#it’s helping me come to terms with some things

[rentenier3148]

I Tried Not to Love You

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: You're an ex Avenger turned legislative assistant at the same time your ex boyfriend turned congressman. After avoiding him for years, Bucky calls you one night and asks for help. When a black void threat plunges the team, not only are you fighting the world—but also the versions of yourself you tried to forget.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warning: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, So... so much angst, ex boyfriend and congressman Bucky (yes, it needs it's own warning), PTSD with a dark past, mentions of violence but nothing graphic, no use of y/n, not proofread

A.N: I did say I want to write something for Loki which is in the works! But I had to get this out of my head after watching Thunderbolts. Requests are open! I'll gladly make more!

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“Are you kidding me, Barnes?” You tell him frustrated over the phone pinching your nose bridge.

You’re sitting at home munching on some grapes you had in a bowl while you reviewed some pending bills waiting to be signed on your lap. The TV is on with a movie playing that you stopped paying attention to. It’s just some background noise to disturb the silence.

“I need someone who won’t flinch.” He said on the other line.

You haven’t talked to Bucky in years, you tried avoiding him after your break up. Until you found out he was running for congress at the same time you became a legislative assistant. Then the gala came that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hosted is where you—unfortunately, but quite amusingly—encountered him again. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

The tux he wore made you gasp slightly and stand still for a good few seconds. He saw you eye him down and a small softness glazed over his face that nobody else would notice but you. Then you both looked away at the same time. 

When you stood before the big ‘A’ he walked beside you. Quite frankly you didn’t notice him while you were reminiscing of your past as an Avenger. Maybe your keen assassin senses were starting to lack, or maybe his super soldier stealth was too good for you to catch up. You two were always butting heads about that.

“Didn’t think I would see you here.” He told you softly, he glanced my way but I stayed looking at the ‘A’. He pulled you out of whatever memory was playing in your head, and now you’re back to reality.

“Only here for the hors d’oeuvres and also my boss wanted me to gather information on others for an impeachment of someone.” You said with a sigh, like you were exhausted.

Bucky’s ears perked up. “Impeachment of who?” He asked but quieter this time. Hiding the fact he already knows who the suspected person is.

“It’s none of your business. Besides, why are you talking to me, congressman Barnes?” I say finally looking at him. I furrow my eyebrows at him, hoping it would scare him off but to no avail.

“I can’t compliment you and your outfit tonight, sweetheart?” He smiles the smile that makes you cause a flutter in your stomach. You hated it.

“No.”

“Well, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.” 

You stayed quiet with the scowl on your face that’s contradicting with the blush slowly coming up your cheeks. 

“Look, I know we ended things on bad terms back then. But since we’re in the same job now—why not at least be a bit friendly?” Bucky asks gently this time. That smile is still plastered on his face.

“I'd be more friendly if I was your assistant, but I’m not—aren't I? Plus if I was, one of us would've been dead by now.” 

“I would love to be killed by you, doll.” He says playfully. I’ve had enough of his smile and petnames already.

“You’re infuriating.” You say as you quickly turn around and walk away. You didn’t notice the biggest breath of air he let out and his smile faltering as he remembers how much he loved you. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“So… his name is Bob?” You ask. It almost sounds like a joke. On the other side of the line you hear a faint ‘Yeah, Bob.’ and a sigh from Bucky.

“... I’ll go.” You said after a moment. Bucky on the other side sort of hoped you didn’t agree so that you could stay safe. But he has no other option and really needed you to help him out.

“I’ll send you the coordinates so be prepared to leave soon,” he says until he goes softer, “thanks, by the way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You both stayed on the line until you finally tell him that you’ll be on the way. You hang up on him and stare off at the TV huffing a big sigh. You cannot believe that you got yourself roped into this. But you needed a bit of excitement anyway. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You are currently sitting in the back of a van on the way to the old Avengers tower—now called the Watchtower—where it held many fond and sad memories. You feel an ache in your stomach the closer you get. 

Bucky and a bigger and older—though probably not as old as Bucky—man who you met named Alexei sit in the front while Bucky drives. You can slightly overhear them talking about being super soldiers and what kind of ‘super serum’ each one got.

“I don't know. Regular? Hydra.”

It’s an awkward silence between everyone else that you briefly met. You try to look anywhere else but at the others, but you guess the ceiling is quite appealing.

“How do you know Bucky?” Asks the blonde short haired girl. Yelena you faintly remember. You were best friends with her sister, Natasha. Yelena sought comfort in you after she died trying to find some type of closure. But you don’t think you helped her out much with that, and you get the sense she still feels the same way.

“We fought together when we were in the Avengers.” You intentionally kept it short and sweet. Yelena slightly squints her eyes at you—probably sensing I’m hiding more. A lot more.

The man with an odd copycat uniform of Steve’s Captain America suit—John—barks a short chuckle with a small shake to his head. You’re confused by his reaction.

A soft hum of acknowledgement from the other girl in the much cooler uniform comes out of her—Ava you think—until you crash into the tower. 

You all get out of the van and start fighting the OXE group soldiers. 

Then someone’s voice overhead speaks. It’s Valentina. She says that she intentionally left the doors unlocked and was expecting us. You watch Bucky headbutt a soldier as they hit the ground, making you slightly jump at the sight.

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Bucky’s arm is broken off as he is hauled to the wall. Bob—or Sentry as he is referred to now—sees you and comes towards you. You don’t know if it’s because of how terrified you are or because he is too quick, but he seemingly appears behind you and grabs your neck. Cutting off your oxygen supply and throws you hard against the wall making everything in your vision a bit blurry and feeling lightheaded.

You lift your head and see Bucky’s metal arm being picked up at the same time you are lifted by your feet and stumbling quickly to the elevator. The lights in the elevator are so bright that you don’t notice that Bucky was holding your side, gripping hard enough to not let you fall but supple enough to not hurt you further.

You all stumble out of the elevator and into the streets. The heated arguments commence between each other while you try your best to catch your breath. With your eyebrows knitted together, you take a look at Bucky as he reattaches his arm and does that swing thing to get it working again. 

How it still makes your stomach flutter, but your emotions are so strong that you don’t notice.

“Are you okay?” He says to me with concern.

“James, what the hell was that?” You scold. “I didn’t agree to this, I agreed to help you get Bob and take down Valentina. Not almost die.”

“I… didn’t think this would happen.” he looks at me solemnly, a hint of regret behind that sentence.

“Yeah, like how you didn’t think I would be hurt after what you said that night.” You are full on angry and seeing red at this point. 

It was bound to happen that you and him were to eventually work together. But not like this. You expected an office, writing memos and debate about the tax increase on produce. Quick, simple, and nothing more. This was more than that, and you were livid. Along with the past starting to resurface. 

“What does that have to do with what’s going on now?” His eyebrows are now furrowed. By this point, everyone else had already walked away, you both were the only ones left in front of the tower. 

“Oh, it has everything to do with what’s going on now. I really didn’t want to be part of this at all. And I really didn’t want to see you at the gala, much less have you talk to me. I wanted to never see you again because you let me go that night and I wanted so badly for you to come chasing after me… and yet you didn’t.”

A beat.

“I want to hate you so bad… but I can’t bring myself to do that sometimes…” you grew quieter with your head starting to hang low and your eyes staring at the concrete. 

Bucky stood there listening to me. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowing and a sigh comes out of his mouth. 

“I didn’t want to let you go that night. I couldn’t chase after you either, I thought that you didn’t want me around anymore. At the gala, you looked so stunning that I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t resist how beautiful you looked. I thought things were okay and that maybe I could fix things.” He spoke softly, as if he slightly raised his voice that you would disappear. 

“Well obviously they aren’t okay. Especially now.” You huffed out, you looked up at him to fully see his sorrowful expression.

A quiet wave came over the both of you.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

“A bit late for that.”

Then suddenly a suspicious overcast started looming over you. You both look up with a squint and see a floating black figure, It’s hard to recognize who it is at all. Even the outfit and cape the figure wore was pitch black.

You see the figure stretch out their arm and slowly a black starts emerging from the ground. The moment it touched a person, it was just a shadow.

A panic crashes into you as you see people running, cars are crashing into each other, and a helicopter crashes into a building. The rubble starts falling, you and Bucky immediately run to rescue any standbyers who were about to be crushed. 

Bucky saves an elderly couple by a car flying towards them with his metal arm sending the car flying over. I speed over to a little girl to grab her away from the falling rubble.

The blackness is starting to creep closer and closer.

From the corner of your eye, you see John trying to hold up a large piece of rubble from a mother and baby. You go over and try to hold it up as well, then everyone who had swarmed off came to help. Bucky was the last to join, you sensed his reluctance. 

After saving the mother and baby, the six of you head over to find cover under an alcove in a building. 

The blackness is quickly spreading, turning more and more people into shadows. You lean against the wall looking down at the ground, wondering what can be done. This is basically impossible, there’s no way to fight a thing that can turn people into shadows. 

You’re taken out of your trance to see Yelena step out to confront the being. You stare off in shock when she's turned into a shadow. Something hits you on the inside which makes you realize what needs to be done—or perhaps a guess at trying to fix it.

You step out and follow Yelena’s footsteps immediately turning into a shadow. 

You didn’t hear when Bucky cried out your name thinking that you had just made a suicidal decision.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You jolt awake, looking around your surroundings. You recognize it too well.

You’re standing in the warehouse of your first mission during your youth. 

The organization was a hybrid between the Red Room and Hydra, it essentially was the worst of the worst. Training you and rehabilitating you to become their most perfect assassin. Potentially becoming better than their Winter Soldier program and the girls who were trained in the Red Room.

You stood with a pistol in your hand that’s aimed at the temple of your older sister. You remember that your age didn’t hit double digits yet while your sister just turned ten. Your sister is on her knees with her hands tied behind your back. Your job was to execute your family to prevent you from being held back and expressing empathy.

Your sister pleaded your name and cried to let her go. You did not want to remember anything else so you merely closed your eyes as you heard the ‘bang’ that little you produced from the pistol. Your breathing staggers, then you open your eyes.

The same scene is repeated. You go over and grab hold of the gun to stop little you from doing anything else. 

“Don’t do this, please.” 

“You’re in my way, you need to leave!” Little you squeaks, quickly positioning the gun to your face and pulling the trigger.

You seemingly open your eyes again to turn and see the same scene repeat again. Before doing anything else, you see an open door with a white light emitting from the other side. You run towards it and step through.

As you step through, you open another door. You looked back and it looks like you stepped out of a small storage closet with the warehouse completely gone. You look around and it’s your room back at the Avengers compound. 

You see ahead of you the scene play out. Past you and past Bucky in the most heated argument you’ve ever had. You look outside the large panned windows of your room and recognize it’s night time. 

It’s that night.

“I can’t believe you did that shit! Are you too stuck in your Winter Soldier ways? Is that why you turned on me?” Past you scolded. 

“You know I had no choice, you would do the same if you were in my position. I know how blood thirsty you can be…” He says with a scowl. You notice the blood stained knuckles past Bucky has and past you’s hair was slightly damp from sweat and stress. 

“I’m not as bloody thirsty as you, Winter Soldier.” Past you leaned closer with her finger pointing into his chest.

“Winter Soldier or not, I would’ve murdered you on the spot if I wanted to… And I really did.” Past Bucky said with no remorse. Not even a change of expression, from your perspective you could see a hint of Winter Soldier peeking through his pupils. 

Past you was mortified at his emotionless retort. With a small breath in, she looked deep into his eyes and said those words that you—and possibly her—never thought you would ever say in your life. 

“I’m done with you.”

With that, past you storm out of your room slamming the door. You watch past Bucky bury his face in his and a long breath comes out of his mouth.

He didn’t go chasing after past you. 

A single tear also falls from your face. You feel a presence slightly behind you. You quickly turn around and see it’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. 

You can’t contain it anymore and the flood gates open. A hitch escapes from you from the sight of him. Bucky comes over and holds you so tight as if the entire world depended on it. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers so gently. You cry into his chest, unable to produce any other word. But you feel like Bucky understood what you wanted to say.

The scene starts repeating itself. Neither of us could help to look at it again. It was already too painful to experience it a second time.

“I found a way outta here.” He tells you once you started to calm down. You look up at him and see a few tears falling from his eyes as he wipes yours away. His hand stays there a bit longer cupping your cheek and you both give in to a kiss.

It was deep and emotional that it almost made you cry again. You missed this so much, you’re certain that he does as well since his hands didn’t leave your face. Cradling you so soft and so warm, despite his cold vibranium hand and his flesh one. 

It feels like eternity when you both finally separate. Bucky’s hands graces down your neck to your shoulders, however the vibranium hand is the one that holds one of yours to guide you to the supposed exit out of this nightmarish memory. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You wake up on the ground all sprawled out. Your head is pounding with a fading memory. The last thing you remember was holding back Bob from beating up his ‘Void’ with everyone else holding on as well. 

Also when we all reunited within the ‘Void’ someone asked about how our pasts were and Bucky said a sarcastic comment. “Oh I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.” or something along those lines with that stupid smirk he sometimes gives. 

You slowly gather yourself up and push your hair out of your face. You notice everyone else is getting up as well, then you see Bucky. You both embrace and lips crash. The moment was shortened when you overhear the others checking in on Bob who’s no longer the other ‘him’. 

Turns out, he doesn’t remember a thing and is just happy to know that he’s back with his friends.

You all spot Valentina Allegra de Fontaine getting up from the rubble. We walk up towards her as she tries to defend herself and walks behind a plastic sheet. From behind it, we are encountered with the press. The flashing lights and shuttering noise of the cameras overwhelm you that you don’t even hear Valentina introducing the lot of you as the ‘New Avengers’.

But you do see Yelena going up to Valentina and whisper something in her ear—a potential threat—as she falters slightly.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“I don’t think Avengers with a ‘Z’ is gonna cut it…” You say concerningly to Alexei.

“It’s so soft too! It feels like the bottom of a baby seal. ‘Lena touch it.” Alexei proclaims in his new ‘Avengerz’ jumpsuit as he walks to Yelena and stretches out his arm inviting her to feel the… softness.

“No. I don’t want to touch the bottom of a baby seal.” Yelena sternly says without looking up at him.

You sigh and lay back on the couch. You never would have thought that Sam—of all people—would have a lawsuit against us. He is Bucky’s closest confidant and someone he considers as family. You’re sure that Bucky feels a little backstabbed by all this.

You glance up at Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks down in deep thought. You place your hand on his lower back and draw circles of comfort on them. Bucky looks back at you and gives you a small kiss. This—unfortunately—catches the attention of Alexei.

“Wait, since when did you and him become… a thing?” He points between us trying to connect the pieces together.

“Since last year right? Our anniversary was a few months ago.” You say calmly while Bucky tries to—very poorly—hide his gentle smile.

“Months?!” Everyone says in unison. 

You draw an awkward smile at everyone with a prolonged “Yeah…” and a giggle right after.

“So there was more of a history between you two, huh?” Yelena confidently says. Her suspicions a year ago were proven correct.

“A lot more history.” Bucky quietly says looking back at you confirming his statement. You just softly nod back with a hum.

“Wonder when we’ll know the rest…” Ava says quietly.

Silence hits the room, until the suction of Bob’s milkshake ignites a lightbulb in your brain. You stand up immediately. 

“You know, if Sam is going to file a lawsuit against us he’s gonna have a good lawyer with him.”

Everyone chimes in, intrigued but confused at what you’re trying to say. 

You start pacing the room with a finger on your chin, Bucky could probably see the gears turning extra hard.

“That means we’re gonna need a lawyer.”

“Well duh, how else is this supposed to go down? We represent ourselves?” John retorts to you while fiddling with the unlabeled buttons of his chair.

“I think that wouldn’t go well if we did, you know… since my other ‘me’ did that last year… um, yeah.” Bob says out loud from his secluded spot, then returns to drinking his milkshake.

Your pacing stops as you look at everyone in the room, a devious smirk spreads your cheeks. Bucky also smirks, but you don’t think he has the same idea as you do.

“I know a lawyer… a really good lawyer…”

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I really love all the engagement on my series so far! I promise I'll return to it soon. If you want to be tagged, just comment or pm me and I'll add you. Thanks for reading!! <3

[pagesfromthevoid]

Honey & Glass | r. r. | 3

Robert “Bob” Reynolds x superpowered!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mentions of void. But otherwise tooth rotting fluff.

Author’s Note: Technically the end of the story. But I’m sure I’ll write more about her and Bob over the course of those 14 months soon

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

“You’re all idiots, just come up stairs,” Valentina’s voice echoes through the main floor of the old Avengers Tower. 

The Thunderbolts –as Alexei decided they would be called –glanced at each other wearily. Bucky doesn’t trust a thing that comes out of Valentina’s mouth. Not a goddamn word. But her agents have stood down, and there’s a clear path to the elevator. And he really needs to save his assistant. And Bob. 

He’s getting too old for this shit, honestly.

When the doors open, Valentina immediately starts spouting her usual bullshit.

“How crazy is it to think about all of the…monumental fights that happened exactly here, where you’re standing?” She spouts, pouring herself a glass of champagne as the team approaches. “I mean, the place wasn’t cheap. But it’s got good optics.” She pauses, looking up finally and smiling at all of them. 

“This ends today,” Bucky says, stepping forward in front of the rest of them.

“Congressman Barnes. You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career –but less than half a term? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker cuts in, rolling his eyes. 

Valentina scoffs though, setting her glass down. “I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

Bucky is trying to get eyes on his assistant; he knows she’s here. She has to be. Same with Mel. But Walker goes to pull his gun and Bucky snaps at him. “Walker.”

Valentina just smiles, knowing that Bucky isn’t going to let her get killed by any of them. He wants to let them; he understands. But he needs de Fontaine alive –he needs her to face consequences the right way or everything he’s done –everything he’s trying to do –will mean nothing. 

“Nice to see you, Ava –and Yelena. Wow. You look…awful. You sure you’re ready for that public facing role you asked me about?”

Yelena sneers, stepping around Bucky now herself. “Eat shit, Valentina. Where’s Bob?”

“And Bucky’s assistant,” Walker interjects. Bucky narrows his eyes, reminding them she has a goddamn name.

But Valentina just chuckles again, like all of this is some big joke. “Look at you. You are all so adorable. Just think –I send you down there to kill each other and instead, you make nice and form a team!”

“Where are they?” Ava asks one more time, but her tone is clipped. They’re all about ready to pounce.

“They’re both fine. Working together, actually. I told you, Congressman Barnes –your girl is a swiss army knife. She’s got talents far beyond what you give her credit for. Robert?”

There’s a pause –just long enough that they can hear footsteps. Heels clicking behind boots. Then Bucky feels it –that tingle at the base of his skull. The uncomfortable pin pricks of her getting into his head. He looks around, noticing everyone else feels it too –except Valentina.

Don’t freak out, she says, Well, not about me. I would freak out about Bob. I wouldn’t fight him.

Walker is about to say something but Ava is the one that catches on that it’s their heads first. Don’t worry about fighting. You’ll get out of here soon.

She’s about to say something, Bucky can tell, but Valentina is talking again.

“Years of hard work have finally come to fruition,” she explains, motioning to Bob who comes to stand beside the director. Behind him stands Bucky’s assistant, who is shifting uneasily as she stares up at Bob. She doesn’t look scared –not of Bob, at least. She looks…worried. “Stronger than all of the Avengers combined. He has the power of a thousand exploding suns –Earth’s mightiest hero. The Golden Guardian of Good. The Sentry.”

Bucky can’t help but make a face at all of this posturing. “I’ll bite –what do you plan to do now? Take over the world like every other bad guy?”

But the director scoffs again, shaking her head. “Oh, god no. Robert here –Sentry, as he’s aptly named –is a hero, James. He’s going to protect the world. Where the Avengers have failed, he will succeed.” She turns to Bob now, putting a careful hand on his arm. Bucky notes that she almost flinches, like she’s expecting something bad to happen when she touches him. But nothing seems to happen. “Robert, take care of them, will you?” 

Bob looks down at Valentina for a moment, then glances back at the young woman behind him. Like he’s waiting for her permission. But she doesn’t make a motion one way or another, fear freezing her finally. Bucky knows that look; it’s the same look she had when she came in six months ago after being cornered and he decided to teach her to fight. 

Cornered. Frustrated. Powerless.

“C’mon guys –just give yourselves up. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Do not fight him. You will not win, she insists as Valentina steps back, pulling her along. But that falls on deaf ears as a dogfight breaks out. Bucky can’t keep track of how many punches he throws or how many knives he breaks. Walker’s shield is twisted into him and he’s thrown across the room. Every punch, every shot, every attack –it’s like they’re nothing. The guy doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t bruise, he doesn’t bleed. 

But they do.

All of them do.

He only stops when she cries out as Bucky’s arm is ripped off his shoulder and thrown to the ground. She’s shoving away from Valentina, finally putting the skills Bucky has taught her to some use to throw Valentina off balance and twist out of her grip. Bob watches as she throws down the files that she’s been forced to carry and drops down to grab her boss’s arm. The rest of them are rushing to the elevator, trying to get away as fast as they can. But she’s hesitating, looking between Bob and her boss –her friend. 

Don’t hurt them, she says but her lips aren’t moving. Bob realizes –that tingle at the base of his skull –it’s her. Please.

Yelena is yanking her into the elevator, but she’s trying to look at him with pleading eyes as the doors shut. Please.

But she hears him –a voice, distorted. Dark. Shadowed in his mind but loud enough in her own that she can feel it in her very bones.

They always leave. Even when they promise they won’t.

When they get to the ground floor –and they’re sure that Bob is not going to come finish them off –Bucky turns on her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? What did I tell you about getting closer to Valentina?”

She flinches back, not expecting to be scolded after the events of the last few days. “I wasn’t thinking –I was talking to Mel –,”

“You’re right. You weren’t thinking. You could have been killed.”

“Hey, hey –do not yell at her,” Yelena cuts in, stepping between her and Bucky. The Russian puts her hand up. “She did not know she was going to be kidnapped –she was doing her job. Which –by the way –you taught her to do. So it is technically your fault.”

“Oh no –,” she starts, shaking her head quickly.

“It is not my fault –,”

She shushes them all suddenly, throwing her hands out to the sides. Everyone is staring at her like she’s insane, but she’s staring like she’s listening intently to something. Ava says something, tries to get her attention, but she waves her away. 

“Something’s wrong,” she says, spinning around several times. 

Her eyes lock into the sky just beside the tower –a shadowed, caped figure. She wants to think it’s not something evil –it’s not Bob, it can’t be. Deep down, though, she recognizes this figure. She’s seen it in his mind before –and those eyes. The only part of the figure that’s not casted in shadows –two white, glowing spots that look directly into the soul –are staring down at them.

He puts his hand out and the helicopter that is circling spins out of control suddenly, crashing into the tower. One by one, people around them disappear into shadows themselves, and she tries to step forward –tries to save someone; anyone. But Alexei holds her back gently. Bucky and Alexei stand on either side of her, looking up in horror as Yelena steps forward with Ava. Walker is pulling off his helmet, following their gazes as shadows creep up the buildings surrounding the engulfed tower. 

“You all know the truth,” he says. And it’s Bob’s voice –she knows it. But it’s distorted and full of anger. The same voice she heard earlier –the one that told Bob that they always leave. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

“I think Bob’s dark side got superpowers,” Walker states, eyes wide as they all stare in horror. “We need to get everyone off the streets.”

They’re all too distracted to notice that she does not follow them. That she stays planted in place, looking up at the figure that is slowly creeping its way towards her as the shadows begin to consume those around it. Vaguely, she registers that Bucky is yelling her name but she ignores him as she takes half a step forward towards the shadows.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” he says, peering down at her. “You did though. You left. Just like Yelena said –we’re all alone in the end.”

Bucky is screaming at her now, and so is Walker. But Yelena steps to her right and looks at her –knowingly, as if the former Black Widow knows something that was never shared between the two of them. Then, Yelena steps forward into the shadows. And he watches, waits. His thoughts are much clearer than Bob’s. They’re more violent; more feral. But they’re easier to understand.

“He’s not alone. And neither are you,” she promises, taking the plunge into the shadows herself. 

*****

In the end, they do what superheroes always do:

They save the world from the bad guy.

Except the bad guy wasn’t actually a person.

It was loneliness, and self-loathing. It was the darkness that surrounds you when you’re at your lowest and think it’s the end. It was the hardest parts of life thrown at you all at once, trying to drown you.

It’s something that…doesn’t just go away. And it didn’t just go away. 

It’s there. It’s lingering.

But that Void –as they’ve been calling it –can’t be ignored. But it can be filled –and that’s what they’ve been doing. For Bob, for themselves, for each other. Valentina did a lot of bad –but out of that bad has come some good. 

She has friends, for example. Though Alexei would insist they’re family, even if they’ve known each other a month. And she has a job that pays obscenely well (though, given the PR nightmare that is her new team, it better). 

Bucky made it clear that he wasn’t going to take part in anything relating to the team if she wasn’t hired as their PR manager. Yelena had seconded that notion, and Valentina wasn’t really in a place to negotiate so here she is. Living in New York City, with what could be described as her own floor of the Watch Tower, trying to clean up the team’s PR nightmare.

Living in the WatchTower is…weird, she thinks.

She’s gone from living in a crappy little apartment in DC with a random roommate she met on Facebook, to living in what was once the Avengers Tower in New York. With the New Avengers. 

This isn’t how she imagined her life. Though she can’t complain. 

When she isn’t trying to convince Walker to stop arguing with trolls on Twitter (“Seriously. This is what they want. Give me your phone.”) or stop Alexei from getting random sponsors from internet scams (“Sponsors will not ask for your credit card!”), she’s kind of actually enjoying herself. She makes good money, she has good friends, and her job isn’t that bad. 

The team is a hot mess. Don’t get her wrong —they truly are a PR nightmare. But they’re her PR nightmare and it’s not like she can get fired if she doesn’t do a good job at helping them. 

However, she’s doing a damn good job at helping them. 

Tonight is a great example. She’s sitting in the kitchen, finishing an outline for the next meeting with Valentina. Because while the director might think she’s in charge, she is not —and the team has entrusted their PR manager to ensure meetings with the director go their way and no one else’s. 

It’s late; she should probably be asleep. But she likes being up late when the team is out doing training because then she’s awake when they’re back. Though, it also means she gets to work in her pajamas and she much prefers that. And Alexei, bless him, has given her so many random shirts that are twice her size with New Avengers logos on them that she has a nightshirt for every night to wear with her boxer shorts that she definitely didn’t steal from the laundry the first week they all lived together. 

Bob —who has been distant and quiet most of the day —wanders into the kitchen. He’s wrapped up in a sheet, though he’s also wearing a sweater and sweats, and she briefly wonders how he’s not hot. She keeps an eye on him from her computer, though she doesn’t say anything initially. Sometimes he needed that push to talk, sometimes it was clear he didn’t want to. Tonight felt like the latter. 

They have…some kind of relationship. More than friends but less than dating. A weird in between that she doesn’t mind but is a bit confusing.

It’s clear they have some sort of feelings for one another. After everything that happened last month, she couldn’t help how she felt. Though she takes everything at his pace.

He clings to her (not literally but he’s always as close as he can be without making her uncomfortable). When the team is on missions and he’s left behind, she’s with him. Him reading, her working on whatever PR problem they’re facing now. Sometimes they lay on the couch together and watch movies.

Because she’s the only one he can touch without shame spiraling them, Bob likes to hold her hand whenever he can. That’s all he’ll do in front of the team; they don’t question that. But he lays his head in her lap when they’re alone. She plays with his hair absently and does whatever she’s doing. He just sort of exists in that moment and enjoys it while it lasts. And they just enjoy whatever they have.

When he drops his spoon three times in a row, she finally speaks up. 

“Are you good?” She asks, shutting her laptop. He’s staring at the spoon on the ground, clearly contemplating getting it. She slips off the chair and does it for him. “You don’t look too hot.”

He waves her off, but she can see the thin layer of sweat that stuck to his hair and skin. She reaches up to touch his forehead, though it dawns on her as soon as she touches him that there’s no real way to check his temperature. 

“Bob, we talked about this,” she reminds him gently. 

He huffs some and nods a bit, pushing his hair out of his face. “Just…I can’t sleep. That’s all. Nightmares and stuff —hard to sleep when I can’t control those. I’ll be okay though.”

“Do you have them a lot?”

He just nods and shrugs, opening the fridge to take a bottle of water. “Yeah. Less when the others are around —think that’s why I fall asleep during meetings.”

She hums in response, taking a note of that, then nods. “Let me know if I can help.”

“I don’t think you can,” he replies simply, but it doesn’t seem like he minds as he smiles at her wearily. Then he starts to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Thanks though.”

She wants to argue, but stops herself. “At least hang out here with me then,” she counters, pushing her laptop across the counter and trailing behind him. “I just finished Friday’s outline; we can put something mindless on and maybe that’ll help you sleep? That helps me.”

He hesitates, clearly considering it, then nods some. She motions for him to follow her, and they end up finding themselves sitting in the living room. For a moment, she’s staring at the buttons on everything before realizing —she’s never actually turned anything on up here. Usually it’s just on. Or Bucky does it for her. 

“Oh shit, hm.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up some and leaning over. 

“I…don’t know what does what. I need to label all this shit,” she laughs sheepishly, sitting down beside him. “Any ideas?”

He shrugs. “I just push things ‘til something happens.”

“Fun idea,” she offers, crossing her arms over her chest as she considers what to do next. “But I don’t touch buttons I don’t know how to use. I’ve seen plenty of movies that say that’s a bad idea.”

“What do we do then?”

She hums, looking around. The room is lit with dimmed lights and the cityscape is glowing around them. Then she grabs two of the throw pillows on the couch. 

“You trust me?” She asks, looking down at him. She’s smiling, holding out her hand to him.

Bob doesn’t hesitate this time, taking her hand and pulling himself up. He doesn’t let go, either because this is his way of saying he does trust her or because he just wants to touch her. But she doesn’t care one way or another because she leads him to the elevator and hits the up button. 

They stand in silence, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder as the elevator shoots up to the top floor. Bob is fidgeting, and without even poking into his head, she knows he’s worried about what they’re doing. But she just squeezes his hand reassuringly as the doors open. Then she pulls him along towards the staircase that leads to the helipad outside. 

There’s one more set of stairs that leads to a small balcony –nothing fancy; probably there as an observation deck. But she found it the second night there after having tried to label a map of the tower for everyone. She didn’t label this part for selfish reasons, though anyone can find it if they really try.

The pillows drop to the ground and she kicks them some to adjust them to be cushions. Then, she pulls her hand from Bob’s and sits down, legs dangling over the edge and arms braced against the railing. The way the tower is shaped blocks the wind, but allows for an excellent view of the entire city from this vantage point. Rest in peace, Tony Stark, she thinks, because this is the best thing he designed in this tower. Bob is hesitant but sits down beside her, though he criss-crosses his legs under him instead of letting them dangle. 

Shoulders brush again, and she reaches out to take his hand without a word. He interlocks their fingers, no questions asked, and leans against her. And for a while, they just sit there in silence. They don’t really need to speak; they have each other’s company and that’s all she really needs. She hopes this is enough for him too.

An hour or so must pass, because he adjusts slightly and she lets out a small laugh as he lays his head in her lap without question. She runs her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp as she does so and he closes his eyes

“We gonna camp out up here tonight?” She asks, voice soft and finally tinged with tiredness.

“Can we?” 

She considers it for a moment. He’s warm enough that it’s comfortable, even if there’s a slight chill in the air from being so high up. The team won’t be back until the early hours of the morning, so it’s not like they’ll be looking for the two of them right away. So she just nods and taps him to get him to move, then pulls her legs up off the edge. Bob moves the sheet he’s discarded to cover the ground some and she adjusts the pillows to be used properly now. 

Then they just lay down, face to face. They’re almost nose to nose, and Bob is smiling softly, the weariness that he had earlier just barely apparent in his eyes now. 

“Can I try something?” She asks, and he nods once, brows furrowing. Her hand moves slowly, resting on his cheek. “You’re going to feel that weird little pin prick.”

Bob braces for it; closes his eyes. She knows he doesn’t like it when she’s in his head; not because he doesn’t like her powers but because he doesn’t want her to be afraid of whatever is going on in it. She doesn’t mind whatever she sees, though, because she knows that he’s trying to be better. He’s working on it, and they’re all there to help him. So when his mind floods into hers, and she sees the fragments of the nightmares from earlier –the ones that are just brimming on the edge if he closes his eyes.

It’s him –well, it’s Void, actually. And it’s the lab where Void almost won. In this nightmare, though, he does. Consumed by the shadows, and the self-loathing. And Bob is standing there, unable to stop and save all of them. There’s crying and begging. She even hears her own voice, telling him that he’s only made things worse.

But then…she pushes it away. Sort of, at least.

They’re still there —still scary. But not as loud or as violent. Their faces are blurred out and Void is gone, replaced by just a shadow figure without eyes or a voice. It takes a lot of energy to do this –she’s never really held it longer than an hour or so –but touching him is helping keep it up. 

His breathing is even –soft, calm. He’s let out a soft, “oh,” having not experienced this level of calmness in a long time –if ever. Even if the thoughts aren’t as violent, they’re still there. But she’s trying to push them all away; replace them with something good. Though it takes most of her energy to even blur the current thoughts. 

But a new thought –not one she’s planted, but his own –flashes in her mind. It’s him and her. Where they are –above the city, looking at each other. And he’s reaching out to her. But he’s not timid in his own thoughts. He’s confident, and instead of taking her hand, he’s taking her by the waist and pulling her closer and –

“Oh my god,” he suddenly cries, pulling away and sitting up. He’s blushing furiously, covering his face. “I’m so sorry –that’s not –I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry –,”

She sits up, pulling his hands away from his face. She can feel the flush on her cheeks, but it’s a good thing as far as she’s concerned. “Hey, don’t apologize –I’m not uncomfortable.”

He looks at her with surprise, blue eyes swimming in confusion and dare she assumes, a little bit of hope. “You’re not?”

Laughter bubbles up and she can’t help it. “Bob, we hold hands pretty much every day. We basically cuddle any time no one else is around. Do you think I’d do that if I wasn’t comfortable?”

“I mean, you’re always nice to me. I just thought, you know, because you’re the only one that doesn’t get pulled in –you’re just doing that to be nice.”

She can’t help herself. She should have been patient, but he’s so…endearingly blind, and she realizes that if she doesn’t do it now, it may never happen. Her lips are on his without another word, leaning into him to get close. Unfortunately, Bob doesn’t seem to expect this –though he’s very excited nonetheless because his thoughts are just repeating holy shit, holy shit, holy shit and he falls onto his back. She falls with him because she doesn’t expect him to not know she’s going to kiss him. But his hands find her waist, and she catches herself by her hands on either side of him.

And he’s looking up at her with a faint blush on his cheeks, and she’s looking down at him with a bright smile that she can’t contain.

“Can we try that again?” She asks, and he nods quickly, closing the distance himself this time. 

One hand finds itself tangled in her hair and the other is gripping her waist like she’s going to disappear. The connection to his mind has been severed, but she doesn’t need to read his mind when she’s laying on top of him anyway. The kiss is awkward and a bit messy –neither of them have clearly been this close to another person in a while. But something about that only makes it better as she presses herself closer to him. 

He makes a sound –it’s quiet, but an obvious whine as she nips at his bottom lip. Her tongue slips past his lips and he makes that sound again, a little louder this time. A little more desperate. But it’s him who pulls away, and she wants to be okay with that but honestly, she’s more flustered than she’s willing to admit. They’re both breathing hard but she rolls off him and lays on her side, hands tucked under her head as Bob lays flat on his back and covers his face. 

“I –sorry, I couldn’t breathe,” he admits with an awkward laugh. And she laughs too, shaking her head.

“It happens,” she reassures.

There’s a pause, then she shifts, laying her head on his chest. He tenses just a bit, perhaps not expecting her to want to keep touching after all of that. But he relaxes, and drops his hands from his face, then slowly wraps his arms around her. He’s unsure, but when she presses closer to him, he squeezes her tight and rests her cheek against the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her hair, and his voice is sluggish with exhaustion.

*****

“Look at the two lovebirds!” Alexei yells, pointing at the security feed in the conference room.

Bucky looks up from his phone, frowning some as everyone gathers around the monitors to see her and Bob, asleep, on the roof. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen, but it’s not what he’s expecting.

“Finally,” Yelena complains, throwing her hands in the air. “I thought we were going to have to lock them in a closet or something.”

“Should we go wake them up?” Ava asks, kicking her feet onto the table. “Valentina will be here any minute. Do we really want to give her any kind of leverage over us?”

“Leave them be,” Bucky says, tossing his phone onto the table. “Just shut off that camera. We’ll make up an excuse why they’re not here.”

The team agrees not to bring it up. Let the two have whatever time they want together.

Bucky’s just thankful he doesn’t have to listen to her complain about how hot Bob is anymore.

———

Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x male reader or (enby at least) can be switch or dom remmick or dom reader doesn't really Matter imo

In the Thirst||Dom!Remmick x Male!Reader

MDNI +18

Summary—y/n refuses to come to the terms that he’s a vampire but remmick is there to remind him of that.

Warnings—dominant partner, biting, bloodplay (light), overstimulation, praise/degradation kink, power imbalance (consensual), light restraint, monster traits (fangs, claws), grinding, oral, size kink, light pain kink, reader loses control in a safe, affirming way.

Word count 1327

The house was dim and cold, lit by a flickering desk lamp and the distant rumble of thunder beyond the concrete walls. You paced the perimeter like a caged animal—boots dragging, body humming with something that wasn’t just exhaustion.

Your throat was on fire. Your stomach ached with a gnawing emptiness that had nothing to do with food. Your fangs had dropped hours ago and refused to retract.

But you hadn’t fed. Not since the change. Not once.

You stopped at the sink, gripping the counter, staring down at your reflection in the cracked mirror. Pale skin, red-ringed eyes, veins threading faintly beneath the surface. You looked feral. Wrong.

Not me, you thought. This isn’t me.

Behind you, the door creaked open. You didn’t need to look to know it was him. You could feel his presence in your teeth.

Remmick.

“You’re spiraling,” he said, calm and low.

You didn’t answer.

“You didn’t feed again after I told you too,” he added. “And don’t lie—I’d smell it if you did.”

You turned, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re not fine. You’re starving, Y/N.”

You looked away, furious at the way his voice wrapped around your name like a tether. “I’m not drinking blood like some fucking monster.”

“You are a monster,” he said bluntly, stepping into the room.

You flinched.

Remmick’s voice softened. “So am I. But you don’t see me wasting away pretending I’m human.”

You met his eyes, fury burning low in your gut. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to become—this thing.”

“You think I did?”

Silence.

He stepped closer. “You think I wanted to wake up needing blood like breath? You think I liked my first feed—how I tore into a body just to survive?”

You swallowed hard, throat raw with thirst and shame. “At least you embraced it. I’m not like you.”

Remmick stared at you for a long beat.

Then, quietly: “You could be.”

The words slid under your skin, too intimate.

He moved closer still, until the air between you crackled with something electric. “You’re holding back because you’re scared of what it means. Of who you are now. But your body doesn’t care. It wants. It needs.”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” you rasped.

“You already are.” He gestured toward your own trembling hands. “You’re hurting yourself. You’re starving yourself to death just to prove a point.”

You hated how your legs shook. How dizzy you felt. How right he was.

Remmick’s hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. It was the gentlest touch you’d felt in days.

“You don’t have to be like them,” he whispered. “But stop pretending you’re not like me.”

You closed your eyes.

Your fangs ached. Your skin burned. Your monster wanted out.

“…I don’t know how to do this.”

Remmick exhaled like he’d been waiting to hear that all week. “Let me help you.”

You opened your eyes—and for the first time, didn’t flinch at the hunger staring back in your reflection.

You’re starving,” Remmick growled, voice like honey laced with poison, hand still cupping your jaw like he owned it.

He did. Right now, in this moment—he did.

And you didn’t resist when his grip tightened, or when his other hand slid down your chest, dragging over the torn fabric of your suit, fingers parting it like it was nothing. You didn’t stop him when he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Let me see what that monster’s hiding,” he muttered.

Your cock was already straining against your pants, aching and leaking, desperate for friction. Remmick’s glowing eyes flicked up, locking onto yours as he undid your fly with slow, deliberate cruelty.

When he freed you, his low whistle sent heat straight to your gut.

“Fuck. You’ve been holding this back?” He wrapped a large, cool hand around your length, stroking once—firm and slow. Your head hit the brick wall with a groan.

“You’re so fucking hard, baby,” he murmured. “You need to come that bad?”

You gritted your teeth. “Y-Yeah.”

Remmick licked the head, teasing your slit with the tip of his tongue, tasting your desperation. “Good,” he whispered. “Don’t hold back.”

And then he took you into his mouth—all at once, to the root.

Your knees buckled. A strangled sound tore from your throat as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked you like a man starved, one hand pinning your hips to the wall while the other dug claws into your thigh, holding you still.

He moaned around you, vibrating through your whole body. You looked down, and fuck—it was obscene. His cheeks hollowed, his throat working, strands of dark hair clinging to his face as he worked your cock like it was his personal mission.

You snarled, fangs bared, claws punching into the brick behind you. “Remmick—fuck—Remmick—!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t want you to hold back.

You came hard down his throat, vision flashing white. He swallowed every drop, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips. “Tastes like sin,” he said darkly. “You’ve got more in you.”

You tried to speak—tried to tell him that was already too much—but he was already back on his feet, lifting you like nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist again on instinct.

“You’ve been hiding from this too long,” he growled into your mouth. “No more. You’re gonna take me now. Every fucking inch. I want your control gone.”

He pressed into you, grinding his hard length against your hole through both your ruined pants, the friction making you gasp, already half-hard again.

“Beg me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Beg me to ruin you.”

You hated how fast the words came. “Please—fuck—please, Remmick, I need it—need you—”

He bit into your neck again, deeper this time, and your body went wild.

Your claws raked down his back. You bucked against him, panting, desperate. The pain only sharpened the pleasure.

He pulled back just enough to tear your pants down, letting them drop to your knees. Then he shoved his own down just enough to free his cock—thick, heavy, glistening. It pressed against you, and your breath caught.

“You gonna take this like a good monster boy?” he murmured. “Or do I have to break you open first?”

You groaned, nodding frantically. “I can take it—fuck, please—”

He didn’t prep you. Not really. Just spat into his hand, slicked himself, and lined up.

You were still loose from the adrenaline and the orgasm, and when he pushed in—slow, firm—you clawed at his shoulders, crying out. The stretch burned, and it felt so fucking right.

“That’s it,” he groaned, bottoming out. “You feel that? That’s mine now.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Every nerve in your body lit up.

Then he moved.

He fucked into you hard, slamming your body into the wall with every thrust. The brick scraped your back, your legs tightened around him, and you loved it. Loved how unhinged he looked. How primal. How yours.

“Say it,” he growled, pounding into you. “Tell me you’re done pretending. Tell me this is who you are.”

You moaned, dizzy. “I’m done—I’m done, I want this, I want you—”

He snarled and buried his face in your neck again, biting harder, drawing blood.

The pain made your second orgasm hit like a freight train—messy, untouched, body shaking as you painted both your stomachs.

He fucked you through it, relentless. His own rhythm faltered, then slammed hard once, twice—then he growled your name and spilled inside you, holding you so tight you thought he’d never let go.

The alley was silent afterward, save your ragged breaths.

He stayed pressed against you, still buried deep, nuzzling your neck with shocking tenderness.

“I saw you tonight,” he whispered. “The real you.”

You let your claws rest gently on his back, finally unafraid.

“…And?”

“And I want him.” His mouth grazed your cheek. “Over and over again.”

[dark-wackademia]

Concerning the NI bit, as an INTJ, this is true to a point. If I feel like I can actually share openly, I'll keep getting more relaxed at being myself, sharing myself, getting longer and deeper with my texts and convos until I see something that tells me more of who you really are, and if that is not in alignment with essential parts of who I am. Usually, that’s eventually where the disconnect comes into play and shifts how I interact. Seeing this and allowing it to click makes me not give the same energy, not as a dig at them in any bitterness but in knowing they won’t get it. It’s like being in one place in development and trying to talk to someone that is nowhere near that place, you can’t knock 'em for being uncaring about the matters that they haven’t danced with as you have. I guess, for me, always finding out people are who they say they are still is something that I cope with in a grieving sense, being that I believe we are so much more than what we think we are.

Anyway, yeah, I'm an open book of the flux and flow I philosophize my way through but only with people that are receptive, show enjoyment and engagement with, and or get what it is I’m sharing. Otherwise, it feels like I'm being vulnerable in seeking a deeper, real connection and expression of authentically living and being, only to feel disrespected, disregarded, and undervalued—or, on a very soul level, rejected like they are rejecting the parts of themselves I’m trying to show them… but my answer is right there. I understand I’m just a mirror and what they reject of me, is just reflective of what they reject in themselves. It’s sad how many are unhealed to the extent of rejecting their possibility, especially in the aspect of healing, growing, and rebuilding themselves, of their power. If they’re rejecting parts of themselves, and not abiding by themselves, then how do I expect them to offer me a sliver of such a thing? Which I am learning to more quickly acclimate to, as an INTJ, despite my proclivities for holding out hope, since I just hate feeling like I'm wasting my time and energy. And it���s nothing against them for just not being there, but it’s still disheartening.

So, often I'll go back to concise and “normal” speech because I don't have the energy to share something that doesn't matter to them, that they’re not ready to do something with. What’s the point? I was just talking to my super spiritual sister in law who's some type of ExFx, I can't recall. But we do still get each other because she is proactive with her life/cycles and is always willing to face the truth and facts, however upsetting, however raw and brutally honest, to better work her way through it to heal. I relate with that. Which to me, is the BIGGEST part of knowing if a dynamic will work long term or not, for me. IDC how long you cycle in your loops, I’m the type that’s in control of my emotions enough to deal with any frustration of you not taking advice and it coming to fruition (ie. making a mistake) to keep helping you via hours upon hours, days upon days, forever, through your journey because I know THAT’S life. That is living. And I know we all have them, our own loops. I get that we’re all learning and relearning, dismantling and rebuilding, imperfect and trying. But, in this, we recognise the difference between saying and doing. She and I are doers. We love this death and rebirth cycle and chase that growth, changing for the better, no matter how hard the work ahead is. That is the main plus someone can have in my book. Courage, determination, and self-accountability for the things you say matter to you. A deeper consciousness that you do something with. Escaping the loop. But I thankfully am learning how to not people please and let go when I recognize something isn’t working for me and letting a relationship just be what it is. Sometimes, the best thing we can offer is the space and time for that person to decide on their own, who they are and what work matters to them in their life. I have to do the same, regardless, so sticking with that has been helpful. Which is to say, learning and relearning how to keep abiding by myself. Plus, doing something that makes me just feel further alone and misunderstood for the sake of others is people pleasing and the type of self-sabotaging/self-defeating behavior I've worked, and continue to work hard to not fall into. I have to do more of what makes me feel like I'm actually doing something of substance with my time and energy. I have to do what's right for me, and they, as well.

Acceptance is always the key though, and I’m finally really learning how to keep hold of that key in every situation, and in this, my peace, contentment, and embracing of all, as it is, while still accepting me and what is and isn't working for me.

MBTI Types & Texting Styles

Perceiving Functions

xNxP | High Ne: uses run-on sentences and parentheses (to maximize info-dumping and clarification via extraneous details, respectively)

xNxJ | High Ni: Short and simple sentences. It’s not intentionally “dry”, it’s just effective word choice.

xSxP | High Se: lowercase letters/free form sentences and p much any slang they wanna use bc its just texting and not deep enough for proper spelling and grammar

xSxJ | High Si: Breaking up responses to multiple topics into separate paragraphs.

It’s easier to keep track of what you’re talking about this way.

—

Judging Functions

xxFJ | High Fe: traditional/safe emojis and slang for effective communication ie. lol, brb, ☺️, 😅 periods in the middle are okay. Periods at the end are intimidating so it’s best to avoid those

xxFP | High Fi: Using creative combinations of emojis ( 🙏😩 | 👁️👄👁️ | 🥺👉👈) for the ultimate range of personal expression

xxTJ | High Te: Capital letters, and advanced punctuation; they exist for a reason. Big fan of the Oxford Comma.

xxTP | High Ti: Correct spelling and grammar is mostly a byproduct of autocorrect unless its absolutely necessary. it doesnt have to be perfext just understandable

[axuanmii]

5.6 paralogism mistranslations

(or, at least the ones i paid attention to, which is mainly just kaeya and diluc. yes i'm biased. leave me alone) (yes. some medium spoilers ahead)

honeyhunter and the bilibili wiki haven't updated with chinese transcripts of the new 5.6 archon quest so pretty much all of this is going to be reliant on my listening skills, which are pretty bad because i have a hard time discerning auditory things for some reason.

this isn't a mistranslation i just got really excited when i was going back through the travel log and saw this. i can't believe they remembered diluc was the former cavalry captain *bangs ground and cries*

if i had to say anything about this quest. i guess it would be that i wish more people would play with chinese voiceover. i feel like the tone of almost every character is conveyed better through it, and the lipsyncing actually matches up because, yknow, the game is originally in chinese.

no real hate towards the japanese voiceover, i know because of anime and other stuff that there's more interest for jp voices and hearing famous seiyuu is cool, but i wish it didn't come at the cost of me literally never being able to find chinese voiceover content or even the chinese voice actors half of the time. yeah Sometimes i can find it on bilibili but it's not easy.

anyways, translations are below the cut

so from what i've discerned for the general quest, it's all pretty well translated or slightly adapted for the region because of cultural differences. for example, dahlia and sucrose's exchange here

the second part is better translated (from memory, because i can't find this bit in the travel log to listen to the dialogue again) as "a girl by herself could be too dangerous, so let me help". this is generally because feminism and chivalry are viewed differently in china. china is usually more respectful of women than countries like the US, so chivalrous actions like this are considered polite rather than subconsciously(?) demeaning sucrose's ability. idk, i figure some people might see it that way.

alright lets get to the main thing that annoyed me

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone):

kaeya: :O holy--* just by a hair!**. for this one i'll really have to thank master diluc for lending a hand! :D diluc: no need to be polite. even if you weren't here, i'd still lend a hand. instead, your presence actually blocked my way. :/ kaeya: well... why don't i just leave then? if i stayed, i would only be able provide some elemental reactions creating a lot of steam***. feels like it wouldn't be very helpful! :P diluc: really?

[*kaeya's onomatopoeia is going to be translated the way i hear it through sun ye's tone]

[**kaeya says 千钧一发, idk how to translate this idiom very well]

[***i checked if this was the chinese term for vaporize, it's not]

LIKE. IT'S DIFFERENT RIGHT? I'M NOT CRAZY RIGHT? why is the english translation so determined to make them seem like they hate each other more?? i know kaeya's following dialogue makes it less antagonistic--

but does that mean the first part has to make kaeya sound so lowkey pitiful through text dialogue? (disclaimer: as of may 7th, 2025, there are no english voiceovers for this dialogue)

i don't have much other opinion on this it just annoyed me because in chinese they sound a lot more amicable towards each other, with kaeya directly teasing. but those ellipses in english don't leave much to be desired.

additionally, here:

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone):

kaeya: haha, alright, when did you realize something was off? ^-^ diluc: the first trial. :| kaeya: lemme guess, because of the imposter hertha? :o diluc: compared to them, your problem was more obvious. :/ kaeya: me?! >:O what was wrong with me? :( you mean to say, my role as the defense wasn't played with enough passion? >:) diluc: nobody said that.* it's just that it seemed like you lacked some nervousness. :/ kaeya: then... when does master diluc think i actually get nervous? >:)

*(i don't have a rolling eyes emoji but imagine it here)

like there's a clear difference here!! if it were a matter of timing for spoken dialogue, (which, let's be honest, hoyoverse has not cared about that almost ever (see: signora death cutscene)), the hardest to fit in the same timing would be my translation of kaeya's third line. and even then, the official translation's tone sounds much more muted because it lacks verbal direction of cn kaeya's vocal mannerisms (which, summed up, is basically just "teasing").

like, cn kaeya is an endearing little shithead hiding something, en kaeya has the air of someone on edge but trying to sound friendly (this feels more obvious in many interactions between him and diluc).

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone) [brackets include implied information]:

kaeya: mm! don't worry, just leave this area to me and this enthusiastic volunteer (doing-the-knights-work)* civilian, master diluc! ^_^ albedo: why not say "the former cavalry captain and the current cavalry captain" [working together]? :| diluc: i don't feel like that's necessary =_=

*personally, i'd remove this part because it sounds weirder in english

need i say more. *slams head into brick wall* when will kaeya and diluc stop having their dialogue slandered in english

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus:

diluc: if i have to say something, i'd rather believe that someone who once helped me in the past couldn't suddenly become a cold-blooded killer.

this isn't really that big of a mistranslation i'm just very particular about diluc's words.

also i'm so offended at this group gathering photo because like what about everyone else who defended mondstadt? you're gonna ignore them?? fischl? mona?? noelle??? DILUC????

"oh ash it's a knights' meeting" YEAH BUT I WANNA SEE DILUC?? i'm calm. i'm so calm. this is fine everything's fine.

also the cutscene at the end was super cool, because GUESS WHAT HAPPENED

i love them so much

[prettyboykatsuki]

NEXILIS—PREVIEW WC : 1.1k SYNOPSIS : A preview from the first chapter, coming August 26th.

Look.” You resign yourself, sighing. “I have no interest in leaving home. Truly at all. Who will take care of the farm if I leave? If you really intend to marry me and take me as your wife, make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“I suppose things like riches and jewels bear no interest you,” The Crown Prince says. You snort.

“No, not particularly.”

Sir Midoriya cuts in. “You would have access to the royal armory. You also have equal access to His Highness' resources. If there is anything you wish to recover or provide it’s yours.”

This piques your interest. Aizawa scoffs from beside you but you ignore him.

A thought comes to you suddenly, overcome with overwhelming grief. You can feel the change in the air, in yourself - your heart feeling heavy. A pit forms in your stomach.

“I have uh,” You clear your throat so you don’t show weakness. “I’ve a brother. A different one. He was my blood brother. He…he was not executed alongside my mother and father. But we did not manage to leave together. I have no idea if he’s even alive, but,” You look at them with clarity. “I want to look for him. Or just get.. Confirmation of his death. Something.”

Midoriya looks at you with an understanding smile. “It’s no trouble. We found you. If there is record of your brother anywhere, we will be able to find him with your help - I’m sure of it.”

“Alright, then.” You pull back a little, scratching your head. “The swordsmanship. I want to be able to test my skills.” You think for a bit, before adding “I also want property that I can keep under my name in the Southern Province.”

“How good of a swordsman are you?” The Crown Prince asks. Aizawa interjects.

“She has bested me before on her own, and without magic.”

The Crown Prince raises his eyebrows at that. “If you wish to wield the sword and fight alongside me, then becoming my imperial knight is may be possible.”

“Is Sir Midoriya not your imperial knight?”

“No, my lady. Captain of Imperial Special Forces means I’m responsible for training them and taking on certain…kinds of missions. The Crown Prince has several rotating guards but finding someone trustworthy to take on the long-term position is tough,”

“We would have to test your skills first, and your duties as my wife take priority,” The Crown Prince says plainly. “But well, it seems to fit your personality better than being a noble lady.”

“You’ve insulted my womanhood twice today alone.”

He raises a brow at you. “I wasn’t aware you could feel insulted about something true.”

You scowl at him, considering the options. “Alright, then. Beats being bored. And it’ll make handle politics easier if I’m able to sit in on meetings directly to some extent.”

The Crown Prince looks surprised again. “I hadn’t considered that.”

You snort. “You come here to ask a strange woman you barely know to be your wife, but did not think of what she would actually have to do in the imperial palace. You must need my allyship more than I thought.”

The Crown Prince bristles at your words but ultimately does not reply back to them. His irritation about being teased is amusing. You laugh for the first time then.

“Don’t be so stiff, Crown Prince. We will be married soon, won’t we?” You joke, laughing to yourself again. “If you can’t handle basic wifely nagging our marriage will sooner fall apart than the empire.”

“Are you implying you are going to nag me?”

“Isn’t that a given?”

Sir Midoriya laughs again and Aizawa makes an exasperated face. “Please watch how you speak to the Crown Prince,”

“Stiff.” You reply back. You take a long breath. “I want to make regular visits back here, as well. And to hire some trained farmhands before then. But if you can fulfill all of my requests, then sure - I’ll help you.”

“That is excellent news, my lady.”

“I must ask though, Crown Prince. What will you do if you find an actual wife?”

He smirks. “That will never happen. I’ve not any interest.”

“Fine then. What will happen if I find an actual husband?”

“Also unlikely,” He starts with, making you twitch. “If you wish to file for divorce it will only be after we’ve stabilized and taken the crown,” He shrugs. “I’ll permit you to see your lover as long as it stays private, though.”

You snort. “How kind of you.”

Aizawa takes a long, resigned sigh next to you. He rubs his jaw, deep in thought before groaning a little. The room feels lighter than it did at the start of the gathering, and that relieves you.

“You’ve made this decision rather quickly.” Aizawa says, ignoring both parties adjacent to you. “Don’t you wish to think about it more?”

“No. When have you known me to do things like that?” You reply. His distress grows. A hand goes onto your shoulder, gripping it firmly.

“You will no doubt suffer greatly. It will be lonely and perilous. There is no reason for you to go.”

You stare at him as he says this, suddenly becoming aware of the way time has passed. You’ve lived alongside him for ten years, and he’s aged, though he is not exactly old. It’s uncommon for him to express such great concern for something you’ve chosen to do. The last time you’ve seen him make this face was when he came upon you ten years ago.

“I wish to find my brother and,” You affirm, and then add despite your embarrassment - lighthearted tone covering sincerity. “Well, I might as well contribute something other then wheat to the empire you seem to love so much,”

Shock flits over his expression before melting into absent fondness.

He sighs, putting a hand on your head and rubbing your head hard. You make a noise of protest. “Troublesome as ever, aren’t you girl.”

“Yes,” You say, rubbing the spot he petted aggressively “You are quite fond of problem children.”

Aizawa laughs for the first time in the entire conversation. The sincerity in his gaze makes your cheeks flush. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“I’m very happy you’ve come to our aid, my lady. I am honored to serve you.” Sir Midoriya says. You look at him from across the table, and he’s positively beaming. A ghost of a smile crosses your features.

“We’ll see how long it takes me to regret it,” You reply, though your words are light. You turn your attention to the Crown Prince. “Your Highness, I must ask - when exactly are you hoping to marry me?"

Silence falls. The Crown Prince and Sir Midoriya share a long look.

“Well, truthfully, my lady -“

“We were hoping you would return with us to the imperial palace. As in, I’d like to wed you as soon as possible.”

[red-dye40]

LOOK EVERYONE BEE'S MAKING ANOTHER LONG TEXT POST!

LET'S ALL READ IT AND REALLY REALLY ABSORB EVERY LAST WORD!

Hello, it's me, Bee. I'm typing with proper capitalization to show you how serious this post is.

Recently, and especially yesterday, I've been getting increasingly upsetting and alarming engagement from fans (it feels stupid saying "fans" but also maybe my overfamiliarity is part of what's biting me in my huge ass.)

I am always of the mindset of letting people do their freak shit, never yucking anyone's yum, etc etc, but I think I have to start being a lot more explicit about where I stand on some things.

First of all, I want to specify upfront that Newfag Runs The Gauntlet is a work of fiction, and what's more, it's very explicit social commentary. You are Not supposed to root for Newf. He is purposefully Not A Good Person. That goes for pretty much everyone in NFRTG in fact; like, yes the CrowdSauce posts are funny and ridiculous, but if you find yourself reading some of the more violent and disturbing parts of those threads and being like "woah that's just like me!" then I urge you to understand that it's not a Good thing.

NFRTG isn't written to be representation for paraphiles or radqueers. I in fact do not use either of those terms to describe myself, because I personally am deeply uncomfortable with how broad and vague and muddy the definitions are, and how it invites and potentially encourages some really unsavory behavior. NFRTG is a cautionary tale first and foremost. It's a horror novel because it is SCARY how willingly all these characters agree to ruin people's lives for a laugh. It's also FUNNY because I am very funny :) and it's HOT and you can think it's HOT because I do! And definitely write parts of it to be hot and horny! That's part of the horror, too! Not knowing whether you're disturbed or disgusted or aroused! But please please please know that these characters are Not the good guys. There are really no good guys to be found. Intentionally. And that's not a Good Thing.

I'm going to take a big big BIG step back from fandom engagement for my own sake. There inevitably comes a point where creators kind of can't afford to keep up intense fan engagement and I think I'm there, so I'm gonna untrack my tags and let you all have your fun without mommy breathing down your neck. If you want me to see something, you can tag me or submit it to the site for sure! I WANT to see your art and writing and theories and all that! I LOVE it! I just don't think I need to be privy to ALL of it.

My closing remark is I am so grateful and so lucky to have gotten such a following so fast. Pretty much everyone I've interacted with has been very kind and sweet and curious, and I so admire that. What a lucky little bug I am! I want to keep feeling positively about my work and the impact it's having on others, so I urge everyone to approach NFRTG with a critical eye, understand that I am very much Pointing Out A Problem when I write characters doing or saying terrible things, understand that I very much Don't want people to kill themselves or each other, that I don't think these behaviors are just things we should turn our backs to. I was once a deeply suicidal, nihilistic, self-entitled channer who frequented gore sites and watched awful shit for fun. That was not good, and it took years of therapy for me to even START to unpack that and crawl out of that hole of self destruction. But I'm so much happier and healthier and better off now that I'm away from all that, and I will always encourage people to do the same. I really really would prefer it if people stayed alive and helped themselves and didn't harm others. That is my ask.

Thank you for your reading and I love you and I LIKE you. Please be safe and good :)

[siri-ike]

Damian stepped closer, but Danyal backed away into the wall behind him. Damian looked genuinely remorseful, not really the "air of strength and authority" he'd always been made to show before.

"I," Damian breathed. "I never thought I would see you again."

"You came into my room." Danyal hissed.

Damian looked at his brother, then at the door. "I didn't mean," Damian tried to position himself in a way so he wasn't blocking the only exit, but Danyals room was so much smaller than his was. "Do you wanna talk this out somewhere else, I don't wanna box you in."

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? "Or, you could leave my room." Excuse him if he wasn't particularly interested in "talking things out" with his killer.

"Ok," he looked disappointed but not surprised or angry. "We can do things on your terms. Just, please, don't leave Nanda Parbat without me. I want to help you." With that, Damian left, he even closed the door behind him.

Danyal, still pressed up against the wall, huffed. "Don't leave Nanda Parbat without me"? He tried to include Damian before, and what did it get him? Stabed!

He pulled his legs into his torso. This is probably some plan to catch him in the act or something. Prove once and for all that he's the superior twin. He probably dragged his lifeless body all the way into the pit chamber, snuck past the demons head dumped his body in there, carried him all the way back to his bedroom, and prepared that whole speech to lull him into a false sense of security so he can stop the escape plan with Mother watching. That's it. That's a perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

Hours passed, but Danyal stayed in his room. This isn't the first time he's been forgotten. No one cares what he does. As long as he stays in shape, should Damian need a transplant. He couldn't count all the times he'd been told he's nothing more than 43 potential replacement parts. He had nightmares all the time of Damian getting badly injured. He used to imagine walking down the hall and coming face to face with Damian and seeing one of his eyes blue instead of green.

Hold on a second...

Danyal stood up and reached for the door handle.

*click*

He left it unlocked?

____(Ha! You thought it was over, but there's more!)____

Damian Wayne al Ghoul woke up in a ghasp. His hands pressed tight against his abdomen, but neither the sword nor the wound were there.

It didn't make any sense. He had died. He was sure of it. His mother had thrown him off a roof, and he landed on a statues raised sword.

He scanned his surroundings. This was his bedroom, but... the wrong one? The one back in Nanda Parbat. Shit. That means he's completely at Mother's mercy. He threw off his cover and... Huh. That's different. Just yesterday, he was roughly the size of an adult. And now? He slid off the bed, and his eye level got lower. He looked at his hands and feet. They were round and pudgy, clearly belonging to a small child, but how?

The face analyzing him from the bathroom mirror was his own. It's hard to believe he was ever so cute. Dick can never learn of this. Could Mother have done this somehow? Reversed his age? Maybe put his mind into a younger cloned body? And why so young? He couldn't be more than 7 years old.

Damian spat the toothpaste into the sink. Hold on. Danyal died around this age. They wouldn't. She wouldn't. Damian slowly raised his head back up to face the mirror.

Green eyes.

Thank goodness.

Damian returned his toothbrush and started to get dressed. Let's see. If Mother had been behind this, he probably would not have woken up alone after such an altercation. It's most likely time travel or a vivid dream. His dreams do tend to seem more real during near death experiences.

Damian took one final look in the floorlength bedroom mirror. Green is his favorite color, but green and black just looks so plain now. He much prefers the colors of the Robin suit. Dick mustn't hear of that either.

Damian almost walked out of the room without his katana. It's been a while since he felt the need to be constantly armed, but in Nanda Parbat, you never know when someone will choose violence. Except, unlike in Gotham, everyone here is trained.

"You're late." A masked assassin addressed Damian. "Morning training starts in 20 minutes, as the heir to the demon it is your duty so be there first."

"I will take that into consideration."

The assassin looked surprised. Shit. That's not what he would have said back then. He probably would have dressed him down or threatened him.

Rulling out the dream theory could prove difficult. Damian looked at his hands. 5 fingers each. That rules out, Dr. Strange and Poison Ivy but not the Mad Hatter. Reading wouldn't help either, Jervis Tetch had managed to mimic words on a page in another's dreams by activating choice parts of the left and right brain at the same time. It would be easier and faster to check for time travel.

If Damian estimated his current age correctly, then Danyal should either be alive or there should be some evidence of him. Damian just had to check his bed chambers... where were Danyals bed chambers?

He didn't sleep in the family wing with himself, mother, and grandfather.

Damian stopped his carer and looked back at the family wing. "Where does Danyal sleep?"

The assassin seemed cought off guard. But thanks to their stations, he has to answer. "Danyal has a room in the lower levels." Has? He's alive!

"Near the prisoners? In the dungeon?" How could he never have known?

"Not that low." He had a placating tone. "He is still a member of the Demons family. A black spot, but a member."

To think he was viewed so low that someone in direct contact with the family could expect to talk about him in such a manor. "Take me to him."

"I'm supposed to take you to training-"

"And not you are taking me to Danyal. In exchange for keeping your foot attached." Was that something he would have said? It sounded like something he would have said.

"This way."

Must be.

It wasn't the dungeon. But this was no place for Damian's own brother to live. He should be living in the palace. No. They should be living at the manor.

"Tell my instructor that I won't be attending today's morning training. I have important matters to take care of." Damian made sure his tone was a threat.

The assassin left, in the direction of the training grounds. One missing student won't make too big a difference.

Damian placed one hand on Danyals door. It was a standard room. The kind strays are put in. As though he was just another child who had been lost in the mountains.

If he was alive, he was behind this door. Damian took a deep breath and ripped off the bandage. He pushed the door open, and it slammed on the wall behind it. There he was. His "Ahki?"

Danyal al Ghul awoke with a gasp, hands scrabbling to put pressure on injuries that were no longer there.

It didn’t make any sense. He had died, he was sure of it. He’d felt the sensation too many times before to mistake it for anything else.

And unlike those previous times, he had known that this would be the final one.

The League didn’t revive traitors.

And even if they did, he certainly wouldn’t have woken up in his bedroom. A cell, perhaps, if not chained up in front of Grandfather himself for judgement.

Eyes flitting over his surroundings, he felt a sense of deja vu overcome him. It was exactly as it had been before he began the final preparations for his flight.

Had he just dreamed up the attempt? No, that was impossible. It was all too… detailed. Too real. Dying, especially, always felt different in his nightmares.

As impossible as it seemed, maybe he really was in the past. Not by much, but it might be enough.

This time, he could correct his mistake.

Danyal shuddered at the memory of the cold steel of his brother’s blade piercing his flesh.

This time, he wouldn’t stupidly ask Damian to come with him. He’d just go. And if they still crossed paths anyway on his way out, he’d be the one to strike first.

Though before any of that, he’d still have to make it to that time without giving anything away. Shouldn’t be too difficult, since he’s already done it once. The only real challenge will be not reacting differently to Damian, but that shouldn’t be a big issue either considering how little they interacte—

The door to his room slammed open.

“Ahki?” the last voice Danyal wanted to hear croaked out, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

‘What the hell?’

This is sorta a remix of a previous prompt of mine about both demon twins being sent back to the past to right before an incident where Danyal tried to flee the League with Damian but Damian betrayed him.

The distinction is in this version, Danyal actually died in the first timeline. No secret survival, no getting revived, no ghost stuff (or well at least none that he can remember), nothing. Damian genuinely killed him.

And Damian has had years to grow from that, but Danyal hasn’t. He never got a chance to mellow out and became Danny yet, and that betrayal is still very fresh in his mind.

He isn’t going to react well to Damian in the slightest, especially considering how out of character he sees Damian as acting

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WRITING / ART TRADE FOR THE EVER SO AMAZING @somnolenthour

Never done something like this before, but I do think it's important to : a ) keep up my end of the trade with the skills I got b ) learn about other OC's and get into other writer's / artist's minds I hope you like it, and that I did your OC right! If I didn't do tell me so I can fix it! plot : Loretta Moss is haunted by Remmick. ( I did mention some Southern terms for ghosts and customs for getting rid of them in this. ) word count : 1,000+

Loretta Moss, was many things. She was kind, the kind of kind that most parents would scold their children and tell them to strive to be. She was a special one, truly, one that didn’t come around that often. But, the kind that couldn’t help but draw you in and want to stay around for a little longer, the kind that words didn’t do justice for. Most of all, she was beautiful. Inside and out. A kind soul, with the sweetest smile that made her eyes crinkle up and cheeks flush. If you were to ask most folks in town about her, you’d hear plenty of opinions on her. 

“Who? Loretta? What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl that’ll kill ya’ Mama with that sweet Southern charm. Make her pester you to snatch that girl up before another does.” 

“Oh, you mean, Miss Moss. What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl that you’d be happy with your son marrying. Make one mighty fine wife.”

“Oh, the girl from the hotel. What can I say but, she’s kind enough, pretty.” 

“Oh, no, you mean em’ strange one, who doesn’t attend church every Sunday. What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl who wears her skirt too high and her tongue too loose.”

The words didn’t bother her, people talked. Always did, always would. It was bound to happen when you lived in the middle of fuck knows where and had nothing interesting happening like those big old cities. If she lived in Chicago, or New York, someplace grand like Ruth did. She’d be a nobody, just another face that passed by in the rumbling streets. Never known. Never talked of.

She’d be able to rot away in peace in her bed, let her thoughts consume her until she wilted like a flower. Or maybe, it was just that small town madness that was putting those thoughts in her head. Making her overthink so much that she couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was fake.

Fuck. It wasn’t hard to be envious that Ruth got out of their shithole of a small town, out of the pitch black hole that consumed their minds⎯that made them so often question if this was a nightmare or a premonition of what was to come from some other worldly beings. Ruth got out. She got away. She got away.

She was probably working as a seamstress, making fancy gowns for those rich women in those fancy shops like in the magazines. Or maybe she was married, had a baby on the way. Or maybe she was no better than she was, stuck. Stuck in the past. Stuck in a small town. Stuck in the middle of fuck knows where. Wondering what was real and what was a trick of her mind.

Laying curled up in the wrinkled bed sheets, she digs her nails into the cotton, feeling the sweat that seeped into it. Her mind goes haywire, focusing on every little detail that it could sense. From the clicking of the clock downstairs, to the low chirping of crickets outside. From the way she could feel the old house groaning, old wood moving with the slight breeze in the air. From the way her vision adjusted to the darkness of her room, zoning in on the Spanish moss that blew just enough for it to tap her window. It was silent. It was peaceful. But, not for her. Not after what she dreamt of.

A man in the shadows, in the woods, in the marsh, in the swamps, everywhere. He was tall, bloody, eyes glowing a crimson red in the shadows that blurred his features. He smelt of something rotten, of something old, like the smell that the old crypts have after it rained. He sounded old too, not like he was dying, but rather a dying language flowed off his tongue as he spoke to her. It wasn’t Southern. It wasn’t from the States. Hell, it wasn’t from this time. No, it was older. It was dying, broken and rotten like him, like he had forgotten how to speak it. 

“Let me in..” He whispered, “into your heart.” 

She didn’t, her gut told her not to. Or maybe it was Meemaw's voice who told her not to let dark spirits in. They come wearing the face of men, get you dancing with them before they follow you home and never let you go. That’s what he was doing, trying to follow her home.

“Let me in.” He croaks, “Let me into your heart.”

“Let..me..in..”

“Let. Me. In.”

“Let me in, Loretta.”

“Let me in!”

It was a chant, a call. He was calling for her, like a wounded animal. Like the way stray dogs do for their pack. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted him gone. But, he was persistent. Like a stubborn haint with unfinished business. She’d have to burn some sage, or paint some haint blue on her windows and door to get rid of him in the morning. For now, she’d have to endure. Endure him. Endure the crippling fear that kept her firmly planted in bed. Endure the countdown until sunrise. 

“Let me in.” He whispers, “I can save you, Loretta.” 

“You ain’t real.” She whispers, trying to block him out. 

“Sure, I am, suga’. I am just as real as you are.” He chuckles, making her flinch at the sound. 

“You ain’t real, just another nightmare.” She whispers, fingers tangling into her hair.  

She wanted to believe it. This was just another one of those nightmares. But, it felt so real. Too real to just be a dream. To just be something that her brain had come up with. There was too much realism. He had too much realism. Shifting her gaze onto the window to try to ignore him, he steps into the moonlight, clearly not liking being ignored. His boot clicked against the floorboards, before the scuffle of the dragging of a chair against the floor makes her cringe. 

“Nightmare? Na, I’m as real as em’ premonitions.” He chuckles, leaning back in the rocking chair. 

“You ain’t fuckin’ real.” She argues, shaking her head. 

“Suga’, I’m as real as you make me to be.”

"You ain't real." She whimpers, nails digging into her scalp.

Real, not real. Real, or not real. Pulling at strands of her hair, she could feel the tears bubbling up, exhaustion making her bottom lip tremble. She was just so tired. She wanted to sleep in peace, to dream of Ruth and the kind of life she was living. Not of him. Not of this.

Trying to remember what Meemaw has said years ago, she stares at him, teary eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Do not let dark spirits in. They come wearing the face of men, get you dancing with them before they follow you home and never let you go. That’s what he was doing, trying to follow her home.

“You ain’t welcome here.” She whispers, watching his rocking halt. 

"Say again." He hums, chuckling.

“You ain’t welcome here.” She repeats, her voice a little more firm this time.

He leans forward slowly in the chair, face becoming more and more clearer. Rugged features that once could be considered handsome, hidden by a thick layer of blood and peeling skin. Fangs in where normal teeth should be. He was a true monster. 

“Oh, I soon will be. Just you wait, suga’. Just you wait.” He cracks a bloody smile, tilting his head to the side. 

---

[swiftrunnerfelidae]

"Yeah, the cane is mine. It's my hiking stick. Need a good hiking stick out here, and I had the cane, so, yeah.

"The story? Well, all right. I grew up out in the Appalachians. Loved those mountains growing up. I'd hike over them every chance I got. As I grew up, I'd go on riskier, tougher hikes. I loved the challenge. Loved proving myself. Went off to college, came back with a degree, got a job offer out here and I went, well shit, I ain't gonna pass up a job in the Rockies, the hiking out there has to be amazing. And it was! It was beautiful.

"... then I went down a closed trail. Thought I knew better.

"... I didn't.

"The doc said I was lucky it wasn't worse. Cracked my femur, broke my tibia and fibia, shattered both ankles, multiple contusions... it's still weird looking down and not seeing the scar where a bone was poking out of my calf. And of course, it happened a hundred miles from anybody, no radio, nobody who knew where I was, with two bad legs down at the bottom of a cliff.

"The one and only really lucky part of the whole thing is I happened to drag myself in the direction of a trail I didn't even realize was there, but there it was, a proper hiking trail, and I just had to lie there, bleeding, until someone happened to wander by hours later and got me help.

"I was in the hospital for months, and my left leg never healed right. Somehow my right ankle got away with just aching all the time, but my left... it was bad. Really bad. I needed crutches for months even after I healed, and after that I still needed a cane.

"And then, well... you can see what happened. It was years later. I'd come to terms with it. Accepted I'd never hike again. And then one morning I woke up four feet tall, green, and with two fully functioning legs.

"I... I know some people say they wish they could go back. And really, I can't blame them. It was a big change, and I needed a different kind of help for quite a while until kobold-friendly housing started being built. Some of the friends I made in physio weren't as lucky as I was... they had congenital conditions, and, well, whatever did... this.... didn't fix those.

"But me? Given the choice between being the human I was, or the kobold I am now? I wouldn't give this up for the world.

"... so yeah. That's why the cane, I guess. A reminder of how quickly one wrong choice can ruin everything, and... to enjoy it, while you still can.

"Well, I think I got my wind back. Let's hit the next hill together?"

[elbiotipo]

Yeah, like you said, Buddhist and Hindu texts definitely use very large units of time, and they are often meant, not to be perfectly literal, but more placeholder for ''incomprehensibly long time'' which causes fun dissonances when it bleeds into the popular culture.

When it comes to Taoism and Shinto inspired works, however, while symbolic phrase of ten thousand years/things/ eight million kami does retain symbolic meaning, character's insane long ages are often meant to be read as literal, at least in more contemporary works ( so, ten thousand year old protagonist really is that old haha) though context is pretty interesting:

Both Taoism and Shinto generally hold to premise that the older something or somebody is, more spiritually potent it is- whether because they have gathered life energy through careful cultivation, or spiritual power naturally builds up with the years, or they simply attained experience that helps with spiritual insight, or in case of objects or places, have been revered for the centuries and thus empowered with time.

In both of these religions, supernatural creatures ( yao, youkai, xian, guai; can be translated as demon, monster, spirit, tho neither are wholly correct etc) usually start out as completely ordinary animals, plants, objects, natural phenomena, that with long passage of years attained human intellect, form, and supernatural powers- whether by pure luck of existing that long or intentionally seeking out spiritual practices/medicines/magic techniques. So, say, a huli jing/ kitsune/ kumiho/ nine tailed fox isn't spirit or demon that just resembles fox; rather, it began as ordinary fox that lived long enough to develop human intellect, and then decided to seek out more magic knowledge for itself, growing new tail with each century and ascending to Heaven once it reaches 1,000.

Taoism, particularly, is devoted to search for immortality, with that being motivation of both positive and negative characters; it is achieved with everything from medicines and strange herbs; over breathing and physical exercises; to recitation of the particular mantras. Immortals themselves vary in status and power, from ''magic warrior who is ageless and immune to illness but can be killed'' to ''transcendent being whose enlightenment allows them to arise above worldly matters''. Living that uncountably long is both their goal and source of their power at the same time; and basic background logic is that achieving immortality and living for aeons is all too possible if you figure out right way.

Translated in game and novel terms, it usually means that the characters who lived longer are more powerful, both because they had more time to practice and accrue skills, but also because they have more energy to their disposal. On character building side, immortality and thousands of years of existence also plays significant part; in more human focused stories, humans who achieved immortality will be portrayed as kinda distant from mundane mortals, whether because of arrogance or millenia of loss. Meanwhile, in novels that focus on gods and spirits, you will see truly insane numbers ( like 50,000 years, I have even come across stories where age of characters was numbered in millions) with implication that most of that time was spent busying with 1) godly duties of establishing cosmos and commanding natural phenomena 2) being a piece of rock trying to figure out sentience.

Ah, sorry for such large text and getting off topic!

I have almost nothing to comment here because this is truly fascinating. I was aware of some of this but it's interesting to be aware how it is reflected in pop-culture.

That last part of becoming one or the same as natural phenomena really strikes me, from my limited understanding of Taoism, as one very interesting way to explore inmortal characters in a setting; they become part of nature, of the Tao itself. To imagine the life of such a character makes my mind run. I really should learn more about this.

(I'm also writing or at least brainstorming about a huli jing character, and much of what you've said I was aware of but it really gets me some more ideas. The idea that despite all, she was once just a fox, it's really compelling to talk about)

[lsunstreakerl]

I’ve just read fmf and the rico povs and omg I’m in love with the universe you’ve built!! I’m gobbling up every smidge of lore we get, you’ve set it up so well, I love the details included into both the fighting and clothing and the little societal norms we can infer from how max interacts with everyone and how they interact with him

Max and rico’s dynamic is delightful, I’m very excited to see it progress now that they’re both back at the castle 👀

Max in the last chapter was so good, it’s definitely a big shock to find out you’ve been essentially sold as a wife instead of contracted as a soldier, but he’s been putting a lot of work into being respected as a leader so hopefully he realizes that the king and kingdom adore him for who he is (an adorable little killing machine <3)

This is the first work I’ve read from you so now I’ll go ahead and read everything you’ve ever written thank you <3 you’ve made my day after the race yesterday!!

fmf being your first work from me is kind of crazy!! you're in for a treat :D

I am such a freak about worldbuilding it's not even funny. (if you ignore my massive minor mistake about the heirs thing- I'm going to blame that on finals brain for missing such a glaringly important piece of worldbuilding) but I definitely enjoy getting to create a universe! and doing it in fmf, where it's basically a giant sandbox, gives me lots and lots of creative freedom :)

surec they went straight to sleeping together (not even in a sexy way) but trust- as soon as karim left the room he was down in the kitchens like "you will never believe what just happened". castle gossip goes crazy around there!

yeah, he's uh, got some self reflection to do. and some things to come to terms with. and a crash course on taking dick when your husband is huge royal etiquette!

max not realizing he was consort is honestly what helped him build such strong, solid relations in the kingdom during the three weeks rico was gone. he wasn't under the perceived pressure that he would've been if he was in the loop from the get go, so he's operating from a very practical leadership perspective. the people recognize and appreciate that, which builds strong trust. (killing saddik definitely helps with that as well)

it also contributes to their perception of max and rico. their king has always been under a lot of pressure, so while he's very kind, he doesn't always seem happy. as they get to know max during those three weeks, they kind of get the same feeling- so a large majority of the citizens are deeply endeared by the way they start to see max and rico bringing out a lighter side in each other.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

anon from earlier ! I wanted to take the time to share some thoughts but this definitely isn’t everything

firstly, it sounds like you’re very busy with important things (I actually got accepted to med school & turned it down for Reasons™ so I understand the stress & the hustle) so it may be difficult to find time to socialize. when I left my ex, it was November of 2019, & our friends slowly dropped out of my life over the months that followed. I cried a lot, I spent a lot of time scribbling the same things in my journal over & over, I took many walks alone. it was hard because I didn’t have the tools to rebuild exactly, but my classmates saw that I was down, & a few coffee dates were the foundation of friendships that became close quickly. I carried oranges in my backpack because when the gratitude & relief I felt at these new friends showing up for me was too strong for words, I could show that love in a different way

if you have many great friendships, but none of them are quite as close as the friend who disappointed you (it sounds like something traumatic happened, & trauma + a friend dropping the ball is a really, really painful thing to live through, but you will, I promise), it may be helpful to think about it in terms of redistributing the needs that your closest friend used to meet among those other friends. I got very comfortable saying, ‘I’m struggling right now, & having this time together is very helpful to me,’ & I found that this opened the door to really good conversations about the emotional needs I had, & what these friends could provide for me (they are truly lovely people & were very willing to help!)

it’s also important to remember that, among your wider circle of friends, one or more of them may surprise you by becoming close to you in the way that your closest friend was. this has certainly happened to me, & I think it comes from my open-book approach to my experiences & emotions that invite sharing notes. we’re all notebooks full of the things we learn the hard way, but sometimes we can learn from the pain & growth that our friends divulge. my current closest friend sees things the same way

nothing is permanent. friendships may or not be end-game, but everyone’s path weaves & crosses among others’ paths, & so this feeling of betrayal & hurt may not be the permanent end to this friendship that it certainly feels like in this moment. if there’s growth & maturation, you may get an apology, & then it will be your decision what to do with it

if you need ideas on how to meet new people I have them! starting over in a new city wasn’t too difficult because I have my avenues. but truly you will live through this & I’m rooting for you! I hope some of this was helpful❣️

please please get off anon you sound like the COOLEST and I at the very least want to become friends!!!! Absolutely flabbergasted by how helpful this advice is

[max1461]

I'm getting suicidal and need this to improve quickly.

Feels like normally I have some... mechanism, that has a variety of functions. It pushes away thoughts that are too upsetting, it occurs when I commit to a specific decision, it occurs when I exhibit emotional inhibition. Basically like something that puts the breaks on my immediate mental state and re-focuses my attention on higher level goals and commitments, or something. It's an inhibitory response I guess. I used to perceive this as a basically internal thing, with a physical correlate: usually when this response would trigger, I would feel a slight kind of "gulp" sensation, like a little bit of muscle movement in my upper throat?

Since I went to the dentist, it's felt like something in the back of my throat is numb or immobile, and therefore I can't trigger this inhibitory response. So my thoughts and emotions are all over the place, I keep feeling it trying to trigger and failing, and it's causing me huge problems.

I don't know which direction this goes. It's possible that it's some kind of tic, maybe I have Tourettes as one neuro suggested, and it's a tic that usually goes off, but it can't because of like nerve damage that's physically impeding it, so there's a build up of the premonitory urge? That certainly accords with a lot of the internal experience of this. Other possibility is like: so when I was at the dentist I was having a panic attack, and so I was intentionally impeding this inhibition response (because otherwise I would have been too afraid to get the local anesthetic shot). I do remember doing this, intentionally impeding this response. And I was panicking pretty hard. And when I was given the anesthetic, like I said, it felt kind of good at first, it felt like my panic was stripped away and my whole body felt warm and so on. So maybe I just... unlearned this inhibitory response in that moment? And I don't know how to trigger it again? Neither the psychological nor the physical side of this response seems to be working. There is a definite sensation that something in the back of my throat is "frozen".

And right, the weird mental imagery. As I've said elsewhere, I've always had very vivid mental imagery, including visuals, sound, smells, everything. Now it hasn't been this vivid in the past, and in the past I've been able to control it, obviously. But it usually is very vivid. I could make it as vivid as it currently is by concentrated sufficiently. The problem is it's like that all the time, and I have no control over the content. But the imagery itself isn't totally unprecedented for me. Two neurologists have mentioned synesthesia as playing a role, which I definitely have.

But, really, I have felt since the beginning that there is only one possible solution to this, which is to get that inhibitory mechanism back again. Can anyone help my brainstorm how I might do this? I have already tried a lot of stuff. I have tried relaxing and letting it come, I have tried focusing really hard and pushing it through. I have tried thinking about things that would normally trigger it. I have tried decoupling it from the physical movement, like trying to simply activate the mental side of it and ignore the physical. All of these have almost worked in the exact same way, where it totally feels like it's gonna come and then just doesn't.

One way or another this is destroying me and I really want a solution.

Oh, right. Right. I have other facial tics (that's the term I'll use), as I've said in other posts, associated with specific emotions. So if I'm sad or happy my face scrunches up in a particular way, etc. I would not previously have distinguished these from just "expressions", other than that presently it's clear there's a premonitory urge. These are also not working? But I think a lot of them also usually co-occur with the inhibitory response, so maybe that's why? One way or another, I have felt them coming out in other places. I have felt them try to trigger in my face, fail, and then trigger in my hand or my stomach. It's the same pattern of movements, immediately and intuitively recognizable as the same tic, but occurring in my hand or stomach. And it triggers a similar-but-alien-and-disconcerting emotional response as the one in my face would trigger. And I feel like as these incorrect tics(?) trigger, I am like relearning all my emotions into these crazy alien things.

I just fucking need this shit to stop. Does anyone have any new ideas?

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.27 Together

It was Father's Day and my sisters and I had plans to visit Dad and Pops at their house. I decided to get there early so I could talk to them about Paul. I didn't want to keep it a secret, and I also figured they would be the perfect people to talk to about navigating my newly discovered queerness. Still, I felt a bit nervous as I approached the door and made my way inside.

Dad and Pops were surprised to see me. "Hey Johnny! You know you weren't supposed to be here for another hour, right?" Pops asked. He and Dad were snuggled together on the couch, which made me feel a little better for some reason.

"Yeah, I hope it's okay that I'm early," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "I wanted to talk to you guys about something before everyone else gets here."

"What's wrong?" Dad questioned, sensing my nervousness.

"Nothing's wrong," I explained quickly. "It's just...oh my God, this is so stupid. Why am I nervous about this?"

"Johnny, just talk to us. Everything's going to be okay." Pops told me gently.

"You're right," I responded. "I'm seeing somebody."

"Oh, that's exciting! Tell us all about her," Dad coaxed.

"Well, actually, it's Paul."

"Paul? He's a nice young man," Pops replied. "He's funny like your Dad."

"Yeah, he's pretty great. I guess I was a little nervous telling you because I didn't want you to see me differently."

"Son, I don't know how to tell you this," Dad began, a smirk forming on his face. "But your Pops and I are gay. We're not going to judge you for having a same-sex relationship."

"Haha." I deadpanned. "I knew you wouldn't, but it's just that you've seen me as being a certain way, and now I've realized I'm not that person."

"We don't mean to undermine what a big deal this is," Dad said. "It's not just about your sexuality, but it involves your identity, too."

"Yeah, it's a significant change for you. But our love for you is unconditional. You don't have to be any certain way to earn our approval."

"I know. You guys are great. I'm really lucky to have you as my parents." I felt a lot better after talking things out with them. We talked some about how I was feeling, what labels I wanted to use (I decided to use the term "queer" for the time being), and of course, about Paul. I was glad they liked him, though I suppose it's hard not to.

Later, Chantal, Cece, and Ben arrived. Cece and Ben got them a rare version of their favorite record. It was a great gift; I almost felt bad considering Chantal and I were about to blow it out of the water with what we had planned.

"I can't help but notice neither of you came in with a bag," Cece teased.

"That's because our gift can't be put in one," Chantal explained.

"Yeah, it transcends anything tangible," I chimed in.

"Okay, this better be good for how much you're hyping it up," Dad laughed.

"It is!" I insisted. "So, Chantal and I have been thinking about how much you two mean to us, and we thought it was about time that we officially became Owens-Haims."

"Yeah, we both filled out the paperwork to legally change our last names!" added Chantal.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Pops exclaimed.

"That means the world to us," Dad added, tears welling in his eyes.

"Okay, that was a pretty great gift," Cece relented.

It was such a good feeling to share the news with Dad and Pops, and to have my last name finally match my parents' last name. As we sat around their kitchen table laughing and reminiscing, I couldn't help but reflect on how far we'd all come.

Things hadn't always been easy, but it felt like things were finally falling into place for all of us. I knew that life wouldn't be perfect forever, but I also realized that even if something unexpected came our way, we'd meet it head on...and we'd do it together.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter |

This was the last story post for Safe Harbor! I will be starting a new story soon following Johnny in the future with Paul and their kids. Thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me. I really appreciate everyone who has read this story, and I hope you enjoy This Must Be the Place just as much!

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

oh if it helps, the take on Relativity Falls that you like has been called Inverse Relativity or Inverted Relativity by some fandom folks before who also thought that the twins would fit better differently. there was never much of it sadly, but i figure putting the name out there could maybe help with inspiration or finding more posts ^^

I know there's a few takes that have the twins switch in similar ways, my main issue was i felt that Bill and the portal didn't really fit the mystery twins as the grand reveal like it did with the Pines twins classic. Even in ones where Bill's replaced by someone else, the portal was still the focal point, and it just didn't seem to fit for me. Same with the journals, as if Mabel made them i don't think they'd be any kind of research journal or work the same way.

Thats why i liked the idea of Jeff and a fake romance plot. Mabel's a huge romantic in canon, but all her relationships fail for one reason or another (and still do lol). So Jeff, a literal (fake) fairy tale prince coming to sweep her off her feet feels just like the kind of thing she'd fall for. Dippers too paranoid to con long term for something like a portal, and Ford wouldn't really be interested in a journal encrusted with glitter that reads like a teen girls diary.

This is my own opinion of course, as everyone interprets characters differently. I also thought the sci fi magic swap would be very fun, as in the show they deal with a lot of magic shenanigans (gnomes, mermaids, fairy's, manotaurs, etc) then get hit with the portal and aliens and dimensions and such later on. So here Stan and Ford would be dealing with more sci fi threats (shapeshifters, aliens, inter dimensional refugees, etc) then get hit with the magic later.