#it started out bad and just kept getting worse

[ihrthoney]

no grave can hold my body down

pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, a lil bit of suicidal thoughts but nothing too major

word count: 1.8k

an: this is a more detailed version of this post! please request jason todd fic ideas pls pls pls. sorry if theres any mistakes it’s almost midnight lol

Almost two years had passed since Bruce Wayne came to your door and revealed who he was. Nearly 730 days since your boyfriend "died". Gotham was a city full of awful crimes and even worse people but you've never hated anyone like you hated Batman.

You can understand that he tried, the guilt he must feel probably consumes him and a sick part of you is glad. Not only was your boyfriend killed, with video evidence might you add, but his body was never recovered.

Jason would hate it if you saw the video of the Joker killing him but you needed to know. It was all for naught though, you never buried a body so your brain fully believes he isn't dead.

Whether or not it was the grief of having the love of your life ripped away from you or the feeling in your gut, you know Jason isn't dead. Until there is a body in front of you, you will do anything that you can to find him.

-

It started with swallowing your pride and asking the person you loathed for help.

Bruce obviously refused, he wanted to avoid another young person's death. You caught him by surprise with how you begged for his help, he fully expected you to be mad at him, to threaten him for answers. But no, instead you got on your hands and knees and begged him for help, which somehow made it worse.

For weeks you kept reaching out to him, asking him for any clues or hints, anything at all! He has all the resources a person could ever need, he's known as the greatest detective in the world but he can't find his son?

"I've told you, Jason is... Jason is dead. You saw the video. Get out of Gotham and move on, there is nothing more I can do for you." You didn’t stop there though.

You knew of Nightwing, that he was the robin before Jason. So you reached out to him when he was on patrol. Unlike Bruce, you actually felt bad for asking for help, especially since he was working and was grieving himself.

Even through the domino mask, his face scrunched in sympathy, and as gently as he could he told you he couldn't consciously help you. He couldn't let a civilian rope themself into business they wouldn't be able to walk out of.

Understanding of his reasoning, you started going against the law. You started to sneak into offices at different police stations in Gotham (they were sloppier than you could've ever thought, no wonder people love Batman).

Given Jason's at the time profession, he taught you how to defend yourself. There was never a time you didn't carry a knife on you, but you always left your gun at home. Living in Gotham, it was best to take all and every necessary safety precautions.

Using the very low-level skills you had, you searched places that were abandoned and discarded, anywhere that Joker was ever near in the past few years. A part of you knew that what you were doing was dangerous, that if Batman had found anything he would've done so already.

But you couldn't just go to work and pretend your boyfriend wasn't out there somewhere, alive or not you had to be absolutely sure. If you died trying then so be it, it's better than living in the reality of Jason not coming home.

-

A year went by, 365 days of feeling your sanity drain out of your body. You've been caught a few times by the police for trespassing and once by Batman himself who scolded and lectured you about your activities. He was livid, upset at you willingly putting yourself in danger. You were at a higher risk of dying than he was and yet you go out in nothing but black clothes and a few weapons. He's genuinely shocked you're still alive.

After Bruce catches you, he makes sure to keep tabs on you which prevents you from going out. Even if he's busy, if he sees your tag too far out he will drag you back to your place.

There's a part of you that wants to give up, to actually take his advice and move away. But you know deep down inside nothing will put out the fire of finding Jason. Even if you moved to a different country, you know you would still look for his hair, to listen for his voice in the crowd.

Months of gaslighting yourself that he'll knock on your door and say it's just one big prank, that he was on a big mission far away and couldn't tell you to keep you safe.

Millions of excuses rolled around in your head day and night, work was a blur. Bruce even tried to compensate by offering to pay for your rent, to help you seek medical help like a therapist. You know it would do you good to rest but the guilt of leaving Jason behind was too strong. He's been through so much in his life, you wouldn't dare abandon him.

You still stayed in the apartment you were looking at with Jason, "a safehouse" he called it, you weren't even 18 at the time but you both allowed yourselves to think ahead.

Every piece of furniture you bought it with him in mind, "This would be convenient for him to hide his gear," "He likes this color, plus the blanket is soft so it'll help him sleep." Jason consumed you, call it unhealthy but he was your night in this dark city.

There was a spare bedroom, you were going to originally use it as an office/workspace but instead, it's covered in all the papers you've stolen to find him. The floor, walls and even the door were covered, overlapped, and written on with any possible clue you could've stumbled upon. It's been months since you've been able to add something that wasn't already on there. So instead, you sat in the room and just stared at it, cried, ripped things down, and put them back up with tears streaming down your face. It didn’t help that you would hear Jason’s voice soothing you whenever you cried, reassuring you whenever you were down. You knew it was your subconscious trying to console you but you liked to believe he was really there.

Then there were the hallucinations, they started back when you stumbled upon a hostage situation in an old arcade at the end of Gotham, you swear it was Jason but when the guy looked up at you all you saw was a stranger. You were stuck in the police station for hours, yelled at for stupidly interfering in a dangerous situation. The cops looked at you with annoyance now, you were nothing more than a crazy love-sick girl.

-

Lately, work has been exhausting, learning there was a new robin made your stomach swirl. It was like Batman just moved on, how is that fair? How could he move on while you were stuck chasing dead ends? Why couldn't you just accept his death?

Instead of eating dinner, you let yourself boil in whatever hot water Gotham could provide and scrubbed layers of guilt off of your skin. You put on an old shirt of his, which was horribly faded by how much you wore and washed it then curled up in bed; The bed was too big but you didn't want a smaller one in case he came back.

Usually, you triple check that your windows and doors are bolted shut but for tonight you just trusted your brain. Sometimes, it felt like it would be easier if you didn't wake up anymore, at least when you closed your eyes you could see the Jason you knew and loved.

Tonight was one of those nights where sleep was in and out, so when you felt a hand push back some hair behind your ear, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and lunged forward though there were no sounds of anyone in pain, in fact you heard the knife hit the floor.

"You have to be faster than that, sweetheart."

That voice. You would know that voice anywhere.

You blink your eyes open, slowly revealing the man you love in front of you. Except, he wasn't in front of you. This wasn't the first time he's appeared in front of you, it broke your heart all the same.

The exhaustion creeped up your throat and tears started to slip down your face, "No don't cry baby, it's okay." 'Jason' attempted to reach his hand toward you but you shook your head, backing into the corner of the bed,

"This isn't real. Go away, please. Not tonight."

The ache Jason felt in his chest at the sound of your distress hurt him in a way he's never yet experienced. His poor girl crying, thinking he wasn't real.

"I'm real baby, I promise." He calmly approaches you, kneeling on the bed, a hand reaches out towards you again,

Your head was buried on your knees as you hugged yourself into a ball, "You're not! I haven't found you! This can't be real!"

"Please look at me sweetheart."

You noticed his voice sounded different, deeper, more matured. It caused you to slowly look up, "There you are."

That's when you see him. The scars, the tired look in his eyes, the rage he's hiding behind it; There’s a difference in color in his eyes but they're beautiful all the same. They still look at you with love.

None of your hallucinations were this detailed, to be honest you couldn't imagine what he would look like after the years have passed. So to see this, you knew it was real. (Or some villain was damn good at illusions.)

He was caught off guard as you hugged him tight, he had to swallow down the feeling to pull you off. You were the exception to everything, so for now he could stomach the feeling of being held in place because he (is trying to convince himself) knows it's out of love.

You sobbed in his chest, apologizing over and over and over again, "It's okay baby, take deep breaths please."

Again, you started to shake your head, "It's not okay, I should have found you. I tried to find you, I'm so sorry!"

"I saw the room baby, I know you tried but that wasn't your responsibility." He tried to reason with you, doing what he could to calm you down. It's been years since he's seen you, years since he's dealt with anything normal, his mind is all over the place.

"Don't say that, I love you Jace. I would rather die than stop looking."

Jason tensed at the phrase, after everything it's hard to believe you, to believe any of this but he wanted to see you. He had to.

A hand found its way in your hair, holding you close to his chest, "You did good honey, thank you for trying."

Lifting your head from his chest, you looked into his eyes, "I would do anything for you, I need you to know that."

He can only offer a small smile, he knows you did and there's a small piece of his heart that can rest knowing you didn't forget him, that you still loved him.

He hopes he can learn to love you again, too.

part 2? lmk down below :)

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 13

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : uhhhh I might extend this to 18 parts instead of the 17 planned. Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Beast to the Wild”

Sunday afternoon.

Yelena arrived as quickly as she could.

She found Sam standing outside the control room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall but was holding himself back, his usual calm composure cracking under the concern furrowed in his eyebrows.

“He’s in there,” Sam said, nodding toward the closed door. His voice was subdued in a way that sent a chill through her spine. “Hasn’t moved since it happened.”

Yelena frowned, glancing at the door. “How bad is it?” she asked, though the answer was already clawing at her stomach. 

“Bad,” Sam sighed, his eyes drifting down to his shoes.  “You know he gets when it’s her.”

Yelena did know. Too well. She nodded, swallowing hard and squaring her shoulders.

She paused at the door, steeling herself. She already knew what was coming—the anger, the accusations. She could already hear his voice in her mind: “Are you happy now? Are you happy that she knows? Are you happy now that she’s gone?”

But when she stepped inside, the words she braced for didn’t come. 

Bucky was hunched over the console, his shoulders bowed as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His hands were in his hair, fingers raking into his scalp like he could pull himself out of whatever hell he had occupied. The screens in front of him flickered with useless data: satellite feeds, news updates, and endless blank logs that told him nothing. 

Yelena’s heart twisted at the sight of the grieving supersoldier. She almost hesitated.

But she couldn’t stop— not now. Not when it was you. Not when it was her best friend.

She stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

“Barnes,” she said, her voice fragile but steady.

He didn’t look at her. His teeth clenched, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. He had an emptiness in his eyes— no rage. No anger. Just all-consuming guilt.

Then he exhaled, ragged and uneven. It was like it hurt him just to breathe. 

“I fucked up,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “She’s gone, and it’s my fault.” 

Yelena froze. She had expected yelling, had braced for misplaced blame. But this—this quiet, devastating admission—was worse. She took a slow step closer, her fist clenched at her sides. 

“What exactly happened?” she asked carefully, her stomach knotting.

He laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound. “What didn’t happen?” He finally looked up at her, and the disbelief in his eyes hit her like a punch to the gut. “She broke in. She ran. She disabled tracking, cloaked the jet. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he dropped his head into his hands again. “I can’t find her.”

Yelena’s chest tightened. 

You were out there somewhere, unreachable, and Bucky was destroying himself for it, piece by piece. 

“She’s strong,” Yelena said, her voice firm even as fear clawed at her insides. “Rhodey said she’s doing great on her flight training. She’ll be okay.” 

“Will she?” Bucky snapped, looking up sharply. His voice faltered, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had flared. He slumped back in his chair, his hands trembling as they rested on the desk. He tapped a frantic rhythm on the wood. “I should have been honest with her from the start, I should’ve listened to you, I should—fuck, what if she’s in danger? What if she—” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yelena could see it in his eyes— the fear that was eating him alive, torturing him from the inside out.

She knew how capable you were, but she also knew the risks of going rogue like this, cutting yourself off from your lifeline.

“She’ll come back,” Yelena said firmly, though not entirely convinced. 

Bucky shook his head. His blue eyes were distant, staring at the horizon as if he was imagining you coming back to him. “What if she doesn’t?”

The silence that followed was unbearable, thick with unspoken fears neither of them were eager to vocalise. Yelena bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay calm, to keep a level head. But inside, her thoughts were racing. If something had happened to you—if you didn't return—she didn’t know how Bucky would survive it. 

In all honesty, She didn’t know how she would survive it.

"That's not an option," Yelena said again, her voice quieter. "And when she comes back, you're going to fix this. We’re going to fix this."  

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat tightening around the air he needed so desperately to breathe. "That’s what we got wrong," he said, his voice trembling. "She didn’t need fixing. She never did." His muscles tensed as the realisation sank in. He’d been so consumed with trying to shield you, rearranging your life to protect you from the truth, that he couldn’t see the damage his silence was doing. And Yelena—she lacked the courage to tell you when he failed. She’d built a friendship with you, but always held herself at arm’s length, unwilling to face the thought of you shattered, bruised, or hollowed out. In their misguided attempts to fix you, Bucky had kept you blind to the truth, while Yelena had refused to acknowledge away from the parts of you that were still lost, too afraid to confront what lay beneath. "She just needed a push,” Bucky continued.

"Then we’ll give her that," Yelena said softly, her own voice crackling.

Bucky didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the screens in front of him, scanning for something, anything, that might tell him where you were. 

But there was nothing. 

Just static and silence.

Yelena pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. They were both terrified for you, for what might have happened, for what still could. But she wasn’t going to leave him alone in this. And maybe, she needed someone who understood.

Monday.

The days that followed were nothing but an endless stretch of anxiety, a string of minutes that dragged into hours, into days. Bucky paced the compound like a caged animal that had been wounded, unable to rest, unable to let himself sleep, not while you were out there—wherever there was. 

You could be anywhere.

The first night, he’d convinced himself that you’d return before sunrise. You had to. He had barely let himself leave the command room, his eyes glued to the screen as if he could will a blip to appear on the radar. But hour after hour passed, and there was only silence. 

Tuesday.

The second day, Sam had finally pulled him aside, brow furrowed with a look of worry he had only seen on his friend’s face a few times before. “You need to sleep,” Sam had said, trying to talk some sense into him. But Bucky waved him off, his chest tight, his pulse thundering with a primal fear he didn’t know how to control.

Wednesday.

By the third day, his hands trembled. 

He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even thought about it. His world was confined to the four walls of the control room, where every incoming call, every email, and every intel update had no real consequence, and every dead end became a reminder that you were still missing. Yelena kept coming in, putting her hand hesitantly on his shoulder from time to time.

Yelena was exhausted too, every ounce of her strength spent holding herself together. It took everything she had not to retreat to the solitude of an empty apartment and break down, the way she had the first time.

She didn’t offer empty reassurances anymore— she knew Bucky wouldn’t believe them. She gave him the updates as they were: no news, no sightings, no leads.

Every minute chipped away at his mind. You could be hurt, or worse—

He didn’t let himself finish that thought. 

Outside the window, the sky cycled through night and day. The compound, usually bustling with heroes and friends alike, felt quiet. Everyone helped  in any way they could— Rhodey going on daily flights to scan surrounding areas, Scott scouring the cyber security networks for any sign of you. They even got Bruce and Clint to search for leads.

Bucky would glance up from the monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of you walking through the door, half-dazed, explaining how it was all a misunderstanding. But the doorway remained empty. 

He remained alone.

Somewhere between the updates, Sam tried to get him to rest again, even pulled a chair over, but Bucky barely listened to him. His mind was too noisy, a nonstop assault of what-ifs and maybes.

When Yelena reported back for the fifth time that day, her voice a desperate apology, Bucky had wanted to scream. He was so damn tired of nothing, of waiting, of feeling useless.

“Bucky,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to burn yourself out. You need—”

He shook his head, the words too hard to find, too tangled in the mess of vines growing like weeds in his chest. “She’s out there, and it’s my fault,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I can’t just… stop.”

Yelena didn’t argue.

She knew that until you were safe, Bucky would not rest. Could not rest.

Another hour. Another dead end.

And then another.

Thursday.

The fourth day was cold and grey, as if the sky itself was scolding him of his failures as a partner— as a friend. The weather disturbances had rendered the radar useless, and there was nothing he could do but wait it out. 

Bucky hadn’t left the command centre in over seventy-two hours, his bloodshot eyes glued to the monitors that had long stopped giving any useful information. He was exhausted to the bone, but the thought of you out there kept him wired, kept his muscles tense, his fists clenched. But even his supersoldier physiology was working overtime, and he knew that at some point, it would catch up with him.

Yelena was beside him, uncharacteristically still. Even Sam, who usually had a quip ready for any situation, had fallen silent, his hands folded tightly as they all waited for something they didn’t know would even come.

Then, without warning, the heavy security doors of the compound opened with a metallic creak that shattered the silence. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up, and his heart stopped for a beat. He’d imagined this moment so many times in the past few days that he couldn’t believe it at first. 

But there you were, standing in the doorway.

Except you were barely standing.

Blood smeared your arms, your knuckles so bruised and raw that he could see the whites of your bones underneath, your clothes torn in places he didn’t want to look too closely at. Your face was marked with cuts, some shallow, others deep enough to have left trails of dried blood down your cheek. 

And in your hand, glinting dully, was a golden blade encrusted in cryptic symbols, the artefact he’d decided you weren’t ready for. The one he’d postponed for your own safety, to keep you from facing too much, too soon.

Bucky felt his chest seize as he looked at you, relief and horror washing over him in equal measure.

Relief that you were here, you were alive— but gut wrenching horror at the state you were in.

No one dared to speak as you strode forward. There was no remaining a softness in your gaze, no relief in your expression. Just in unwavering, simmering anger as you approached the table in the middle of the room. Without a word, you threw the artefact down, the metal hitting the surface with a loud, echoing clink. The dagger gleamed in the dim light, almost mocking them all with its careless beauty.

Bucky’s chest tightened as he fought to breathe, to form the words that could somehow repair the chasm between you, but nothing came. Nothing except the sharpness of your stare, carving into him with the precision of a blade. 

Bucky moved toward you instinctively, his hand reaching out. Before he could speak, you took a shaky step backward. He could see it then, the way your body was barely holding itself together, the exhaustion painted in every line of your face, the pain you were trying to hide. 

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Y-you alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with worry, his brow creased as he took in your injuries.

You didn’t answer; it was a stupid question. Sam Wilson had eyes, did he not? You pressed your lips into a thin line, and your gaze shifted from Sam to Bucky.

“You didn’t think I could do it,” you said finally, your voice rough and broken from what had to have been hours of screaming or fighting. “So I went alone. I got it alone.”

Bucky’s heart pounded. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—that would make you understand. 

You swayed slightly, a tremor running through your legs, but you stubbornly held yourself up, refusing to let the pain break you. “You think I’m not ready for this,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger. “You think I can’t handle it. But I got the job done, didn’t I?”

Bucky flinched at the accusation. He’d spent days trapped in the fear that he’d lost, that his choices, his need to protect you, had driven you away for good. 

“Didn’t I?!” you repeated. And now, here you were, throwing it all back in his face, reminding him of every time he had second-guessed you, every time he’d tried to make decisions for you.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond. All he could do was stare at you as he took in the damage you’d suffered. It was my fault, he thought.

“I don’t need you,” you snapped at him.

He wanted to argue, to beg, to crumble before you and tell you how wrong he’d been. But all he could do was stand there, drowning in the horror of his own failure and the unbearable truth that you might mean it.

Yelena’s breath caught in her lungs, her composure cracking for just a moment as her eyes swept over the bruises, the cuts, the blood staining your skin. She winced, the sight hitting her harder than she’d expected, but she forced herself to keep looking. You deserved that—deserved to be seen, not turned away from like some broken thing. You deserved respect, even in your battered state, even when her gut twisted at the thought of what you’d endured, your mere presence demanded that she hold your gaze and acknowledge your strength. She was no longer going to threaten people behind your back to try and save you. If she had something to say, she would have to say it to your face. “I—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to silence the room. You didn’t need her apologies, didn’t want her pity.

But your strength had limits. And as you stood there— the adrenaline finally crashing, your body sagging in the aftermath of the exhaustion— the toll of what you’d gone through catching up with you. 

Your knees buckled, and before anyone could react, you collapsed, your body crumpling to the floor.

Bucky was at your side in an instant, his arms slipping around you, supporting you as gently as he could despite his own shaking hands. He pressed his hand against the back of your head, his fingers in your hair as he whispered your name, his voice breaking. 

You were unconscious, breathing shallow, your face finally softening in the grip of sleep.

For a moment, no one spoke. Bucky’s gaze remained on you, his thumb gently tracing the line of a bruise on your cheek, his heart breaking as he truly saw the cost of what you’d done to prove yourself.

Sam stepped forward, his hand settling on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn't say anything, didn’t need to. Yelena hovered nearby, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes swimming in sadness that matched the guilt in her eyes.

As he held you, he vowed he would make it right. He didn’t know how, he knew that when you woke up—when you opened those furious eyes— he would be there. 

He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t try to hide anything from you.

Because he’d learned, far too late, that you didn’t need protecting. You needed trust. 

And he would have to earn it back one step at a time.

-to be continued…

Taglist: @hzdhrtss @irisk12 @tayyyystan @seventeen-x 

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @avatarofthetimelords @bckynatt @winchestert101 @zemosprincesa 

@nngkay @hiireadstuff @sapphirebarnes @thatesqcrush @bethexo07 

@florie1 @nyutasgirl @coraliix @harrysgothicbitch @jules-and-gemss

@infqnitysblog @isnow-0r-never @roofwitty779 @baw1066 @wasalreadyhere

@cjand10 @greatmistakes @winterslove1917 @calwitch @sebastians-love

@gyllord @brckenmemories @ethereal-witch24 @diffidentphantom

@avatarofthetimelords @lumidotexe @oscarissac2099 @currentfacination @pono-pura-vida

@blackbirdwitch22 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @ayayaeyato @btssaysstudy @unaxv

@otterlycanadian @lifeisbutadream444 @mostlymarvelgirl @ozwriterchick @m1cky-y-y

@ordelixx @jadeofspadesxp @generousmiraclebread @jeremyrennermakesmesmile@titasweetandsour 

@one-lengthiness36 @chimchoom @waitingformysandman @eanthedeadqueen13 @hi172826

@starsmoonn @notsostrangerthing @wintercrows

@lomlbuckybarnes gets a special shout out for figuring it out🫡

[meazalykov]

let me in

giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader

part one - part two

summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows

warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst

the moment your alarm goes off, your body tenses instinctively. the anxiety is immediate, crawling under your skin like tiny prickles, making it difficult to breathe properly. you turn over in bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to calm the racing thoughts. 

another match day. champions league. arsenal. there’s a pressure weighing down on you, like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you haven’t even stepped onto the pitch yet. 

you try to convince yourself that it’s just another game, that you’ve been through this before. however, today feels different. you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. that today could be the day everything unravels.

giulia is beside you in the bed, sitting up peacefully while wiping her tired eyes. you lightly smile, knowing at least your girlfriend of five years has had a peaceful sleep for matchday.

once the both of you got into the dressing room at bayern campus– you slip into your bayern kit, hands trembling slightly as you button the collar of the UWCL shirt. the fabric feels heavy on your body, like a constant reminder of all the expectations weighing on you. 

you’ve played through worse moments—disappointments, injuries, even the pain of last season’s champions league exit. 

nothing hits quite as hard as the self-doubt that plagues you now. 

last season was still raw in your memory. that error against PSG, the one you couldn’t shake. the one that spiraled out of control. it was your fault, and the team had to pay the price for it. tuva and georgia had been blamed by the media, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how they must have hated you for that mistake. 

(throwback) the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts into a mix of celebration and disbelief. for bayern, it’s over. the champions league dream, shattered. eliminated from the group stage. 

you stand there, frozen, staring at the scoreboard as the reality of what just happened hits you like a tidal wave.

we’re going home. 

you can barely breathe, your chest tight and tight like it’s being constricted. every part of you aches—physically, emotionally. your stomach twists in knots. you barely register the roar of the crowd as PSG’s fans chant their victory, your focus entirely consumed by the players around you, especially georgia. she’s going to get so much hate.

it wasn’t just your mistake that led to this, but that error was the catalyst. the own goal, the one that was a collective mess of bad decisions, started with you. tuva’s tackle was rushed and you were a beat behind. and when it all fell apart, when georgia tried to clear it and it deflected off her, you saw it before anyone else—she’ll be the one blamed.

you wanted to scream. you wanted to cry. you had the tears in your throat, but they wouldn’t come. there was nothing, just a choking feeling that kept you from expressing it. all you could feel was this deep, gnawing pain in your chest. this horrible pain, like your whole body was trying to fight against the reality that had just unfolded. 

you slowly turned toward giulia, who was standing there, quiet. you didn’t know if you could face her, but somehow, your feet carried you to her. she was looking down, hands on her hips, shoulders heavy. there was no anger in her face—nothing that showed she was disappointed in you—but you couldn't help but feel the weight of everything. was it my fault? am I the reason we lost?

you hugged her then, tightly, desperately, hoping to find some form of comfort in her arms. giulia let you, her arms wrapping around you in return. she didn’t say anything at first, and you didn’t know what to say either. it was as if the whole team was frozen in time, each player lost in their own thoughts. you wanted to break down, to cry into giulia’s chest, but the tears just wouldn’t come. 

your chest ached. the physical pain of it was almost as bad as the emotional. it was a nightmare, one that you couldn’t wake up from. bayern is going home. 

you thought giulia might say something, might offer some kind of words to reassure you, but all she did was rub your back, the gesture soft and comforting. she was tired too, worn out by the match, the loss, just like everyone else. but there was no disappointment in her. there’s no disappointment, you repeated to yourself, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

you pulled away from giulia after a moment, but you didn’t look at her. you couldn’t. please don’t be mad at me. you thought, though you didn’t speak it. don’t blame me.

instead, your eyes flicked to georgia. she was slumped by the side of the pitch, her face pale, her hands on her head. she must hate me, you thought. I know she does.

it was her name that would be all over the munich papers, her face the one everyone would point to. it didn’t seem fair, but that’s how football was, wasn’t it? the public always needed someone to blame.

your throat tightened, but still, no tears came. you felt like there should have been. like it would somehow make things better if you could cry it out. but georgia… you thought, she’s the one who’ll carry this. it’s her fault in their eyes, not mine.

you stood there, with giulia beside you, and as much as you wanted to say something, to make it better somehow, you couldn’t. words felt useless. what could I say? how could I fix this?

you wished there was a way to take the blame from georgia, to make sure she didn’t have to carry that weight. but there was no way to do that—not here, not now. 

you walked off the field slowly, your feet feeling heavier with each step. please don’t hate me, georgia, you thought one last time. and as you disappeared into the locker room, you felt like the world was closing in around you. I’ve failed.

then georgia—her calm, reassuring presence—had pulled you aside in the dressing room. 

she’d told you that neither her or tuva hated you. that things would be better next season. she had been the first to reassure you, but the damage had already been done. you couldn’t stop the guilt, the weight of that mistake, and now, every game felt like the one where you would fall apart again.

you push that last season game aside in your mind, focusing on playing arsenal now for a brand new season. the familiar hum of excitement is going through your veins but the anxiety lingers, like an ever-present shadow that you can’t outrun. 

the match begins, and the flood of adrenaline fills you. at first, you manage to push the fears to the back of your mind. you’re focused, playing as the defensive midfielder, eyes darting between the players, watching for any openings. 

then it happens—the moment you dread. mariona steps in, intercepting your pass with ease, and suddenly, the ball is in the back of your net. you feel your body go cold, your heart dropping into your stomach. the weight of it crushes you in an instant. 

your mind goes blank for a moment, the stadium blurring around you as the realization sinks in. you’ve messed up. again.

keep in mind, you’re a great defensive midfielder. the public highly rates you, the club loves you, and your ballon d’or nominations have proved that at one point. however, you were your biggest critic. you took every mistake of your own personally.

it’s a small mistake in the grand scheme of things, but in that moment, it feels like the end of the world. your chest tightens, your breath becomes shallow. you try to keep your head in the game, but your mind is racing with thoughts of failure. you wonder if the team is already judging you, if they’re whispering about you behind your back. 

your hands are clammy, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. embarrassment. shame. fear. it all rushes to the surface in one suffocating wave. 

you chase the ball, but it’s already too late. the game continues, and all you can think about is that moment, the mistake that will define the rest of the match. not knowing that bayern will pull off the win.

you feel the eyes of your teammates, even though you know they’re not focusing on you. you can’t help it—the anxiety makes everything feel magnified. every step feels like it’s being scrutinized. 

you imagine their faces, the disappointment in their eyes. 

then, glodis scores, and the atmosphere shifts slightly. it’s a small relief, but it’s not enough to quiet the storm in your head. you try to keep your focus, to keep playing, but the tension builds. your leg starts to bounce involuntarily, your knee jittering with nerves. 

it’s a tick you’ve had since childhood, a sign that the anxiety is taking hold of you. 

during halftime, georgia tries to rally the team. she speaks with such conviction, urging everyone to keep pushing. but you can’t focus on her words. your leg bounces uncontrollably, your jaw clenched in frustration. 

sweat beads on your forehead, but it’s not from the game—it’s from the overwhelming anxiety clawing at you. you can feel giulia’s eyes on you, even though you try to keep it together. she knows you too well as her girlfriend of half-a-decade. 

giulia’s gaze doesn’t leave you as you sit there, trying to steady your breathing. she notices the way your body is wound tight, the way your foot taps rapidly against the floor, the way your face is losing its glow despite the heat of the match. her brow furrows in concern, but she doesn’t say anything—not yet. 

she waits, knowing that you’ll come to her when you’re ready. the panic is still bubbling up inside you. you know she’s worried, but you don’t want to burden her.

you don’t want to be seen as weak.

part two here

[mygayasslovesbluealiens]

Dad!swansea reaction to reader also being on the tulpar or wtv that thing is called??tysm i love your ficss

ʚDAD!SWANSEA X GN!READERɞ

SUMMARY : working with your dad for pony express.

WARNINGS : SPOILERS!!! Jimmy, mention of suicide, injuries, slight Daisuke x reader.

WORD COUNT : 916

A/n : tysm I'm glad you liked my fics!

Click "Keep reading" for more!ʚɞ☟

- Swansea did not expect you to be on that tulpar with him.

- he did hear you talking about applying for a job, he just didn't expect it to be that one.

- well, now you were with him again.

- you were a chef and he was greatful for that since you were good at cooking.

- it actually made him feel a lot better to have you around.

- you were the usual you, just cracking up jokes, making silly doodles and making paper swans for him.

- and to Swansea's absolute horror, you and Daisuke clicked.

- he actually doesn't mind you befriending Daisuke, he just finds it strange how Daisuke stares at you a little too hard when you're not looking.

- you're personality didn't change, just the charming, sometimes bubbly and happy person you were.

- it helped you get along with everyone on that ship (except for Jimmy) and it made Swansea happy to know that you're making friends.

- but he did notice how you and Daisuke were a little too close to each other...

- nevertheless he enjoyed your company with him at the tulpar.

- until the ship crashed...

- Curly did not end up well, he was in the worst state ever.

- seeing how Anya reacted to that, you took it upon yourself to help her take care of your captain.

- unlike Jimmy, you made sure as gentle as possible when it was time to give him painkillers.

- finding out about the food stash only lasting for a few months made you feel uneasy.

- with that, you started feeding yourself less and less, Swansea took notice of it.

- any time he eyed your plate he only found bits of pieces of food while the others had full plates.

- he also took notice when you stopped visiting Anya to get painkillers for your headaches.

- seeing how bad your state was getting, Swansea took it upon himself to confront you (your dad is worried :{) and that's when you broke down.

- you tried to justify why you fed yourself less, you were worried about your crewmates, so you made sure to put less food on your plate so that they can have more, same reasoning for the painkillers, Curly clearly needed them more.

- Swansea felt bad, you were too kind for your own good. If he knew that you were going on that ship with him, he would've stopped you.

- things took turn for the worse.

- you found out what Jimmy had Done to Anya, you started to resent him. Jimmy didn't take it very well.

- things just kept deteriorating, Anya locked herself inside the medical room, judging by her words, she wasn't feeling very well.

- Jimmy thought it was a good idea to get to Anya through the vent by going to the utility room, and to get there, he had to go through Swansea.

- to your absolute horror, you found your dad knocked out, shards of broken glass next to him on the ground. You immediately knew who's the cause of it.

- it was too late tho, Daisuke had already crawled inside the vent Swansea had warned him not too. Causing him to sustain painful injuries.

- you've had enough of Jimmy's bullshit.

- that's it, you snapped at him.

- he was the cause of Anya's suicide.

- he was the cause of Daisuke's painful injuries.

- your dad have had enough, he couldn't bear seeing Daisuke in pain anymore, so he ended his misery with a swing of his axe.

- Jimmy was irresponsible.

- you took the sharpest knife you could find, not bothering to hide it as you made your way to Jimmy.

- too bad for you, Jimmy had over powered you.

- now laying your back on the cold metal wall, pained huffs leaving your mouth, you put a hand on your sliced throat, the knife you've tried to kill Jimmy with now deep in your abdomen.

- the last thing you saw before dying was Swansea looking down at you, visibly furious as he held his axe, he wasn't letting this slide.

- too bad, Jimmy had the gun.

- now tied in a chair, Jimmy let the middle-aged man speak his last words before shooting two bullets in his brain.

- Curly was guilty.

- if he had taken action, none of this would've happened.

- if he had taken action, none of you would've died in those gruesome ways.

- this wasn't what he had expected.

- that wasn't what he had wished for.

- a bad ending.

- jk y'all.

- the tulpar was found not too long after.

- luckily, everyone had made it out alive, except for Jimmy.

- Anya was now in a better state, the hospital staff making sure to look after her.

- Daisuke managed to survive that painful swing, though, he understood Swansea's actions, but his eye sight was a bit foggy.

- Swansea survived both bullets, with one eye remaining, he was glad that you and the others were alive and well.

- speaking of which, you were doing fine, the wound in your stomach hurt and you had a bit of a problem when it came to speaking, thanks for the damaged vocal cords Jimmy.

- Curly was the one who was looked after the most, he was doing alright, he had gotten better treatment and was using a wheelchair for now.

- after the incident, you and the other hung out with each other often.

- Daisuke coming over to visit you and Swansea, he sometimes would spend time with you and your sisters, which brought you closer to each other.

- after all, you've gotten a good ending.

[changbinsboobs]

Can you do skz as husbands next ??

Skz as Husbands series : Chan

Ohhhh boy...ya'll are not going to like this. Idk if i myself am shocked or not surprised...but literary ALL of the cards are BAD, and i kept on drawing and drawing more hoping at least one good will come out but...🥲 sadly all of them are pretty weird.

That being said i am reading current energy not current energy, and im not getting AT ALL vibes from chan for wanting to get settled down anytime soon. All of his focus is on his career and goals and ambitions etc and theres just no place left for a family.

So i guess it makes sense that all of the cards are really negative as it's just not his time now. I do feel potential in him tho (after some therapy and probably retirement).

Im just gonna go ahead and start with the 9oS which tells me that being a husband and the head of the family will put IMMENSE pressure on him with which he cannot deal with. I think he makes it much bigger in his mind and lets doubts, paranoia, stress etc get the best of him and im seeing him actually having pretty hesitant thoughts on marriage for that time being just for that same reason. I think he's a guy that sees this as a very serious job (can imagine him picking that up from his dad) and its nothing to be taken lightly and as i said it gets very twisted and exaggerated in his head and takes the best of him. If he were to get married right now, he would change very quickly from what his s/o has seen from him and take a huge turn for the worse and put forward his shadow side. Im seeing lots of toxic coping mechanisms too which very conveniently leads me to the next card.

The 3oC usually a nice card but not in this case, especially because of the heavy display of alcohol - im seeing him wanting to escape the crushing weight of his responsibilities and looking for that escape in the face of alcohol & shady friends that may be just too immature and bachelory-mindseted and have a bad influence on him. I can see him missing for nights on end, which also relates to the 5oP as well and him giving...no having to be forced to give the bare minimum, and him even struggling to do that, and twisting it all to look like the victim. But more on that card at the end. So as i was saying im seeing him being very absent a lot of the time, not only because of work but because he's out and about with his friends. Im not really getting cheating from the cards - but im getting heavy vibes of a similar setting where temptation is just around the corner and him just living as if he had no family back at home waiting for him. This - once again very conveniently ties to the next card😂

Which is the 5oW. Im seeing lots of fight, probably initially starting because of his prolonged missing and eventually moving on to different things. Im seeing fights escalating very quickly, starting very quickly, being very exhausting and very damaging. To the relationship, to both their mental health and to some random objects nearby👀

With The Fool im seeing him being way too immature for something like this at this current point and it shows pretty well on the card - he's just not in the right state of mind for this chapter of his life and if it were to happen it will bring out his unreadiness and immaturity forth even more - to show where he has to work on to be ready for that next stage.

And back to the 5oP again, aside from him having to be forced to give the bare minimum and him even failing at that - he very skillfuly turns it out to look as if he's the attacked one, as if he's the bullied one, as if his wife's the one who's starving him and making him out to be the bad guy and he just feels really bullied by the whole situation and behaves that way and expresses himself that way so i would say - a huge victim complex.

Overall i would say this reading was more of a "chans toxic defence and cooing mechanisms if he were put into the corner" reading, which is kinda sad cuz that doesn't really give much insight as to what he would be like as a husband cuz what we just saw wasn't really chan but his "alter ego" that protects him in a way. Yk we all have that one side of us that takes over as if on autopilot when we feel threatened in any way. I think that would be the same for chan, and if he were to feel comfortable with the idea of marriage and feel ready for that, the reading would be way way different. But i find future readings to not be much of my thing cuz thats way to unreliable cuz energy can change in so many ways, theres so many different outcomes... but we'll see how the other readings turn out and if all the guys have weird current energies that don't really answer what they'll be like as proper husband i may try a future reading.

[seastarblue]

Training

Trying my hand at whump bless ft Kaiden and Sir Santhuff

and now the TWs: exhaustion whump, sleep deprivation, paranoia, poison (delivered via arrow), chasing? whump idk man she’s getting chased, ankle injury, suicidal ideation/thoughts, whumper trying to make whumpee “perfect”, training whump, fantasy whump, mentions of setting a bone back into place, beating, hair pulling, using whumpee as a punching bag, uh yea 👍

———

The knight collapsed onto the damp earth, tremors causing her whole form to quiver. Her runeswords—a pair of them, specially designed for her—slipped from her grasp. She tasted metal; from what, she did not know. Her quick, frantic breaths mixed with the crisp night air. A creek babbled nearby, mingling with her buzzing thoughts. It was nearly pitch black, and the dark spots now cluttering the edge of her vision didn’t help in any way.

‘That can’t be good,’ she thought, her mind feeling sluggish and slow.

That was even worse. She needed to stay alert, no matter the exhaustion deadening her senses, no matter the chill that seeped into her bones from the wet night, no matter how much she wanted to lay down and sleep right there in the mud.

He was going to find her, sprawled out on the floor, panting, pathetic, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him see her like this. Not after he had gotten so close to catching her just now: she remembered the sting in her leg from the arrow he’d shot at her.

‘Get up,’ she told herself. ‘Get up and prove yourself. Prove him wrong. Make him proud.’

Staggering to her feet, she gripped a nearby  fallen tree to heave herself up. She wavered in place, dizzy, then steadily moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, making her way to the creek. Water would assist the wound, her sluggishness, and provide her a good way of making it back to the starting point—the goal of this gruesome training session. She needed to make it back before Santhuff ensnared her in one of his many,  many traps. He’d almost gotten her twice on the first day, and the number kept increasing as fatigue and hunger set in. She couldn’t hunt for food; he was hunting her. She couldn’t rest for longer than a few hours before his arrows whizzed past her head and into the bark behind her. She even tried to sleep nestled in a tree, but the lack of suitable escape routes made her already frayed nerves go haywire.

He might actually kill her at this point.

‘Though,’ she realized with chagrin, ‘that would just prove him right, wouldn’t it?’

She couldn’t have that. Santhuff had already been reluctant on letting her join the Azari in the first place. She would never had guessed it, given his previous enthusiasm on the night of the Ball, unless she hadn’t been eavesdropping on him while recording an entry for his diary.

So, pride and ego giving her strength, she started cleaning the possible poison out of her leg wound, and replenished her thirst with the river water. She looked up into the sky above, the twinkling stars winking at her, as if to say, ‘You can do it, just a little further, see, past the little berry bush, then you’re free.’

The knight got up again, feeling a little better at least, and started moving towards the goal point, moving quietly to avoid snapping twigs and the like.

Maybe she’d actually make it. Maybe she could prove Santhuff wrong. Maybe the self-deprecating part of her would see that she could do it, she could be just as good as the other Azari, then it would quiet itself forever. All she needed to do was make it to the goal.

She told herself that again and again, until the small yellow flag, magicked to glow gently for visibility, came into view, just a few dozen paces ahead. There wasn’t a need for the glow now—the sun had started rising, bathing the forest in gentle pinks and purples.

Lowering her guard—a bad idea, in theory, but she didn’t care—the knight stumbled towards the flag. The thought of a warm bed, a nice meal, and most of all, the boost of confidence, almost made her sob with relief.

She’d won! Against the First Justice! No one had ever bested him before—much less a new recruit—and here she was, outlasting him at his own game. Not outwitting—she was too frazzled for that—but she decided outlasting should be good enough tonight.

Just as the thought passed, an arrow flew by, nicking her face. A trickle of gold blood followed, and then the knight-turned-target was sprinting in another direction, away from the flag, her saving grace.

She’d been noticed. Damn it. She should have waited till she was certain Santhuff had moved on, till the wound on her leg had healed completely. Now she ran, branches whipping at her face, snagging her muddy clothes, and puddles splashing as her boots landed on them. Regret trailed near behind her, but the First Justice was nearer yet.

Despite her greatest efforts, the target’s injured leg caught onto a root, and she fell on hard earth. Her ankle twinged, and she was fairly certain it had twisted, if not worse. She’d have to fix that somehow before her curse healed it wrong.

“…you’ve lost.” the First Justice said, striding over to his target. He returned his bow to his back, the quiver still half full of arrows, some of which she knew were tipped with narcotics. “You know what that means, Kaiden.” He sounded dissatisfied, and that drained Kaiden of any pride she had.

She turned to get a better look at him. That was all she could do, after all, the fatigue—or perhaps the poison—had gotten to her. Once she was prone, she couldn’t find the strength to right herself and run again.

His eyes, normally blue, were stark yellow against the dark night, and Kaiden knew: he wasn’t simply displeased. He was furious. Dread filled her as he continued speaking.

“I am greatly disappointed. You have spent three days in pursuit of the flag, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but a muddy face and shame.”

He was now right next to her, looking down as if she was nothing.

‘I might as well be,’ she thought. Kaiden stared at his shoe, not wanting to make eye contact or even look upwards. She stayed like that for a while, panic slowly setting in.

Then, a rough hand pulled her hair, forcing her to look Santhuff in the eye. “Well?” he spat, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Kaiden simply stared. She could have died if his aim was just a little off earlier, and Lloyd Santhuff never missed. He could have killed her just like that, left her body out to rot with the wolves and vermin, truly killed her by cutting her head off—but he didn’t. She needed to keep it that way. If she said anything, it could—would—get worse.

The forest was silent for a few moments, the only sounds being the crickets, the swooshing of the branches, and Kaiden’s wildly beating heart.

Then he let her hair go and she crumpled to the ground in relief.

Santhuff turned to leave, and Kaiden made to follow—as best she could—but he stopped her with a swift kick to the ankle. The twisted one. She bit her tongue, drawing more gold blood, and braced herself for more blows.

One on her back, another at her gut, two more on her other leg, and a final one to the gut. Kaiden tried her best to stay silent, but she let out sob after sob.

A kick. Then another sob. Then another kick, and another, and another.

Then, finally, he stopped the assault, and stepped away.

“Come to the clearing a league north,” he said, voice devoid of any of the rage from mere moments ago. “In 3 hours. Don’t be late.”

And then he was gone, leaving the knight with the twinkling stars above. They didn’t seem so helpful now. In fact, they seemed to call to her now, mockingly:

‘Come join us, foolish girl, you will never succeed. The only certainty you have is death, so for once, do the useful thing and join us!’

~~~

It took Kaiden a couple of hours to make it to the rendezvous point. She was worried that she was late, but if Santhuff’s silence was anything to go by, she wasn’t. ‘Thank the stars,’ she sighed with relief.

Back to Vespar they went, a teacher and his student, a hunter and his quarry, the First Justice and the rookie Azari he’d sworn to mold to perfection. No matter what.

———

and then they lived happily ever after n Lloyd got yeeted off a cliff <3

finally trying my hand at whump lemme know what yall thinkkkkk plzzzz

I had fun!!!! this was fun :3

nyeh heh heh heh @bamber344 @aalinaaaaaa @abiteofhoney @cc-writes-stuff

[universitysunflowers]

It took me 5 days but I finally finished Jenny's review

I find it completely fascinating how one person can spend four hours putting all of my thoughts and feelings about disney into actual words. She not only justified my already declining opinion of the company, but also expanded my knowledge of the complete buffoonery that is happening over there.

There was so much to unpack and while I think the cost vs quality difference is the main thing, I agree with other people that those little fire closets of shame should have been looked at a little more closely? maybe? aren't there standards for that sort of thing? Idk it both amuses and concerns me everytime I think of five people trying to fit in that little porta potty sized room while the building burns down around them. It's probably a good thing the attraction closed down before there was any real emergency to be dealt with.

She's 100% right about galaxy's edge; the one time I went to disney the best thing I got out of it was some cool Batu photos and a stuffed porg (he wears a santa hat). That was pretty much it.

I would absolutely read a fanfic about Amethia Tope and Skippy, they deserved better. Skippy with the little water dish was the highpoint of the video - which just goes to show how bad the rest of her experience actually was (props to the cast member tho that was adorable).

My overall final thoughts consist of nothing but the singular question "does disney have any idea what's going on?"

[ineed-to-sleep]

*me immediately after going through a terrifying and traumatic experience* haha yeah I guess it was rough but I'm fine now like I'm totally chill. It was kinda funny actually if you think about it

[ajxrn-archive]

I need to be put in a waffle iron or something

[killjoy-prince]

That scientist should not be 18 years old are you kidding me???

[prismatica-the-strange]

Nope, I'm still crying

[autisticlee]

I know it's wrong and bad to say this, but sometimes I really hate when my friends have other friends. (specifically when I can't also be friends with those friends) because every time I want someone to hang out with or talk to, the only couple friends I have are always busy with their other friends. when I want to plan something with them, they will always choose the other friends over me. they will cancel plans *with* me as soon as other friends ask, but won't cancel plans *for* me when i ask. they will use up their social spoons on other friends and leave none for me. always putting things with me off or simply not responding at all.

i'm always told by random people when I say I want mkre friends "it's better to have a couple great friends than many aquantances" or something like that. but honestly it sucks because you can't rely on 1-2 people to always be there for you every day or every week when you want or need someone. if you keep asking, you're seen as annoying and clingy and they will ignore you eventually (or worse)

it's annoying that they get to fill their social needs at all times, but I never get to. because i'm never the one that gets to go first in the social queue. and when it gets to my turn, it refreshes and i'm pushed to the back again.

the only solution I can ever think of is being friends with my friends' friends too....but for some reason!!!!!! that never works out!!!! (if my friends will even share their friends with me to begin with)

[bmpmp3]

the epic highs and lows of trying to read an ongoing shounen manga

[vilelittlecritter]

Me: "I don't like people, I prefer being on my own and not talking"

People: "oh okay we'll leave you be then"

Me: "wait no PLEASE COME BACK I WANT LOVE-"

[bootyful-seventeen]

hey y'all, anyone have any good stress relief tehniques or habits they'd like to share cuz I've been more stressed in the last 3 weeks then I was in the last 6 months

[orcelito]

A testament to how fucking Awful my post-hiking soreness has been. I got out of bed & had a moment of like "Wow! That wasn't verging on agonizing to do! My muscles Must be getting better!"

Then as I walked to the bathroom, I had a moment of "... 🤨 you're still limping, though."