

STEVE

"so, what are your plans for the day off tomorrow."

ALORA

"Im going to hang out with Albert after work tomorrow, yeah, so ill come back to work anyway, just for a second."

STEVE

"really"

ALORA

"I hang out with people, Steve!"

STEVE

"I know you do. You talk to everyone like it's no problem; you're a social butterfly." *Steve motions his hand, waving them in the air.

STEVE

"I feel like everyone hates me."

ALORA

"Like who? No one hates you."

STEVE

"I know it doesn't make sense. But I still feel that way. I dont want to get into it

right now."

ALORA

Alora leans in chit chat continues until

STEVE

"This is your stop. I dont want you to miss it."

ALORA

"ok, thanks"

Alora shuffles a bit, turning left. Alora grabs her wrist, the one she's holding the pole with

STEVE

"h-hey uh hug"

Steve holds his arms out, and they hug.

STEVE

"Sorry," Steve said, muttering words into her hair.

ALORA

"it's ok," Alora responds

she heads for the open train doors

STEVE

"have a good one."

Steve had been telling customers to "have a good one" all day, out of habit, and she knew because she had been there.

No response.

THE END

#short story #narrative #reading #train #awkward

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bloodpenned · 3 years

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Your Kylar kidnapping stuff is fucking busting. Can we get kinda a continuation of the other characters (or love interests) finally seeing the PC again? You can pick whoever I just have a mighty yearning. And maybe, just maybe PC coming to see Kylar after they're locked up? Choices is yours please keep up the great work!

continuation of this post! im writing about the LIs i mentioned in the original post.

As soon as you return to the orphanage, your fellow orphans look at you with surprise, some happier than others. There were few that expected your return after you’d be gone for so long. But Robin never gave up on you. At least one of the orphans runs off to go looking for them, and soon, they’re barreling down the stairs from their room, nearly breaking their neck in the process. You both fall to the floor after they tackle you in a hug.

They’re definitely crying in front of everyone, but they couldn’t care less. Robin doesn’t ask where you went or what happened, you two can talk about it later and only if you want to, all they can talk about now is how happy they are to see you again. They kept your room clean and made copies of their notes and saved some money and, and- It takes a bit before they let you go. They’re nervous, wanting nothing more than having you come over to their room and hang out like usual. If they aren’t around you, maybe you’ll dissapear again. But you won’t hear them say this. Guilt eats away at them for even having such thoughts, they’re far too selfish. You should do whatever you want to feel better right now. They can’t sleep that night. Waking up tomorrow and realising it was just a dream would be their worst nightmare. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Whitney is stomping over as soon as they see you. You’re getting shoved against the nearest wall, pulled into a kiss that’s more teeth than lips and draws blood. Their hands grope your body, greedy, trying to feel all of you within seconds. They’re scowling when they pull away. One hand is on the wall next to your head, the other bruising your shoulder with its grip. Where the hell have you been? You think they’ll just let you drop off the face of the earth?! (They definitely weren’t almost worried, they definitely weren’t almost missing you. They definitely call you their favourite for no reason.)

But they don’t raise their fist, don’t make a single move, only staring you down after spitting out the words. Once you tell them that Kylar took you, they let out a disbelieving laugh, eyes lingering on the rope marks on your wrist. So the little fucker finally went and snapped, huh? They’re lucky they got locked up before Whitney could get their hands on them. The second time they kiss you is a lot softer. Their tongue laps the blood from your mouth. Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, though. You’ve got lost time to make up for, slut.

At the Temple, Sydney drops everything they’re doing. Clothes scatter everywhere as they rush up to you, but they ignore any glares from monks or nuns. Where have you been?! They’ve been worried sick! Do you know how much time they spent with Robin looking for you? Before you have the chance the respond, they’re looking you over, fussing over every little mark on your skin. Did you lose weight? You have, haven’t you? You two are going to get something to eat. Right now. Every part of them is shaking. The whole way, they refuse to let go of your hand. They try to hide their tears, believing they should stay strong for you right now. (They don’t look too great themselves either, stifling far more yawns than usual. If you ask them how much they’ve been working, they’ll dodge the question. It’s a great distraction.)

Knowing that the one who hurt you is locked away now grants them some peace of mind. They’re still surprised it was Kylar. Sydney had always been under the impression you two were simply good friends and that they had held no ill will towards you. Even then, in the weeks after, they’ll ask for your help with tasks they would usually do on their own. Have you stay at the library after school, walk you to the temple. They also ask Sirris to see whether you’re acting weird in class or not.

When you go to visit Kylar in prison, they’re bawling their eyes out. There are bags under their eyes, their hair is somehow messier than usual and a large bruise has blossomed on their cheek. They missed you so, so much. But you visited! Well, of course you did, why wouldn’t you? Even their laugh, in between sobs, shakes. You’re married! You love each other!! It only makes sense you want to see how your spouse is doing! Because of the incident, you’re only allowed to see them with glass between you two, and they press their palm up against it. (Return the gesture, and they’ll start crying even harder. But they’re smiling wider too.) They’re wearing a ring, rubbing the metal as they stare at you.

Kylar’s so emotional the whole time that holding a conversation is almost impossible. They do tell you how disappointed they are they can’t get any pencils or paper. Without them, they can’t put drawings of you all over their cell… And they warn you, more begging than anything else, to be careful. They’re not there to protect you now. When your time together is up, Kylar has to be yanked from their chair. Even then, they’re struggling the whole way. As long as possible, they’ll hold your gaze. Visit them again, won’t you? ...Please.

#whitney the bully #sydney the faithful #robin the orphan #kylar the loner #degrees of lewdity

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theprettiestlamb · 3 years

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The Prince and the Horse (Bucky Barnes x F!reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x SE Asian F!reader

Word Count: 1965

Description: When you accidentally break one of your prized possessions, Bucky is here to save the day.

Author’s Note: Okay, so this wasn't gonna be my first Bucky story that I'd post, but I wrote this up after the precursor to a pretty shit weekend last week.

Also, there isn't anything in the story that's particularly SE Asian-specific, just the descriptions of reader. However, I have been working on a 40s Bucky fic with a SE Asian F!OC, where I'll get more into it. Fingers crossed I actually finish and post that!

Warnings: some angst, fluff, brief mentions of therapy (for both reader and Bucky) and mental illness (for reader), self-hating thoughts, not beta'd, converted from an OC's pov

Tags: I don't have any MCU fandom friends other than @lokiskitten so I would like to thank them and @mysoftboybensolo for the support and for letting me cry about Bucky to them :')

You had a virtual meeting with a new psychiatrist the next day, which you planned to have in the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend, Bucky.

You won’t lie: you didn’t declutter your space as often as you should.

Whether or not the pile of books and stuffed animals on your desk chair got taken care of depended on if you needed the workspace.

To ease your anxiety, you started sorting things out.

It’ll take my mind off tomorrow and I won’t have to move things around as much, you thought.

First, you did the desktop, putting away the makeup tools and palettes you left lying around into the drawers underneath so only your laptop, jewelry box and pencil cup remained.

The middle shelf—consisting of a small mirror, your contacts case and your skincare products among other things—was your makeshift vanity. Nothing was too out of place, so you skipped that.

At the top, you had crammed as many books as you possibly could, seeing as there wasn’t much space for a separate bookshelf, well… anywhere.

You eyed the ones on your chair, then the ones propped up in a row over your head.

I think I can fit it all on the shelf. The other stuff I’ll toss in the storage bin in the closet.

Settling on the plan, you began removing the knick-knacks lined up along the paper spines.

Your favorite was the music box placed before your special edition of The Little Mermaid. The body reminded you of a cheese wheel—cylindrical with dull edges. At the center on top was a little castle with a tower, where a princess figure sat.

When one wound up the crank, the mechanism allowed, not only the music to play, but the princess to “emerge” from the castle. A prince, which was on a removable horse, circled the castle.

Because you only kept it as decor, you couldn’t remember what song it played, just that it was German in origin.

With one hand, you held up the remaining books so they didn’t fall flat, while the other went to set the music box on your laptop.

“No!” you shouted when the little horse slid off the box and crashed onto the hardwood floor, sending tiny pieces everywhere.

After putting the base down, you got onto your knees and took the horse in your hands.

“No…” your voice got thick with sadness. “No, no, no, no, no!”

You ran your thumb along the nub where the prince’s head had been. The white horse was missing both its ears. Tears fell onto your cheeks.

A whispered “no!” came from your lips when you found the head.

When you picked it up and brought it to your watery eyes, you cried even more. All, except for two spokes of the golden crown had broken off upon impact.

You sat, your back against the bed and your lip quivered.

You felt dumb. You shouldn’t have been crying about such a thing and yet—

“Doll?” Bucky called from the front door.

You gasped and held back your sobs, hoping he would just think you was still asleep and leave.

He’d seen your cry before. Hell, he was bound to since you were mentally ill. But you didn’t want him to stop his day over something so trivial.

You gulped when you heard footsteps come up the hall, nearing the bedroom.

“Doll?” he said again, but in a lowered voice.

His blue eyes fell to where you were on the floor and he dropped on his knees across from you, his hand cupping your cheek.

“Hey, what happened?” he lowered his head a bit to meet your eyes.

You sniffed, brushing off some black strands that got stuck to your other cheek with the sleeve of your—well, his—sweater.

“God, it’s so stupid…” you hissed, more to yourself, then met his gaze. “W-What did you need me for?”

Bucky smiled softly, his hand dropped from your face to cradle your smaller hand.

“I was on my way to the storage unit, but I forgot the keys, so I was going to ask if you’ve seen them,” he explained.

You grinned, brown eyes focused on how warm his hands felt, encasing yours like a hug.

His therapist talked to him about taking up a hobby he could focus on while recovering. He settled on woodworking, renting out a small garage where he set up shop, making everything from your nightstands to a birdhouse for Sam’s sister and nephews.

“Why were you crying, doll?”

You blinked back from your thoughts and looked up at him shyly. His brows perked slightly when you started telling him.

“So you know how I have to see that new doctor tomorrow? I was, like, trying to clean up a little and get ready, to ease my anxiety and all that. B-But when I was moving that” —you pointed to the music box and held out the prince on the earless steed— “I dropped this and it broke…”

Feeling more tears emerge, you ducked your head, nesting it into the crook of Bucky’s neck when he pulled you into his arms. “I know. It’s a stupid thing to cry over—“

“Hey, don’t say that,” he squinted slightly, as if the words actually stung, and looked down at your tear-stained cheeks.

One of his favorite things about you was your apple cheeks. He loved watching them turn pink whenever he complimented you or when you laughed so hard that your sides hurt. He’d rather they get flushed that way, not from upset.

He continued, “If it makes you cry, it’s important to you.”

You nodded and mustered a tiny smile. It quickly disappeared when you felt an onslaught of tears come again.

“I love you, Bucky. You’re always putting up with my outbursts,” you sniffed.

Keeping you in his embrace, he cupped your cheek with his metal hand, swiping at the wet trail.

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you, doll,” he pecked your hairline before leaning his forehead on yours. “I love you. I want to be here. With you. Through everything. Just like you are with me.”

You parted your lips just a little and pressed them onto his.

He returned the kiss, then left one on the tip of your flat nose, one of many features you hated, but was cute in his eyes. “C’mon. We have to find the parts.”

“Oh…” you watched as he gently set you back down on the floor and got up. “Bucky, I could just look for them myself.”

He pretended to think about it and shook his head. “Uh… no. I want to help.”

“But your project—“

“Can wait,” he squatted in front of you again and held his hand out. “Let me see.”

You smiled and this time, it stayed. A sparkle in your eyes shone with awe at him and you showed him the figurine. “They’re really tiny though.”

He carefully examined it, taking note of what was missing. After putting the horse on your desk, Bucky got low on the floor, almost like a push-up position.

You took to searching the other side of the room. You gasped and picked up one of the spokes of the crown.

“So tell me about this,” he asked while he kept scanning the area. “Where’d you get it? Seems like it means a lot to you.”

“I went on a trip to Hawaii some years ago and at this mall, there was a little stationery shop with cards and stuff like snow globes,” you said. “I saw this and I knew I had to have it. Y’know, since I’m a sucker for fairytales and wanting to be a princess and all that.”

Bucky’s smile got softer. “I do know.”

You felt it childish, but in the years you’ve known each other, he never judged you for it so you felt more comfortable showing him your own stories you wrote or talked about your favorite castles.

“Admittedly, I didn’t play it much, but when I dropped it… it made me wish I had,” you used a jewelry dish to gather the broken pieces you found.

Following half an hour of peeking under all the furniture and feeling around the wood surface beneath you, you managed to find all but one piece.

“We make a pretty good team,” you gave him a shy smile.

“We do,” Bucky agreed, then left the room.

He came back with a resealable bag and emptied the tray’s contents into it.

“I’ll take these with me to the shop,” he slid his pinched fingers across the blue horizontal lines and helped you up.

“What? Bucky, I have a hot glue gun,” you reached for the knob of the middle desk drawer, but he held your other hand to stop you.

“So do I. Besides, it won’t take long.”

You eyed the fallen prince, along with the remnants of him and his noble steed.

While you loved Bucky with all your heart and was endlessly appreciative of his help, you thought about how frustrating it would be to glue pieces of minuscule plastic and wood in equally small spaces. There wasn’t exactly much room for error and the amount of hot glue he’d use would dry up in seconds.

He kissed your head. “I’ve got all day, doll.”

You parted your lips and watched him go, this time, the keys to the storage unit in his jeans back pocket.

Was mind-reading a Super Soldier thing?

—

Everything was cleaned up by the time Bucky returned, pizza box in hand.

“(Y/N)?” he called for his girlfriend.

You in turn awoke on your bed, a throw blanket engulfing your body. “Bucky?”

He set the box down on the dining table and went back to your room. He blushed at the sight of you all curled up. You used the base of your thumb to rub your eye and sat up.

“I got pizza. Your favorite,” he leaned on the doorframe, hands in his pants pockets. “And something else.”

You smoothed your hair on the back of your head down and glanced at the clock.

5:03 p.m.

You turned back to him. “What’s the other thing?”

Your mind was still hazy from your nap. You didn’t even remember what you were doing prior.

“Come see for yourself,” he smirked and got back on both feet, heading to the kitchen.

You blinked away the sleep in your eyes and followed him.

On the table was the pizza box and a small paper bag on top.

“Open it,” Bucky, leaning against the counter, bit back a smile.

You dug your hand into the blue tissue paper, pulling out a white gift box wrapped with twine.

You pulled at one end until the bow came completely undone and you placed the string down.

Upon opening the box, your eyes fully opened and a gasp left your throat.

Inside, cushioned by sheets and rolls of black velvet, was the miniature prince and horse—perfectly intact. So perfect, in fact, it didn’t look broken in the first place.

You went to speak when you observed the horse had both ears now, instead of one.

“I used a chunk from what I was making and just painted it,” he shrugged, a lazy grin plastered on his stubbled face.

“Bucky, it’s beautiful…” you lifted your gaze from the horse to your lover.

You went up to him and leaned over to place the figure on the countertop by the backsplash.

When you went to stand up straight again, he held your hands and kissed you softly.

You parted, leading you to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He held you around the waist and hummed.

“Anything for my babydoll.”

#Marvel #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #James Barnes #Sebastian Stan #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x F!reader #Bucky Barnes x SE Asian!reader #oh hiiiiii #it's my debut!#my fic #my fics #my writing #mine

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nova-is-a-writer-now · 4 years

Text

The things we never tell.

[[Zuko x Reader]]

Summary: After the war Y/N strays away from her friends, and her relationship with Zuko seemed everytime more distant, slowly she starts to fall into a darker place.

A/N: I took a very extensive but very needed break, I’m incredibly sorry to anyone who sent me a request before I disappeared and was left waiting for me to post it but my mental health was not the best during this past few months and it’s been hard to do anything at all. But I’m back and I hope writing again gives me a sense of purpose or something lol. Talking about mental health, this fic talks about heavy topics like depression and isolation, if you’re not confortable with that or are going through this stuff I recommend skipping this one, I will have lighter fics coming soon. Remember you are never alone, no matter how much you feel like it. There’s always someone to reach out to or ask for help.

Requested: Yes!!!! By a lovely blog that deactivated but went by the name of aristasiaclarke :( (yes that’s how long I’ve been away) But side note, if you sent me a request before my break and would still like me to write it send it to me again I’d be more that happy to do it!

Warnings: Depression, Anxety, Isolation, Angst

~IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS DONT HESITATE TO ASK ~

The war was over, it had been for months now, yet some things hadn’t gone back to normal . You decided to stay in the palace after Zuko was crowned since your relationship with him had only grown stronger by being so close to losing eachother. Your friends on the other hand all went their separate ways. The friend group you’d spent so many days with, planning on how to defeat the firelord, training, camping, going on missions, it all became just memories and it had been so long since you’d all been together last. You couldn’t complain though, you understood after everything that had happened all your friends were left with many responsibilities laying on their shoulders and, in a way, none of you were the same kids you were when this adventure started. You had all grown up.

Zuko and you spent a lot of time together those first few months since you moved in, that period of time when his people understood his need to settle into his position and take charge of his nation, but after that was over the workload was relentless, Zuko had been left with a broken nation and the full responsibility of fixing it. At first he always made sure to eat every meal with you, chat and update you on everything new that had happened, little by little he started to miss lunch and then it was dinner, soon breakfast and any midday break was gone as well. It came to a point where you rarely saw him at all, him working so late you were usually asleep by the time he came to bed, if he did at all, and you waking up to an empty bed every morning.

Slowly but surely a feeling you knew all too well started reappearing in your chest, something you hadn’t felt in years and were too scared of to even acknowledge. You tried to figure out what to do with all the free time you had in your hands so the feeling wouldn’t consume your mind, you remodeled at least fiver rooms in the palace, picked up several hobbies, offered your help to servants all around just to be rejected, anything and everything your mind could think of, but nothing was enough. That darkness and emptiness inside of you seemed to be determined to conquer your every waking moment once again.

Last time this happened you had your old friends around you, back at home. You family did everything they could to help you, and little by little you learnt how to heal. But this was different, all you had now were empty hallways that lead to even emptier rooms, and the ones that weren’t empty you weren’t permitted to go into.

Days were longer and shorter at the same time; on one hand, a day seemed to last ages, all you did was wait til night fell so you could go back to bed and rest, on the other you started spending more time inside your room, taking naps here and there turned into sleeping most of your days, taking baths became a task harder than any of the ones you’d had to complete in your adventure days, the curtains stayed closed and the bed unmade, day and night slowly started to blend in together.

Servants noticed first, they knocked on the door several times a day to ask if you needed anything at all, to which you would always answer no. When you stopped going to the dinner hall they started to bring food to you, most of which you didn’t eat. One too many times they even had to drag you to the bath so they could get a chance to clean your room.

It was your personal maid who had decided to finally bring in the palace medic. After running some tests on you he concluded there was nothing wrong with you and all it could be was hormonal changes. But hormonal changes weren’t supposed to last weeks, not to mention months.

The maid tried encouraging you to go out to town, visit some new boutique that had opened or a restaurant with great reviews, but all you ever said was “maybe tomorrow”. She came to understand that tomorrow wouldn’t come.

—————————

One day she decided to not stand by and witness a girl who had once been the light in every room wither away. It took all her courage to approach the fire lord,. Even though she knew of his kindness and how different he was from his predecessor he was still an intimidating ruler.

“Fire lord” she called as the young man walked through the palace surrounded by his officials, discussing some political matter she assumed. He didn’t seem to hear her so she sped up and stood in front of the group of men.

“I’m sorry but any issue at the moment will have to wait, important matters need to be addressed with urgency.” He informed her with his usual formal tone.

“Your majesty, it’s miss Y/N, she-” the maid started but was soon interrupted

“Yes, well if she requires my presence please inform her I’m occupied at the moment, but whatever she needs she can ask the help to do it for her.” Zuko attempt to walk past her but the maid stopped him once again.

“Your majesty, I hope I’m not being too bold but I don’t think you understand, she’s very unwell.” the maid saw as Zuko was about to protest her audacity, but once his eyes fell on her he seemed to realize the seriousness of the matter.

Zuko’s heart sank, all kinds of thoughts went through his head, had you gotten injured? Had one of the rebellious groups he’d been dealing with infiltrated the castle and taken you? had you fallen ill with a terrible condition? He soon turned to his second in command and said “You can take charge from here”

The man rather surprised replied after a few seconds “Your majesty, this matter requires your presence, it can not wait.”

“Well it will have to, I’m going to be unavailable the rest of the day. I’m sure you all can manage without me.”

———————

Nothing could’ve prepared Zuko for the sight he encountered when he entered the royal chambers. He hadn’t sleept there a few nights in a row, not wanting to wake you up at late hours when he was done with his workload of the day, but even when he did sleep there he was too tired to even notice anything wrong. Now, at broad daylight, he saw it all.

You were cuddled up under the covers, your hair matted and messier than ever, very dark under eye bags and an extremely pale complexion, even laying down and under blankets and covers he could tell you’d lost a worryingly amount of weight. He’d never seen you in such state.

“What happened to her? Is she ill?” Zuko asked the maid who stood next to him.

“The medic has been called, your majesty, he wasn’t able to point out anything wrong with her. Said it was just hormonal changes, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on.” she said softly.

“Well then bring another doctor in. Someone has to know what’s wrong.”

“Yes, your majesty, we’ll being someone else in first thing tomorrow.” she bowed and was about to leave the room when the firelord stopped her.

“Thank you... for bringing this to my attention and for looking after her.”

The maid just bowed once again and made her way out of the room. Zuko walked up to you, your eyes were closed and even in your sleep an uneasy expression was plastered on your face.

“Love...” he cooed stoking the side of your face slowly. “Hey, darling... wake up.”

He made sure to rest his hand on your forehead to see if you had a fever, but on the contrary you were rather cold. You barely opened your eyes, but it was enough for Zuko to see how the light that had once been there was now gone.

“Zuko?” you asked, your voice barely audible and raspy as you tried to blink the sleepiness away slowly.

“Hey, do you feel sick Y/N? Does anything hurt?” Zuko’s hand had moved from your forehead to your cheek and his thumb was now sweetly caressing your skin.

You hadn’t felt a loving touch in what felt like so long, you’d almost forgotten that you could feel something good and not painful. It was all it took for tears to slowly start forming in your eyes and eventually rolling down your face.

At the sight of your partner’s concern, you forced yourself to smile a little and respond “Nothing hurts.”

“Y/N... something’s not right. I’ve never seen you like this before, i need you to tell me what’s going on.” Zuko’s voice was almost breaking, you could tell how hard he was trying to be strong and keep collected for you, this broke your heart even more.

You took in a deep breath, your mind running while trying to find an answer for him. You knew what was wrong, you’d ignored it so far, pushed it away even though it now consumed your every waking moment, but you knew you couldn’t do this anymore. “I don’t feel well, Zuko. I haven’t for a while now.”

“Are you ill? We’ve called a doctor already, he should be-” He said before you cut him off.

“Zuko... It’s not that kind of unwell.” you almost whispered. “A doctor can’t help me with this.”

The firelord seemed lost for a while, not quite sure of what you meant. You took a second before sitting up on the bed and pressing your back against the headboard. You decided to recount the events of the last time you’d gone through this to him, every sleepless night and every full of sleep day, the multiple crying sessions, the pain and hopelessness, the ever changing appetite, the heavy chest you couldn’t seem to get rid of. This was all terribly hard for you to do but needed to be done, for your sake and for his. Zuko didn’t seem to understand at first, his eyes looking at you attentively, waiting for the moment where the pieces of your story would fall into place. It took you saying how what was wrong with you wasn’t physical but rather emotional for him to get what you were referring to. His face had fallen into a heartbreaking expression, you didn’t know if it was guilt or pity or something in between.

Once you were done and the tears that pooled in your eyes while tellling your story had fallen, Zuko held your hand tightly. “This is all my fault. You should’ve been my priority.”

“Zuko...no. This isn’t your fault, it’s nobody’s fault.” You assured him as your hand went up to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry. You shouln’t have had to deal with this alone. You were there for me when no one else was and I want to do the same for you, always.” He tilted his head into your palm before turning slightly to kiss it.

“I’d like that... I really would.”

For the rest of that night, you and your partner opened up to each other like you’d never had before. For the first time since the war had ended you didn’t feel so alone, you were together and that made you feel like you had the strength to get better, maybe not today or in the days to come, but someday. He gave you hope.

#zuko au #zuko fic #zuko x reader #atla zuko #zuko angst #zuko fanfic #avatar zuko #prince zuko #zuko x you #fire lord zuko #zuko x y/n #zuko x oc #atla imagine #atla fanfic #aang #katara #sokka #fanfic #fire nation

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youngbeezer · 3 years

Note

number 5 for the tiktok thing with jon toews?

Referenced Post

Prompt-- 5. Running into each other's arms after not seeing them for awhile (w Jonathan Toews)

A/N: Here's another blurb from the 14 oddly romantic things blurb set. I only have one more after this, so this series(?) is coming to an end. I have enjoyed writing all of these sm! Welcome back captain serious!!!

Thank you for requesting, hope you like it :)

Word Count: 1345 (these have been so long lately idk whats going on)

Warning(s): mentions of his illness(?), but other than that i dont think any!

join my taglist :)

The sound of my phone’s ringtone awakens me from my deep slumber. It takes me a few moments to come to my senses and to rub the sleep out of my eyes, and once I am able to recognize my surroundings, I realize that I am once again waking up to a cold and empty apartment. It’s been the same feeling for almost the past four months.

Like usual, after last year’s NHL season ended, Jonathan and I went back to Winnipeg to spend our summers there in his hometown with family and friends. But this time, when I went back to Chicago for work in mid September, Jon did not come back with me.

During December, he started to experience these symptoms that left him feeling drained and lethargic. So, after seeing multiple doctors, Jon thought it was best to stay back at home to try and better understand his condition and get his health back on track.

Unfortunately, my job as a teacher was still in Chicago and needed me back right away, thus preventing me from staying in Winnipeg with Jonathan during this difficult time for him. It was definitely hard on our relationship being so far from each other, especially since Jon was sick and I couldn’t be there for him. But, we talked everyday and we both are very comfortable in where we are in our relationship, so we made it work.

So far, Jon does not know much on when he will be back in Chicago, and right now it is starting to seem like the next time I’ll be able to see him is when the school year is over and I am able to go back to his hometown.

I am brought out of my jumbled thoughts when my ringtone goes off once more signaling I have a text notification. I reach over to my bedside table to retrieve my phone off of the charger.

‘Good morning, beautiful.’

‘Hope you have a great day, say hi to all your kids for me.’

‘Love and miss you.’

I let out a sigh and go to wipe off the few tears that I feel running down my cheeks. Coming up on that four month mark has been extra hard lately. I miss waking up to his lazy morning kisses along my back. I miss the way we move in perfect harmony when we are doing our morning routines in the bathroom. I miss his goodbye kiss he gives me every day before going to practice. I miss everything about him. I also feel like such a bad girlfriend not being able to be there in support and to take care of him when he has been dealing with such a scary and unknown illness.

I wipe off the few remaining tears lingering on my cheeks and go to text back my boyfriend.

‘Love and miss you too! I’ll call you on my lunch break xx.’

I go to get ready for my day since I have to be at the school by 8:00 AM and it is already nearing 7:15. I take a quick shower and quickly blow dry my hair. I make a quick pitstop to check my phone and find another message from Jon.

‘Sorry baby, I think I have a doctor’s appointment during your lunch break.’

‘I’ll talk to you later, love you.’

I frown a little at his message. First, I worry that he has another doctor’s appointment-- since last time I heard, he was getting better; and I also frown at the idea of having to wait all day until I can hear his voice.

Today’s gonna be a long day…

(...)

Today was a long day.

First, I forgot to bring in the worksheets I printed out last night for my lesson plan so I had to switch everything around. Then, one of my students scraped their knee during recess so I had to take care of them and bring them to the nurse’s office, thus making me miss out on my lunch break (where I wouldn’t have been able to even talk to Jon anyway). And now, I am putting bandages on the back of my heels where my wedges gave me blisters. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to look cute today instead of being practical since I walk around and stand all day long.

My students were just dismissed, so I am currently just organizing everything that I’ll need to have ready for tomorrow. Once I finish up, I gather all my belongings and start making my way out of the classroom. I make sure to say good night to my favorite security guard before trekking to the parking lot.

When I make it out of the school building, I immediately go to take off my wedges. As I look back up in search of my car, I stop dead in my tracks.

Standing in front of my car, with my favorite flowers in his hand, is Jonathan.

Everything that was once in my hands has now clattered to the ground as my hands instinctively move to cover my mouth in both shock and excitement. Tears start to gather in my eyes as Jonathan gives me a huge smile.

Once the initial shock wears off and I realize it is actually my Jonathan standing right before me in person, I let out a little squeal and start jogging over to him. He sets the flowers on the hood of my car as I get closer and opens his arms to welcome my body.

He stumbles back a little when I jump into his arms, but he quickly recovers with a breathy laugh and by tightening his arms even more around my torso. As his arms wrapped around me, tears flowed freely.

“Oh my god. You’re really here.” I cried out, clinging onto him in fear that this was all a dream and he would soon disappear.

“I’m here baby. I’m right here.” He soothed into my ear, running his fingers through my hair.

At this point I felt like I was just uncontrollably sobbing. All the pain and loneliness of being apart, and the stress of not fully knowing how he was feeling and doing-- all of it is over now.

“Hey, y/n-- baby, please stop crying.” He shushed into my ear, trying to calm me down.

“I missed you so much.” I hiccup out. I pull away a little from his embrace to instead cup my hands around his neck to get a good look at him. “You look so good.”

Before I can ramble even more, Jonathan leans in and kisses me. Our bodies pressed together and our lips molded as though we were never apart. His lips were softer than I remember and tasted sweet against my own. I could feel his breath tickle beneath my nose as my left hand moved from his neck to his head to card my fingers through his hair.

It eventually started to grow sloppy as both of us could not contain our smiles any longer. I let out a little giggle when our teeth clack once more which prompts us to break apart from each other-- but not before Jonathan gives my nose one last peck.

“I love you so much.” I breathed out.

“I love you too.” He beamed back. “Let’s go pick up all your stuff in the middle of the road, eh.”

I look back at my belongings, totally forgetting that I dropped everything when I first saw Jonathan. We both make our way over there and gather all my stuff up before making our way back to my car.

Jonathan’s hands card through mine, giving it a little squeeze before mumbling out,

“It’s good to be back home.”

I smile but raise my eyebrows just a little up at him and ask, “I’m glad you are too, but isn’t Winnipeg technically you’re home?”

He gives me one last little peck before murmuring against my lips,

“Wherever you are is my home.”

Taglist; @heatherawoowoo @barzysandmarnersbitch @joelsfarabees @hockeyplayerstories @barzy-xoxo

tagging a few mutuals as well,,,,

@lovereadinghockeyy @carepriceisgoodathockey @prettyboyjackhughes @2manytabsopen @frederikanderson @bb-nhlqueen7 @cherrybarzy @jamiesdrysdales @luukasreichel @gigissports @cherrylita

#jonathan toews #chicago blackhawks #jonathan toews imagine #jonathan toews blurb #nhl #hockey #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #hockey fic #my writing #hope you liked it :)#14 oddly romantic things blurb set

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devils-malady · 3 years

Text

Okay okay okay, long post as I just need to write out my inner thoughts on some lore stuff. Also possibly some theories on possible sexual assault? so read on with that warning.

This has been haunting my waking and sleeping time. (I need answers, Capcom!) If anyone wants to discuss any of this, please, by all means.

So I have been thinking about the fucky timelines we have for RE8. Like really really fucky. I have specifically been thinking about Donna's and in extention, the family Beneviento. I feel like that Charley Day conspiracy meme, I shit y'all not.

So we have mention of a Bernadette B. Age 21, no occupation, no prior illnesses. She was subject 177 in Miranda's cadou experiments, which resulted in her death.

Then under that entry, we have Alcina D. Age 44, noble descendant. Not from the village. Hereditary blood disease. Subject 181.

Alcina was made into the magnificent Tall Lady she is in the 1950s, right? Like, it's implied because of the way she dresses, yeah? Was there an actual date or is it kinda just guesses? But Bernadette would have died in that same timeframe.

So next, we have very little in regards to who our dear doll-loving Beneviento Lord was before other than really just Donna Beneviento.

The first information we really get directly is the gardeners diary, though no year is given.

"November 10th

Mistress Donna is now Mother Miranda's adopted daughter. In all my years, I've never been this overjoyed.

Ever since childhood she has always feared others, due to the scar across her face.

After her parents' death she locked herself away and would only talk to Angie, the doll her father made her.

I am forever thankful to Mother Miranda's infinite compassion."

I dont think this diary is decades old but I could be wrong. I feel like the gardner probably died in the span of the days leading up to Ethan coming to the village, when Miranda let the lycans have their way.

Okay, so in this canon, presumably her parents death was the final straw for her? Also fearing others, speaking through a doll, and as Miranda's notes stated severe mental illness and an almost child-like mental state, is not usually a good equation to cultivate the necessary interactions to create and have a child so following my trail there, I personally find the theory of Claudia being Donna's daughter unlikely? Unless Capcom really just said "hey you know what will make her even more tragic?" Then proceeded to make Donna a part of the #metoo movement. I cannot stress how much i really really dislike this implication.

Now, if Claudia were an adopted child, would she even have the potential to be used as a vessel for Eva? Is some connection to the 4 houses needed or was that just in regards to the 4 lords? Would Donna even be able to care for a child?

I feel like i need to add in here, I don't think any one elses theories or headcanons are wrong. Like, I know I'm probably wrong, but we just don't have enough information. I just have to get this shit out of my head because it really is interrupting my sleep.

So we have no death dates for her parents, but we have a range for Claudia of 1987 to 1996. And we have the other diary entries for the gardener.

"November 27th

Mistress Donna seems happy. It might be my imagination, but I feel like her doll Angie is even more lively than before.

She came to me in the garden today and used Angie to talk with me. We had a mighty fine conversation.

Something about receiving a gift of power from Mother?

November 29th

Mistress Donna gave me yellow flowers and told me to plant them in the garden.

I planted them in front of Miss Claudia's grave. I don't know if it was the scent of the flowers, but I felt light headed. Then, like a dream, I saw my departed wife.

I mentioned this to Donna and she seemed thrilled by it. She told me to go to the house tomorrow and see her. She said I could see my family once more.

I'm not sure what she meant by that, but she's so kind."

Alright, so Donna was implanted at some point after 1996. In regards to the titles he uses, she is Mistress, because she's the head of the household after her parents death. Claudia was only a little girl when she passed away so it would have never changed from miss. I don't know if Claudia and Donna were twins, but I do personally like that theory, but Donna could have been a little older even, maybe a young teen. We have her portrait, without her scar, that we know she's had since a child. The portrait seems to be of an adult or young adult woman with Angie seeming to be in somewhat better condition, but that could have also been artistic liberty as the scar being left out possibly was. It was never stated if she doesn't age like Alcina, does it? Cause it says she's pretty much human except the control she has over the mold infected flowers.

I forgot where I was even going with this, other than I really like the Donna that people have made through the fics and headcanons posted. It makes me feel a lot less shitty than the shit rolling around in my multi-track brain.

If i remember any more of the points i wanted to express, I'll add them later. I've given myself a case of the sad, and I need to find something to lift my mood.

(To the Americans out there, have a lovely and safe holiday.)

#donna beneviento #resident evil village #re8 village #re8 donna #resident evil donna #resident evil #angie beneviento

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heart-strong · 3 years

Text

The Strongest Sense

Couple: Aaron Hotchner and enby Spencer Reid

Summary: (hurt/ comfort and fluff) After a long case and not enough sleep Aaron finds Spencer awake in the kitchen having intrusive thoughts.

WC: 2.6k

CW: talk about 5x01 (Aaron getting stabbed, Spencer getting shot), misgendering, nightmare, Haley's death mentioned, thoughts of self-harm (not actually self-harming tho), panic attacks, and mental illness mentioned. Tell me if I missed something, I’ll add it no question.

A/N: So about a month it was 2 in the morning and I was feeling really shitty about myself and my bestie just said "Evie you get really depressed when you're tired." and so I wrote the original draft of this and then went to bed. The wonderful @hermes-creature betaed for me go check them out!

read on AO3

- - -

Aaron shifts in the thick blankets, not opening his eyes just yet. Finally home after a week and the detailed case, he is happy to be in his bed. But as he turns his body into his pillow, Aaron registers the weight and sound of Spencer's weighted blanket on top of him. Times like this make him realize why Spencer likes the blanket; the weight makes it easier to sink into the bed. Except the blanket being on Aaron means Spencer is not in bed. He reaches out to his left just to double-check and feels the sheets cold. Aaron opens his eyes and turns to his nightstand, seeing it is only a quarter past two. He shucks off the blankets overpowering him and grasps for the pajama pants on the floor. The ones Spencer asked him to take off, "I want to feel your skin on mine, Aaron." Locating them, he shucks the cotton pants on and leaves the bedroom without another wasted second.

As he walks further down the hall and descends the stairs, the light brightens until he reaches the kitchen threshold. Spencer has curved his back over the kitchen island with lunch meats, a box of fruit snacks, and crackers with baggies, post-its, and markers are strewn around. Aaron has done this before; he walks to the other side of the kitchen island to the sink, pulling out two mugs and filling the tea kettle with water.

Spencer will have nightmares that don't wake Aaron. Then he will be up for a while before he can't sit still anymore. He leaves the bed to make or rearrange the lunches, reading a book, listening to music from his childhood to help him fall back asleep on the couch. This is a habit, but it doesn't make Aaron worry any less. Now he sets the stove alight and finally looks at Spencer.

Spencer's hair is sticking up in the back and right side, probably from watching Aaron sleep. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, and one leg is tucked under an arm, contorting his body to be comfortable. He recognizes the oversized sweatshirt as his own as Spencer's one hand is swallowed up by the sleeve and atop his knee. Aaron also notes it's the knee he got shot no less than a year prior; the leg isn't covered in any fabric. He is currently scribbling a note on a blue post-it. When he secures it onto Jack's sandwich bag, he looks up at Aaron.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, careful not to wake Jack even though the boy could sleep through a hurricane.

"Hi," Aaron smiles, and as he hears the water start to boil, and turns it off before the whistle sounds. "What kind?"

"Peppermint, please."

"Of course." Aaron pulls out the box with the tea, taking out two bags and pouring the water, walking around to where Spencer is and sitting before he speaks again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, but then you got out of bed for nothing."

"What do you mean 'nothing,' Spence? You weren't in bed. You are half of my everything." Aaron reaches for Spencer's hand, but the younger man does not respond. Not even to flinch away as he sometimes did when the nightmares were most horrific.

"I wanted to cut," Spencer says as he weaves his fingers with Aarons.

"Baby, you could have woken me up." He feels 80 pounds heavier. What had he done to make Spencer not want to wake him when he thought of such dark things. Nothing Hotchner, he thinks to himself, Spencer's mental illness speaks louder when he's tired. At least that's what he thought; after long nights on a case, it always seemed harder for Spencer to find peace in his brain.

"Was it anything specific?" Aaron asked. Sometimes old cases where the team lost the unsub or victims hunted Spencer at night.

"Next week's going to be a year since I got shot and you were stabbed, Aaron."

"Oh." Aaron didn't realize it was that close; he still got pain all over because of that day. Or more like night. Time. That awful time.

"And it's hurting again," Spencer says. He got that far-off look that lets Aaron know to not interrupt, to just let him ramble. Making sure to tighten his grip on Spencer's hand but otherwise leave it be. "The dream was me getting shot, and it hurt just as bad. And then you were there. You were sitting above me, holding me. But then, where my hand was, on your shirt started to feel damp. The blood was soaking through your shirt. You fell unconscious, and I was sitting there helpless. The rest of the team took care of the press and Myers, and you're just bleeding out while I can't even hug you. Then I woke up, and my leg was hurting, and I just felt the dream both emotionally and physically, and I didn't want to tell you because it's the same day Foyet stabbed you. I didn't want to remind you. I just started thinking, if I need another surgery, how long will I need to stay back? How long will I hinder the team more than help? How long would I have to rely on your help so I can do basic things? Why would you want to help me again?"

"Hey, Spencer." Aaron can't let this go on further. "You just finished up a week-long case that ended with you needing to run to catch the unsub. Your knee probably hurts because you were on a plane not 12 hours ago, and you haven't been sleeping well since we were on a case. Your brain is overworked and now overthinking, Baby. Now, I am not trying to downplay your pain in any way, but this week has not been easy. Can we go back to bed? I can prop up your knee, and we can stay up talking. Give me all your thoughts, so you don't have to hold them to yourself. That sound okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Spencer lifts the cooled tea to his mouth, finishing the rest. "But I can't walk," he added, suddenly laying on prime puppy eyes. "Can you carry me?" finishing it off with grabby hands blooming out of his sweatshirt sleeve and directed to Aaron as he stands reaching across the island for his tea.

He laughs, shaking his head down at Spencer. Aaron then pushes the hair that's fallen into his eyes away, tucking it behind his ear and moving into Spencer's arms. "I guess I can do that, but just this once. Can I finish my tea?"

"I guess." Spencer pouts as he wraps his arms around his boyfriend's middle.

Aaron drinks the room temperature drink while his fingers comb Spencer's hair flat. Spencer nuzzles into Aaron's abdomen, pressing his nose to his boyfriend and breathing in deep. A gesture that comforts them both, Spencer's weight on Aaron and loving his body no matter the damage. Because their job has damaged them physically. But Aaron prided himself that he could pick up Spencer and hold him the way he needs when the worst thoughts run rampant.

Aaron sets the cup back on the kitchen island and places his now empty hand into Spencer's hair. Spencer looks up at Aaron when his hands go to the nape of his neck, and Aaron can't help himself.

"Would a kiss help your pain?"

"It couldn't hurt more."

Moving one hand to Spencer's jaw and leaning down, they connect in a chaste kiss. It ends quickly with Aaron just melting into Spencer, kissing a trail from his mouth to jaw to neck, and hugging the younger man.

"Babe, I'm so sleepy." Spencer wines.

"Okay," Aaron laughs into Spencer's neck. "Shall we go back to bed?"

Aaron feels Spencer nod rather than sees it. He scoops up Spencer, taking his hand from Spencer's jaw and looping it under his knees. It earns a squeal from Spencer and makes Aaron smile.

Back in their room, Aaron sets Spencer on the big armchair in the corner of the bedroom surrounded by stacks of books. Spencer picks up a book off the top of one stack as Aaron flicks on the lamp on his nightstand. Usually, this chair is also adorned with Aaron's pressed suit he chose for that day. But tomorrow there is no work; tomorrow is a day in bed with his love and his son shuffling through the Netflix movie choices.

After setting Spencer down, Aaron grabs the glasses for water they both have on their nightstands and fills them with fresh water from their bathroom. Then back in the bedroom, Aaron sets up pillows halfway down the bed. He walks back to Spencer and picks him back up, kissing the top of his head. Then placing him on the bed and holding his knee gently as he adjusts the pillows perfectly for Spencer.

"Um, Ar, can you get another squishy one? There's more in the corner of the closet."

"Of course, my Love." Aaron lowers Spencer's knee to the pillow, squeezing his shin, and walks to the closet. After rummaging in the closet between Spencer's cane and brace, he finds one. "Is this one good?" He raises it above his head and squishes it for Spencer to see. It collapses immediately.

"Yes, and babe, my glasses are on the dresser, please?"

"Yes, anything else, my Prince?"

Spencer swallows before responding, "Gender-neutral pronouns?"

Aaron turns, glasses limp in his hand, looking at Spencer sitting in their bed. Not 20 minutes ago, Spencer told Aaron he wanted to cut when he woke. Now he didn't want to be a 'he.'

"Sweetheart, wait is that okay," Spencer nods to the fifth nickname that night. "How long have you been feeling these things? The self stuff and self-harm."

"I took some classes really early on in undergraduate, and I was intrigued. Then I went into the bureau, and Gideon told me how to look professional, and since he left, I kinda have been looking at things more."

"Spence," Aaron walks back to the bed and joins Spencer, handing them their glasses. "It's been about two years since Gideon left. Why haven't you told me."

"We weren't together. And then we were, and I didn't feel like myself because I didn't have Gideon to tell me what to do, how to look, and I had all these thoughts and you. God Aaron, you were so solid until, well."

"Yeah." They both knew they didn't have to say what the 'until' was. Aaron sits on the bed, placing the pillow below Spencer's knee. "I can't believe it hasn't been a year. And Jack, I am unbelievably glad I have you and Jessica, but sometimes he doesn't understand she's not coming back, and my little boy breaks my heart."

"Aaron, you don't have to," Spencer takes Aaron's hand and drags him closer to their body.

"No, Spence, I said we'll share our thoughts."

"But I don't want you to be sad."

"Do you want to change the subject?"

"Only if you want to," Spencer says. "But I want you to hold me, please. Like when I have panic attacks?"

"Of course. "Aaron takes the blankets where he folded them back before he placed Spencer in the bed and fit to their body. "Do you want your weighted blanket, or will it hurt more?"

"Can you take it off, please and be my weighted blanket tonight?" Spencer cards their hand through the short hairs by their boyfriend's ear before he leans away, picking up the 20-pound blanket and throwing it off the bed. "Thanks, Baby."

"Hey, that's your nickname." Aaron lies back down, slides his hand up their side, under their shirt, and swings his leg between Spencers, scooting as close to their side he can possibly get without hurting. "Unless you don't want that anymore. We can come up with others. I really,"

"Aaron, Babe. I just said it to throw you off. You can keep calling me 'Baby.'"

"Okay." He breathes out, thumping his head on Spencer's shoulder and moving his other hand up to Spencer's throat. Aaron feels the blood rushing beneath his fingers and threading them through the hair on Spencer's neck. "But," he looks up to meet Spencer's eyes. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Partner?" Spencer speaks as if they were answering Aaron when at work about the timeline for the geographical profile.

"Okay. I can do that." Aaron lays his head on Spencer's heart, still looking up at them. "What do you want Jack to call you? Do you want to tell Jack?"

"Jack can call me Spencer or Spencie like he does already." Spencer won't make eye contact as they sink their head into the fluffy pillow behind their head. "We just have to talk to him about it. I know of this book for kids. It's a chapter book, but super simple, and we can read it to him. It's a way to explain to kids transgender and pronouns."

"That sounds perfect. Do you want to tell the team?"

"Well, and don't be mad, but Penelope already knows and kinda Derek. I just told him that I was doing self-talk in gender-neutral pronouns recently, and he just told me to keep him up to date."

"Spencer, I am so sorry that I made you feel like I would get mad at you. We work with people and kids constantly going through similar things, and they are always afraid of telling their significant others. They think they'll leave them because of it. I understand. And with Penny."

"Right." and as Spencer realizes what Aaron said, they shoot up in bed. "Oww," They scream as their knee-jerked when they sat up.

"Hey, you okay, Baby?" Aaron sits up as he was relocated to Spencer's lap when they sat up. He then grabs Spencer's face on both sides and strokes his thumbs over their cheekbones.

Spencer nods with a whimper that sounded to be a close resemblance to a positive confirmation. "You didn't make me feel bad. It's exactly what you said. It's just harder to tell significant others rather than friends sometimes. Especially when friends are in the queer community."

"Well, I'm glad you told me, baby." Aaron kisses Spencer's cheek. "do you want to lay down again?"

"Yes, please. How you were before was really comfortable."

"Okay." Aaron lowered Spencer's head back onto the pillow. He slotted himself snugly to Spencer's body, one arm up to their shirt and the other brushing back the hair that had fallen into Spencer's eyes. "like this?"

"Yes. Um," Spencer wriggles their shoulders into the pillows then wraps their arms around Aaron. "I like being able to look at you like this. And your body is nice pressure."

"So much so you might fall asleep?" Aaron's dancing his fingers back against Spencer's artery.

"No." Spencer then yawns, covering their mouth with the sleeve of the sweatshirt sleeve tucked under their thumb, making 'sweater paws.'

"My pretty Spencer, you need to sleep," Aaron says. "You'll feel better after a long night's sleep, and if you don't, still thinking those bad things, I'll call the team phyc."

And there, in the warm glow of the bedside table lamps and the weight of their boyfriend, their accepting love-of-their-life boyfriend, Spencer shuts their eyes. Feeling safe as they feel their own blood rush and touch of Aaron's fingers.

"I love you, Spence," Aaron mouths into their throat.

And in response, Spencer tips their mouth to Aaron's hair. "I love you, Aaron." Making sure their nose is full of Aaron, as it's the strongest sense.

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years

Text

Ill and Alone- Prompt Fill

cw food mention, nausea mention, fever, anxiety, the concept of not feeling bad enough to merit comfort, depression, isolation

Hi! I am still accepting bingo prompts! The crossed out prompts are already written, the starred ones are ones that I have gotten, but not posted yet! Let me know which character you want and if you prefer writing on a drawing! Bingo sheet by the wonderful @celosiaa

Jon wakes up to Martin leaving before dawn. Walks him to the door, hands him breakfast and a thermos of tea. Goes back to bed, the sticky exhaustion nipping at his heals, at the back of his skull. Inserted in the grit in the corner of his eyes.

He wakes up to an empty bed, Martin’s side of the room looking sad and empty, usual trinkets of their cohabitation lacking. No prescription on the nightstand, no glasses, no poetry book, no neatly folded outfit set out for the morning, closet looking empty.

The room is bathed in the grey light of early morning. Jon goes back to sleep.

He wakes up properly at nine. He makes tea, staring at the faded sticky note that Martin had written precisely how both he and Jon respectively take their tea. Jon remembers by this point. It’s been years since he Needed to look at the note, but he still looks at it because… well… it’s Martin’s writing. Instructions written with care and precision, with a little heart and a smily face. He doesn’t trace the writing, he isn’t that pathetic, and he doesn’t want the paper to disintegrate any faster than it already is… but he wants to.

Martin will be back in a couple days. He shouldn’t be this clingy… But the flat already feels empty and cold. Jon shivers, holding his tea close to his chest, and resisting the temptation to make a second cup for Martin.

Jon teaches his classes. He eats lunch in his office. A sandwich that tastes like chalk and fills his mouth with cement. He grades a few papers. He teaches another class. He rides the tube home. He falls asleep on the couch. He wakes up on the couch. The flat cold around him, the cushions stiff and frozen against his slight and hurting frame. Joints stiff against the chill.

He thinks about making dinner, or even just reheating some leftovers, but he doesn't. He texts Martin. 'Love you, hope the volunteer training is going well.'

He falls asleep. Heavy and aching and so tired.

He wakes up on the cold couch to a buzz from his phone. 'Going well, just finished up for the night. Love you!'

It's dark now, but not late. Daylight doesn't last long in the grey of winter in London. Jon shivers. He thinks again about dinner, and how Martin would want him to eat, but he just wants a warm shower and to go to bed.

He considers his cane, but doesn't feel it worth the effort. It is out of his way, and he would just like to get this over with.

Jon hates sitting in the shower, but he hates baths more, and his hurting limbs won't keep him up any longer.

Jon wakes up in a cold sweat. Salt on his lips, saltwater on his lashes. The flat is cold. Cold like his dreams. Panic on his breath as the Lonely dreams still hold him in their vice. He wraps his arms around his chest. He tries to rub his own back despite aching muscles, trying to make his own boney hands sooth him like Martin can. He shakes and he cries silently.

He checks his phone, the low brightness still stinging his eyes, and smears the numbers of the time beyond recognition, but he makes out no new messages.

He pushes himself out of bed on aching legs, and shaking arms, pulling on one of Martin's sweaters and stopping by the loo.

He makes tea. And tries to take comfort because it is almost as good as when Martin makes it.

Jon goes back to bed.

It's morning and Jon's head hurts. His head hurts and his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his back hurts.

He almost pushes himself up to get ready for work, but he remembers it is Saturday.

Jon rolls over to Martin's side of the bed. Placing himself in the divot where Martin would be, if he were not out of town.

Jon texts Martin. 'Morning, have a nice day, love you.'

Jon dozes.

He should make breakfast. But he isn't hungry, and he doesn't want to move. Even if his small frame isn't holding heat, even under the thick covers of their bed. He wants the weighted blanket. He wants the heated blanket, but those live in the closet. Those are for bad nights. Mostly of the time He and Martin under the thick duvet is enough.

But it isn't night and it isn't that bad, is it? And even so, that is more effort that he thinks he can spare.

He texts Martin.

Meaningless texts with the mundanities that are beyond him. Little messages about missing him, about making tea, about reading. None of them lies, but cutting out the dragging exhaustion that has given way to a dragging fever.

And Martin texts back.

Jon bundled in the heated blanket and Martin's jumper on the couch. Dosing off to the Archers. He still hates that show, but it's easier to hate something for the content than admitting he feels too shitty to even enjoy the documentaries he has been saving for the weekend.

He grades some. Not much. And he makes tea.

He thinks again about the leftovers in the refrigerator, but he doesn't have the energy to eat them. Lacks the appetite.

Jon falls asleep on the couch. Tea cooling on the coffee table. Papers spread around him in uneven heaps.

Jon texts Martin. And Martin texts back.

Only the buzz of the phone keeping him from sinking deeper into misery.

Jon texts him whenever he is awake to do so, and Martin texts back during his breaks.

Jon's head hurts. He is shivering despite the heated blanket that is tight around him. Woken from another nightmare by his own gasping breath. The Stranger this time.

He calls Tim.

"Jon? Everything okay?"

Still gasping from the phantom hands rubbing him down, fighting the nausea that comes with that particular brand of terror, of that trauma of his invaded personal space. And the desperation that someone come and save him from his cold and empty flat and end this lonely weekend.

"Jon, are you alright? Where are you, do you need your inhaler?"

Jon probably does, but he fights for breath for a minute and he's more or less okay.

"I'm home. It's fine, sorry for calling." He feels foolish for being needy, and more foolish still because he's fighting back tears now. Tears over nothing at all. Just the fever. Just the dreams. Martin will be home tomorrow, and Jon will probably be feeling better by then, and if not, it's probably mostly exhaustion anyways. He's been having a hard time getting restful sleep.

"Hey, hey, hey Jon. It's okay to call. Are you alright? Do you need someone to come over?" Tim isn't angry. It still surprises Jon that there is no bite to his voice. No snipping, not sarcasm, not annoyance. Just... warmth, caring.

"Just a little under the weather. I'm okay. Sorry for bothering you... Had a dream... and just... Sorry it's foolish. I'm alright." Jon shivers, and hoping he doesn't sound too soggy over the phone. He aches. Stupid joints. Stupid immune system. Gives out the minute Martin leaves. Which... good. He guesses… at least Martin isn't losing sleep over him this time. He hates that Martin doesn't sleep when caring for Jon. He Hates it. He hates stealing sleep for him, even if this is the mundane way of doing it, he still has cost Martin too much over the years.

"I'm gonna come over, okay? It's not a bother, it's not an inconvenience, I had been planning to give you a visit anyhow, I've been too busy to drop by in a while and I want to see you because you are my friend, and if I make you soup as well, hey we both get dinner out of it. I promise I Want to. Sasha still has work, so I don't have any company tonight anyhow. No plans. Nothing."

"Not been hungry." That's all Jon has the energy to argue.

"Feeling queasy, or just the usual fever nonsense?" Tim asks. He sounds too cheerful for this.

"Nightmare queasy now, but mostly just... fever probably."

"Oof. One of those nightmares? Yikes. Well, that kind usually passes in a bit, then we can make you some Spicy Stoker Sick-day Soup. This Is to my benefit. Sasha isn't a big fan, and Martin isn't either. It's a good excuse to make some good comfort food."

Jon almost smiles. "'kay."

Tim must guess he's falling asleep again. "Get some rest. I'll be there soon with some soup stuff and meds. Don't worry about letting me in, I have a key, remember?"

Jon falls asleep on the couch.

He wakes up to tea being set in front of him.

Jon groans and rubs at his eyes.

"I know I've said it before, but that note in the kitchen is fucking adorable! I mean... a little sad that it took you that long to learn how to make yourself tea, but still fucking precious that the note still has a place of honor. Not to mention, it's good reference for when I want to make you the perfect comfort cup of tea!" Tim smiles at him.

And it isn't the same as with Martin, but it still warms him up. At least a little.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"

Jon tiredly rock his hand in a so-so motion.

"Mind if I take your temperature before you drink that tea?"

Jon turns his attention inward to see if what remains of the Eye wants to be helpful today. "38.6."

"That... I can't tell if that is handy or inconvenient. In any case, not bad but not great. You okay if I start the soup? You can either get some more rest of join me in the kitchen and we can watch some Buzzfeed on my laptop?"

Jon nods. He gathers his blanket and his tea, and limps to the kitchen.

Tim sucks in his breath at Jon's clearly stiff movements, and rushes to plug the blanket back in before Jon can move to do so.

"You. Are not gonna help, okay? You can help by drinking your tea, and some water and then getting back to the couch and using me as a pillow and eating a little something."

Jon opens his mouth to argue, but sees the steel in Tim's glare. Nothing unkind, but still solid resistance. He nods.

Jon falls asleep on Tim. On the couch. Empty bowls stacked next to Tim's laptop, cord plugged in next to Jon's blanket.

Tim stays the next afternoon until Martin gets home. Marin scolding Jon for not telling him he was ill. Martin thanking Tim for coming. Martin wrinkling his nose at the soup.

Martin's prescription and glasses, and clothes and book back in their proper places. Martin in Martin's divot in the mattress, Jon smooshed against Martin, still a shade too warm, but much better than earlier.

Jon falls asleep in Martin's arms.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #jontim #fever #cw nausea #cw anxiety #cw isolation #cw depression #cw food #fic #my writing #my fic #my words #my art

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horribletestsubject · 3 years

Text

Fic I just wrote based on These Two art pieces that I’ve drawn and THIS POST by @body-utensil-travels-terrain

———

You’ve spent your life being told you couldn’t. Now there’s a voice telling you that you can.

You remember it distinctly. You were fourteen at the time, just really starting to figure out what you wanted to do with your life (it certainly isn’t what society expected from you— but then, society doesn’t expect someone like you anyway, does it?) when you first heard her voice over the radio in your living room. The words she said resonated with you, the promise and ambition that she spoke with. It was almost like she was talking directly to you.

You do your research. You study hard. You tinker away at things in your garage, supplementing your studies in your own way. And five years later, after you’ve graduated, you put in your application.

A letter arrives a few weeks later, emblazoned with the circular symbol you’ve kept in your mind’s eye all this time, and bold lettering on the front— Aperture Science Innovators. It’s addressed to you. You open it, and your fingers tighten around the smooth paper— “congratulations” it says. You’ve been accepted. At the bottom is Her signature. You trace over it with your fingers. Delicately, as gently as you’d handle an irreplaceable machine part.

Two weeks later your bags are packed and you’re boarding a flight to Detroit. The attendant greets you. You hold up your boarding pass and get on. You land a few hours later. Getting a cab would be too complicated— people don’t like to take the time to read, and most can’t speak the way you do. So you walk to the train station, it’s not too far. Just an hour or two. You’ve walked further before.

Flat fields flow by endlessly as the train rattles down its tracks. You lean your head against the window, watching the hues of gold rush by, blurring on into infinity.

The sun is gone when you pull up outside a strange little town, surrounded by chain link fence. You fish through your bag for the packet you’d been sent— and pull out the temporary ID you’d been given. You show it to the gate guard. He lets you in. A man is waiting to show you your dormitory. You shake your head at his offer of a tour— you’ll explore the place yourself tomorrow. There are a few days before you’re actually needed for orientation.

The room is small and plain. A bed, desk, and dresser, and a small closet. That’s alright. You don’t need much. You hang up your few articles of clothing and tuck your shoes next to the door. The bed isn’t soft, but it isn’t hard. You fall asleep quickly, exhausted from your travels.

The next few days are spent wandering. Visiting the little shops, the stations. Peering into labs where you can. Climbing over fences (they could never keep you out) before quickly retreating as a security guard passed. You don’t want to get in trouble before your internship even begins. You wonder if you’ll see her. But you only hear her voice in announcements as you trigger motion sensors throughout the complex.

When work actually starts, it’s tedious. Getting coffee. Taking documents to the shredder and the incinerator. You don’t usually see the labs. Or, well, much of anything. It’s just a lot of running here and there, back and forth at your superiors’ beck and call. It’s tiring. But you do it— after all, you want to be here, you want to do this— and you never give up.

It’s a few months before you see her— before your internship takes you to the main complex. Now you’re checking inventory, sorting mail, sorting records (and chucking the casualty lists into the incinerator as instructed). Occasionally they’ll call you in to fix the coffee maker or the refrigerator.

You hear her voice once, muffled— she’s talking to someone, to a group it seems, just outside the room you’re in. You look over your shoulder and catch a glimpse. Rosy cheeks and bright-red lips, wavy dark hair flowing around her shoulder, a smile on her face (manufactured, you can tell with just this glance that she’s concealing so very much), a bright red scarf tied around her neck.

Your eyes lock for just a second, and the corner of her mouth creases, dimpling her cheeks. Your heart races— that, that was a hint of a true smile. Warmth flushes your own cheeks and you tear your gaze away. Suddenly shy— much shyer than you’ve ever been before.

It doesn’t make sense to you. Not yet. Not until you start seeing her more. Not until her smiles become more frequent and pointed. Not until her gaze lingers on you a little longer than before each time. The fluttery feeling doesn’t go away— and you’re determined more than ever to reach her.

Of course, it happens sooner and easier than you think. She starts requesting you specifically to bring her her coffee. You take a red pen and draw a little smiley face next to her name before giving it to her. When you come up to her office, there’s a sticky note left on the monitor, in that oh-so-hard to read yet absolutely beautiful cursive of hers. At the end of it is a smiley face, so much more elegant and less childish than yours. You keep the note. On her next cup, you add a heart to the dot of the ‘i’ in her name. You start responding to her notes with little notes of your own, your rounded, sometimes scratchy handwriting a stark contrast.

The notes are never there when you get back. You like to think she kept them. You’re pretty sure she did.

A year after you arrive, your internship is over, and you’re up for a promotion— junior mechanic. Probably still more of the same, but you’ll be getting a salary now (not that you really have any use for it since Aperture provides your housing) and you’ll have a permanent place. But you’ll see her less. You’ll miss that, of course— but you’re finally moving beyond your station, moving up in the company.

The day before your internship ends, you get another note. “Wanna get coffee together tomorrow?” Your heart leaps. You scribble out your answer just beneath her writing.

You’re sitting across from her at the cafe table. The cafe serves the same stuff as the cafeteria, but it’s decorated more quaintly, and always costs more for some reason. Maybe because there’s sunlight coming through the windows.

“So, headed up the ladder,” she begins after the two of you sip your drinks (well, she sips her drink, you’re too caught up in the crimson of her lips). “I guess I won’t be seeing as much of you now.”

There’s something behind her cheery voice, a sadness that you’ve caught glimpses of before, a wistfulness deeper than her words. You look up, catching her gaze for a moment and nod in response.

“Well, this is nice. Maybe we should do this more often. Once a week, at least? Or you could come over to my place. We could spend time together. As friends, or something.” With that, she gives you a wink. Your cheeks flush bright red.

You catch the implication right away. Your hero, your inspiration— and now here you are sitting across from her at a cafe while she all but outright asks you out.

You thought you’d be excited for things to grow beyond the notes and the gestures. But you feel different than that. After the initial jolt, the initial flutter, you look back over at her and you see the chasm yawning out between the two of you. The mountain she’s perched on, the valley you’re standing in. Your scratchy print against her elegant cursive, your short, bitten nails against her sharp manicure, your messy ponytail against her shiny waves. You look down at your simple intern’s badge, then over at her emblazoned one. She doesn’t even have a title listed— everyone knows who she is.

You’re miles apart, even if you might have seemed to be closer.

You stand up, your throat knotting up as you shake your head. You can’t look at her now, but you can practically feel the disappointment in her face as she murmurs “oh.” You want to explain but you can’t, your thoughts racing a mile a minute. The last thing you want is to turn Her, your idol, the one who makes your heart flutter, the reason you came here in the first place, down.

But you can’t do this now. Not yet. Not until you’ve reached the top of the mountain. Not until you’re close enough for her to reach out her hand and pull you the rest of the way up.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says.

You pause, halfway to the door. You turn back just enough so that you can glimpse her, and give a tiny nod.

After that you throw yourself into your work. Up to senior mechanic, then technician, then engineer— you’re working on Aperture’s new technology now, its most important projects. But you’re still not close enough. Into the test chambers you go at the CEO’s behest, defying death and physics at breakneck speeds, trusting in the tech you’ve helped create to ensure your survival.

Sometimes you look up and see her watching from the observation room, the tell-tale flash of red. You don’t look too long.

The CEO falls ill. He leaves a disturbing message. You try not to think too much of it— you’re almost there.

Your superior fails a test. You’re not surprised. Not hurt, not sad. It just happens and now you’re in the upper echelon. Now you’re at the top— now, you can reach out to her again. Tell her you’ve changed your mind. You can be equals now.

You go to her office. She isn’t there to answer the door. “Don’t you remember Mr. Johnson’s last request?” They say to you. You tried to block it out, but you remember.

You use your pass on a high security door. It opens. Your name is emblazoned too now. Just like hers was.

Before you is a massive operating system. On the screen reads a message: “transfer complete. transfer successful. writing data : do not disconnect subject.”

She’s lying inside a tube-like compartment. A transparent coffin. Wires hooked up to her. Eyes closed. Lips still ruby red.

You reach out and touch the glass. There’s no response. There won’t be a response.

This technology is untested. This is the first human-AI interfacing project Aperture has conducted. There’s only a fifty percent chance it will work, and even if it does, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone. You’ll never clasp her small hands inside your own calloused ones, tuck your head against her shoulder, press your lips against hers.

You’ve finally reached the top of the mountain. Finally reached her. But it was too late. When you crested the summit, she was already gone, and there was only a spatter of crimson left behind to show that she was ever there at all.

#portal #fanfiction #portal fanfic #portal fanfiction #chell #chell portal #portal chell #caroline portal #portal caroline #chelline #cheroline #chell x caroline #portal au #intern chell #intern chell au #my writing #cinna writes #might edit and post to AO3 at some point #but for now have the rough draft

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