#it's the self-recognition through the other

[aquaticmercy]

Blood Bar

Part 4 of Dark Necessities

Series Summary : You drink Bucky’s blood out of necessity and accidentally form a primal bond that has the ability to unlock an ancient ritual magic.

Chapter Summary : Blade takes you and Bucky to a Vampire Bar

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Blood. Death. Cursing. Violence. Pleasure from a vampire bite (?). The reader is a dhampir/half-vampire/daywalker like Blade, and Blade is a mentor figure in this. Established relationship.

Word Count : 3.3k

Note : This series has so much potential world building and I am sooooo excited to share it with you guys! Let me know if you wanna be on the taglist. The name Dead Club City is taken from the Nothing but Thieves album. Enjoy!

Before you entered Dead Club City, Eric had grabbed your shoulder in hushed tones, his voice dripping with warning. “Keep the bond a secret. If anyone suspects—” He stopped, glancing at Bucky before locking eyes with you. “Just… keep it hidden.”

As you walked into Dead Club City, you felt the strange, cold familiarity of the place settle—a memory surfacing from a night long past. It had been decades ago, and you’d been a reckless teenage daywalker, newly turned and testing boundaries you didn’t yet understand. You’d come crashing into this very bar, pushing limits in ways only the young and foolish dared. The memory flickered through your mind: your younger self brashly demanding what no one here allowed themselves anymore.

The bar sprawled in shades of scarlet and purple, lit by dim sconces and vintage lamps. The velvet-lined walls that absorbed the soft music humming in the background. The air was tinged with the metallic scent of old blood and the faintest hint of incense. There was a haunting glow over the place, and high on the back wall, a neon sign pulsed in crimson letters: ALL THE HEAVEN, ALL THE TIME — perhaps a sardonic promise, perhaps a cruel joke.

Everyone here was teetering on the edge between indulgence and restraint.

Vampires filled the room, but they were unlike the ones you usually hunted— these vampires had an almost serene existence, a kind of peace that came from surviving many lifetimes, finding a truce with the living world.

These vampires have sworn off human blood, choosing to feed on animal blood instead. 

Some lounged in booths, others spoke in hushed voices over candlelit tables. When you and Bucky walked in, though, the conversation softened, a few heads turning as eyes tracked you both with subtle curiosity. Whispers drifted around you, brushing against your heightened senses like moths against a flame.

As you approached the bar, the bartender, a woman with sharp, dark eyes and a cascade of silvery hair tied in a braid, looked you over with an expression you couldn’t quite recognise. There was something ageless in her stare, a weariness, but the years had been tamed it to appear kind.

When her gaze settled on Eric, her expression shifted to recognition. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Eric,” she said, her voice smooth and smoky. “I didn’t expect to see you here again. Thought you’d switched to the synthetic stuff decades ago.”

Eric inclined his head slightly. “Liona,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his voice. “Good to see you still run this place. It hasn’t changed much.”

“A blood bar this old doesn’t need to change,” she replied, chuckling softly.

“And you,” her eyes flickered to you, “Some nerve, coming back here,” she said, an amused edge to her voice. “The last time you walked in, you were practically a bloodthirsty child, causing trouble and trying to get your hands on human blood where there wasn’t any. Made quite a scene.”

Back then, you could feel their judgement in the air, the way they called you insane for seeking human blood in a place of sobriety. 

Human blood was strictly forbidden here, the way alcohol might be in a sober house—a choice made by each vampire, a discipline kept in this sanctuary.

“Guess you’ve changed since then,” Liona added, her gaze assessing, as if trying to gauge just how much you’d really grown since that reckless time. “You were violent. Wanted to prove you didn’t need limits.” She chuckled, shaking her head. 

Heat crept into your cheeks, an unspoken apology in your eyes. Her eyes finally settled on Bucky, “New friend?”

Eric nodded.

Liona poured a drink, a dark, crimson liquid that looked like blood but smelled faintly of… cranberry juice. She set it down in front of him. “For you—a mocktail,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Some vampires bring their human partners here. Figured you might be one of them.”

Bucky gave a brief nod. His hand brushed yours as he reached for the drink, and Liona’s eyes tracked the movement, her brow creasing ever so slightly. When she turned to you, she placed a drink in front of you—an ornate glass filled with rich, dark blood— a mix of cow and camel. The bartender leaned on the bar, her gaze lingering with a faint smirk as she watched you bring the glass to your lips.

You took a sip, but the taste that once filled you with strength now felt wrong. Flat. Your stomach tightened, your senses rejecting it almost instinctively. You only wanted Bucky’s blood now; anything else was empty, hollow. 

The bartender chuckled quietly, catching the way you recoiled, her eyes glinting with understanding. “So you are still drinking human blood, then.”

You froze, wondering how much Liona had truly seen to have possibly come to a correct conclusion from just looking at how you reacted. 

Still, she did not know the severity of the human blood you drank.

Eric leaned in, his voice low. “Liona’s older than most in this room,” he murmured to you. “She was around for the last recorded Blood Bond in the 1600s.”

Liona straightened, her gaze sharpening. “Blood Bond, huh?” she asked, her voice suddenly a pitch higher. “Why does that interest you?”

Just then, Eric turned to Bucky, reaching across the bar. He held Bucky’s gaze as he took a small toothpick from a dish. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pricked Bucky’s human arm. The bead of blood welled, dark against his human skin—and instantly, you felt a sharp, sudden pain in your own arm.

A gasp escaped you, and you clutched your arm instinctively, feeling the ache like it was your own. Liona’s eyes went wide as she processed what your reaction meant, her vision darting between you and Bucky. Her lips parted, the hing of sadness in her expression. “A true Blood Bond,” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone. “It’s been centuries since I’ve seen this…”

The room seemed to quiet around her memories, her voice carrying an almost ancient longing, as if she were recalling something from a different lifetime.

Liona let out a long, resigned sigh. When she looked back at you, her features softened with… pity?

“Come with me,” she said, her tone gentler, as if she understood all too well the path you’d found yourself on. She gestured toward a door tucked into the shadows behind the bar. As you followed her, the room seemed to press in around you, quiet with expectation. 

And with one last look at the glowing neon sign—ALL THE HEAVEN, ALL THE TIME—you stepped through the back door, the familiar hum of whispers fading as you crossed into the unknown. 

—

Liona led you and Bucky down a narrow, dim hallway that seemed to fold in on itself, the shadows lengthening and wrapping around you. Each step you took felt muffled, as though sound itself had been dampened in these hidden corridors. Bucky walked beside you, close enough that you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin, the way his hand would occasionally brush against yours, grounding you both in a place that felt almost haunted.

You entered her room. It was a small, sparse space, walls bare except for the few paintings and photographs hanging like relics. The air felt dense with the weight of things left unsaid, as though every inch of the place was steeped in memories that were too painful to release. Bucky shifted beside you, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the room, his shoulders stiffening with a tension that mirrored your own. He reached out, almost unconsciously, his fingers grazing your hand before he seemed to catch himself, pulling back slightly, but not before the touch anchored you both.

Liona’s voice was almost a whisper as she gestured to the oldest painting on the wall. A past version of herself stood in front of a wooden cottage, a small plaque beneath reading, 17th Century. You felt Bucky’s hand slide into yours, his grip tightening as he took in the figures in the painting: Liona, a woman who looked identical to the bartender, save for the black streak in her hair, and a third woman— human— leaning into Liona’s doppelganger’s arm.

“That’s my twin, Joanna,” Liona murmured, as if sensing your curiosity. “And the one beside her… that was Celine. Joanna’s love.” Her words were fragile, as if saying the name might tear something already broken inside of her.

You felt Bucky’s grip tighten. His posture tensed, his stare unwavering on the painting.

“They were more than lovers,” Liona said, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the image of her twin, as if she could reach through the centuries through the painting. 

“Celine was everything to Joanna… and she meant a lot to me, too. Celine kept us safe, shielded us when we were weak. Brought us animal blood from the butchers when we couldn’t hunt ourselves.” Her voice cracked. Liona looked down, her hand dropping to her side. “What Joanna and I had was a bond of birth. But with Celine… it was something different, something ancient.” She looked over at you and Bucky, her eyes heavy with warning. “A blood bond, much like yours..”

You felt a cold shiver sink into your bones, bracing yourself for whatever came out of Liona’s mouth next. The hand Bucky had on yours grew tenser, his fingers pressing into your skin as though he needed the reminder of your presence. As if he needed so desperately to feel you. He swallowed, already imagining the worst.

Liona’s voice grew hollow as she continued, each word carefully measured, as if dredging up memories from a wound still raw, even though it had been over 300 years. 

“The night it happened, when we shared Celine’s blood… It was desperation, not intent. We were starving, and Celine offered herself to keep us alive.” She closed her eyes, pain etched into every line of her ancient face. “I drank, and all I felt was gratitude. But when Joanna drank…” She drew a shaky breath. “Something awoke, something none of us could understand. The bond was formed.”

You thought back to that night when you first drank from Bucky, the night that bound you to him in ways you hadn’t fully understood. The memory was vivid—the rush of his blood filling you, flooding your senses with a euphoria that drowned out everything but the feel of him. It had been bliss for the both of you, pure and consuming. It was a pleasure so intense it left you dizzy for days, caught between the high it gave you.

For a moment, you wondered if that was what Joanna and Celine had felt, too—a bond so powerful it eclipsed everything else, a love that filled the world until nothing else mattered.

Bucky’s star was fixed on Liona with an intensity that bordered on dread. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, almost unconsciously. 

“Joanna and Celine felt everything together,” Liona continued, her voice slipping into a hollow, distant tone. “Every joy, every pain, every touch. It was beautiful… until it wasn’t.”

This time Bucky’s grip turned into iron.

“One day… we woke to Celine’s pain. She’d been taken by the town, accused of witchcraft, of something unnatural… She wasn’t even a witch.” Her hands shook, her shoulders tense as though bracing against the memory. “We wanted to save her but the sun was out. We were not as lucky as you, Daywalkers,” Liona glanced at you and Eric, a hint of jealousy in her voice, perhaps a craving to feel heat in her skin once again. 

She continued, “Joanna felt it all. She felt the flames eating through Celine's skin, heard her screams as if they were her own.” Her voice broke, and her fists clenched. “Celine’s agony… it tore her apart.”

The horror of it sank into you like a stone, your stomach twisting at the thought of such a pain shared across their bond. Bucky’s hand left yours for a brief moment, and you felt exposed, vulnerable. Then you felt his arm slip around your waist, pulling you close, his body tense as though shielding you from something you could not see, as if he could hold back the terror in Liona’s words from reaching your heart.

“When Celine’s heart stopped, Joanna… felt every second of it.” Liona’s words were low, guttural, raw. “It was the grief, the rage that consumed her— It hollowed her out until she was nothing but vengeance. She tore through the village that night, killing anything in her path. She was lost to the bond, to a hunger that had turned her… monstrous.”

Besides you, Bucky’s breath hitched, and you felt his heart pounding. You felt panic through the bond, knowing in his head lay the same question that echoed in yours—could this happen to us?

Liona’s hand drifted to her side, lifted her shirt ever so slightly, tracing a faint scar on her hip with a haunted gaze. “I was the one who had to stop her,” she said, her voice a mixture of regret and resignation. “My sister was ready to kill me. She could not tell friend from foe. I had no choice… I drove a stake into her heart.” Her voice softened, barely audible. “I ended her suffering.”

A suffocating silence settled over the room. You could barely breathe, Bucky’s fingers digging into your arm, his grip painfully tight as he processed the memory. You could feel the worry clouding his mind, and in that moment, your bond felt as fragile as glass.

Finally, Liona looked at you both, her gaze distant, filled with a sorrow that spanned centuries. “This bond,” she whispered, “it is beautiful, but it is dangerous. It can consume you, burn through every part of you until there’s nothing left.” She held your gaze, a glimmer of sadness hidden in the depths of her eyes. “Be careful with what you’ve awakened.”

Her words lingered, settling into the silence like ashes. He reached for your hand again, intertwining his fingers with yours, the pressure grounding both of you. Neither of you spoke, but in that shared silence, there was a mutual understanding, an unspoken promise.

Liona’s gaze softened as she looked at your joined hands, something wistful in her eyes. She stepped over to an old cabinet by the bed and pulled out a worn leather-bound journal, its edges frayed, the cover etched with symbols faded by age and touch. She held it for a long moment, brushing her fingers over the faded leather with the tenderness of someone touching a memory.

“This was Joanna’s,” she said finally, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s all that remains of her. I’ve read it only once; I couldn’t bear it again. But maybe… maybe you would understand, better than I can explain.” She extended the journal toward you, a cautious invitation to the memories contained within— the only thing she had left of the sister she shared a womb with.

You glanced at Bucky, He didn’t need to say anything; the bond was already tethering you in ways words couldn’t.

You took the journal, feeling its weight in your hands, the smell of old leather and ink mixing with the soft, lingering scent of blood that clung to everything in this room. Liona watched you with a cautious sorrow, as if passing on a piece of her sister’s broken spirit. 

You realised, Liona had loved Celine, too, deeply but differently—a platonic love free of the bond’s consuming rage. And in her eyes, you saw the unhealed wound of it, the pain of watching someone she loved unravel, bound to a fate Liona could neither share nor break.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice shaking slightly. 

The words felt hollow for all that Liona had endured, but there was nothing else you could possibly offer her. 

Bucky squeezed your hand, and you could feel his unspoken promise there, one that felt almost desperate: I won’t lose myself to this. I won’t lose you to this. 

You weren’t sure if either of you truly believed it. You weren't sure if either of you had the choice.

You looked over at Eric, a hollow ache settling in your chest. Guilt stirred within you— how you kept this from him, how it took you so long to open up to a man you thought of as your brother. You hadn’t meant to bring Eric into this, not into something that could spiral so dangerously out of control.

And yet, here you all were, bound by decisions none of you could take back.

Eric seemed to understand the look in your eyes, letting go of usually guarded stance. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into a rare, rough embrace.

You let Bucky go, only for a moment, as Eric’s arms wrapped around you in a gesture that spoke louder than anything he could say, reminding you that neither you nor Bucky were alone in this.

When Eric finally pulled back, you wondered if what he felt now was how Liona felt then— a sister, taken by this ancient bond. And he was helpless to stop any of it.

He wondered, if one day, Eric would have to run a stake through your heart, just as Liona did to Joanna, because he was the only one who could possibly stand a chance against your all-consuming rage.

Liona cleared her throat, her eyes tracing over you and Bucky with a mix of caution and pity. “Your blood is… rare, to put it lightly,” she said, her voice sombre. “People will hunt you for it. You’re already a daywalker—that alone makes your blood potent enough for sacrificial magic. But now…” She paused, her gaze sharp and sorrowful. “A blood-bonded daywalker? Your blood will be worth its weight in gold. They’ll come for you both.”

You nodded slowly, letting the gravity of her warning seep into your bones. This bond felt like it had already set forces in motion that you couldn’t control. 

With a final nod to Liona, you, Bucky, and Eric left her quarters, stepping back into the throbbing, shadowed depths of Dead Club City. 

As you made your way toward the exit, something caught your eye—a man standing near the edge of the bar, watching the journal Bucky now carried with unsettling focus. He wore a long, regal coat in deep purple, lined with gold accents, and a lavish feather boa draped around his shoulders. His presence was impossible to ignore. 

He didn’t approach, didn’t move at all, just followed your movement with a steady, unnerving calm that felt like he was measuring you, understanding things about you that even you didn’t yet know. 

You exchanged a glance with Bucky, feeling the tension shared between you. 

As you, Bucky, and Eric pushed through the doors of Dead Club City and into the night, you felt the weight of the stranger’s gaze still on you, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

 —

Back in your room, Bucky settled beside you, the soft rise and fall of your breathing calming him down. A soft strand of hair had fallen over your face, and he couldn’t resist brushing it aside, his fingers lingering just above your skin, as though even the slightest touch might wake you.

But it wouldn't– he knew it wouldn’t. He could feel that you were too tired to be aware of anything else, he could feel your heartbeat beating steady as if it was next to his own heart.

He carefully reached for the worn leather journal on the nightstand, his fingers grazing over the cover as if trying to absorb a piece of the memories locked inside. With a cautious exhale, he opened it, each page creaking gently as he flipped to the section where Joanna’s handwriting —a mixture of delicate loops and hurried scrawls— began.

Celine’s heart is steady tonight, a rhythm I know even in my dreams. I can feel her joy, her sorrow, all her memories as if they are mine. How strange and beautiful it is, to feel so complete. And yet, part of me wonders how much love one heart can bear before it burns.

-to be cotinued...

Taglist :  @mystictf @chimchoom @crdgn @a-crying-fandom-lover @otterlycanadian 

@sebastians-love @intelligenceofapineapple

[the-offside-rule]

Alexia Putellas (FCBarcelona) - Capí

Requested: no, literally just an idea

Prompt: Y/n makes her childhood dreams come true

Warnings: none

As a young girl, Y/n had only one dream; to play for FC Barcelona Femení. She admired many players, Jenni Hermoso being one of her all time favourites, but none came close to Alexia Putellas. She watched every match, memorized every highlight, and even taped up posters of Alexia on her bedroom walls. When she got accepted into La Masía at 12, she couldn’t believe her luck. It was her first step towards a dream that felt so far out of reach, and yet… every training session made it feel a little closer. Then came the day she met the Alexia Putellas.

Y/n fiddled with her Barcelona jacket, trying her best to remember any form of Spanish she had learned in the few months she was there, but with Alexia soon approaching, nothing sprang to mind. "Señora Putellas, es un honor." She stammered awkwardly, half-excited, half-intimidated, as she put out her hand for Alexia to shake.

"Señora? Estoy tan vieja?" Alexia chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she corrected her, Y/n's teammates and coaches chuckling at her overly polite manner. "Alexia." She smiled, shaking her hand. She said some other things, but she said them too quickly for her to understand. The one thing she did get? "Quieres un foto conmigo?" Y/n nodded as she looked over to the photographer who snapped a photo of Alexia with a couple of the kids, but closest to her was Y/n of course.

Years passed, and the language that once felt foreign became second nature. Y/n had grown not just in age but in skill, and she finally made the senior team; a dream come true.

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The locker room buzzed with nervous energy as Y/n laced up her trainers, her fingers trembling slightly. Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her excitement under control as she made her way to the gym where the others were. Just as she stepped in, the world seemed to pause. The other women turned to glance at her before turning back to get back to their conversations. As Y/n stood awkwardly at the door, she froze and there, walking towards her, was Alexia, her captain, her idol. Her heart raced, but she stood a little straighter, hoping to look every bit the player she had worked so hard to become. When Alexia reached her, she extended a hand, a warm smile on her face. "Y/n, verdad?"

Y/n’s mouth opened, and for a second, she struggled to find words. "Sí, sí. Soy Y/n." Her words felt thick on her tongue, as though her excitement might trip them up. Y/n could hardly believe it; Alexia Putellas shaking her hand like she’d never met her before. But that wasn’t right, was it?

"Es un placer conocerte. Soy Alexia." Alexia said, her voice smooth and familiar. It took Y/n a moment to remember how to speak, let alone in Spanish. "Y yo tambien, pedo no es la primera vez que nos conocemos." Y/n replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Alexia’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her curiosity piqued.

"En serio?" Alexia asked, crossing her arms in an easy, casual stance. "Cuándo nos conocimos?" Y/n felt her cheeks heat up as she reached for her phone. "Cuando era más joven, era parte de La Masía. Un día, tuve la suerte de verte y bueno, fue un momento inolvidable." Alexia chuckled, looking at her with newfound interest. "Tienes una foto?"

Y/n fumbled for her phone, scrolling quickly through her social media until she found what she was looking for; her very first post, a faded photograph of her younger self, gawking beside a young Alexia at La Masía. It had been her profile picture for years before she decided she had looked different and needed a change. She showed the screen to Alexia, who squinted at the photo for a second before her eyes widened in recognition.

"Dios mío!" Alexia exclaimed, laughing in delight, turning around to the videographers who were there to capture Y/n's first training session for Barca TV. "Mira cómo hemos cambiado. Eras solo una niña." Y/n grinned, barely containing her excitement. "Sí, y me dijiste que te llamara Alexia, no Señora Putellas." She teased. "Oh, sí, las dos éramos tan jóvenes." Alexia grinned. "Me llamaste Señora Putellas? En serio?"

Y/n nodded, grinning at the memory. "No sabía mucho español entonces, y ‘Señora’ era lo único que me parecía respetuoso." Alexia chuckled, clearly delighted by the memory. "Es una pena que no recuerde haberte conocido. Cuantos años tienes?" She glanced at Y/n, eyes twinkling with pride. "Tengo dieceseis años." Y/n replied. "No pensé que acabarías aquí tan pronto. Eras como Gavi,huh?" Y/n chuckled. Gavi had made his debut that year with the senior team too.

With a gesture, Alexia motioned toward the field. "Ven, vamos. Te toca demostrar lo que has aprendido desde entonces." Y/n followed, almost in a daze. But Alexia’s calm energy grounded her as they approached the other players in the warm-up circle. "Quieres ser mi compañera en los ejercicios?" Alexia asked, her tone almost as if she were giving her a challenge. "En serio?" Y/n’s eyes lit up. "Sería un honor."

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The atmosphere in the stadium was electric as Y/n prepared for her first Champions League game. The roar of the crowd sent a mix of excitement and nerves racing through her veins. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. Just then, Alexia approached her, noticing her unease. With a reassuring smile, she wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. "Relájate, es solo otro partido." She said, her voice warm and steady. Y/n nodded, though the tension still lingered.

As the team gathered in the dressing room, Y/n tried to stay to herself, putting on her headphones and immersing herself in music. She sipped on her cup of Yerba mate, a ritual she had picked up from her teammates, letting the calming warmth wash over her. She glanced around, hoping Alexia wouldn’t come to check on her, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts.

When it was time for warm-ups, Y/n spotted her parents near the dugout. She waved excitedly, their presence giving her an extra boost of confidence. As she joined the others on the field, the familiar rhythm of the game began to soothe her nerves.

The match kicked off, and Y/n watched intently, absorbing every moment. The game was intense, and the energy in the stadium was palpable. When the second half began, her heart raced as she heard her name called for a substitution.

As she stepped onto the pitch, adrenaline surged through her as the fans screamed and chanted her name. Within minutes, the ball found its way to her. She and Aitana passed it back and forth before Y/n began a fearless sprint up towards the net. Two defenders left to stop her, God knows they couldn't. Her foot launched back and with a determined strike, she sent it into the back of the net. The crowd erupted, and in that instant, she felt invincible. Without a second thought, she sprinted towards Alexia, who stood at the sideline, her eyes wide with pride.

Y/n reached her, exhilaration bubbling over. "Lo hice!" She exclaimed, the words tumbling out in excitement. Alexia pulled her into a tight embrace, a beaming smile on her face. "Lo hiciste! stoy tan orgullosa de ti, Chiquitita!" She replied, her joy infectious. In that moment, surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the warmth of her captain’s support, Y/n knew she had truly arrived.

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The sun was splitting the stones, Y/n was sick, and this training session was not helping whatsoever, but Y/n was determined to prove herself. She lunged into tackles, pressing hard and going after every ball as if it were the final seconds of a match. At this rate, she didn't know the line where her being good at defending and her being too aggravated about being sick, and so, the aggression became clearer through each tackle. As Vicky approached her with the ball, Y/n squared, ready to tackle only to be rushed past, leaving her to fall to the ground. She groaned into the pitch, unbelievably disappointed with herself. She barely noticed Alexia walking over until her captain placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Tranquila, Y/n." Alexia said softly. "Lo último que queremos es que una de las chicas se lesione." Y/n took a deep breath, Alexia’s words settling over her. She knew her captain was right; there was no need to overexert herself. "Vale, Capí. Lo siento." She nodded, adjusting her intensity and finding a better rhythm with the team

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It was the Clasico. Barcelona, of course, was winning by two goals, but Y/n was looking to make it three. As she was running up the pitch, she felt a surge of pain in her ankle, followed by a shove, causing her to stumble to the ground. She looked around, seeing Olga Carmona walking away and the referee handing her a yellow card. Although her ankle was absolutely killing her, frustration flared, and she jumped to her feet, ready to confront her. Just as she took a step forward, Alexia was there, stepping between them and placing a gentle hand on Y/n’s arm.

"No vale la pena, Y/n. Deja que el fútbol hable por ti." Alexia said, her voice calm but firm. "Capí, me hizo falta!" Y/n protested as Alexia pushed her back. "Eres luchadora de la UFC? Por qué buscas pelea? Métete en el área para el tiro libre, vamos." Y/n hesitated, feeling the fire simmer down as Alexia held her gaze. With a deep breath, she nodded, letting the moment pass. She walked away, grateful that her captain had stopped her from making a mistake.

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The stage lights were blinding, and Y/n felt the weight of the Women’s Ballon d’Or in her hands as she looked out over the crowd. Her heart raced with overwhelming gratitude and pride, but most of all, disbelief. She had dreamed of this moment countless times, but now that it was real, it felt like a dream all over again.

Taking a steadying breath, she leaned into the microphone. "Thank you, everyone. To my coaches, my teammates. Every one of you has been my strength, and without you, this moment wouldn’t have been possible." Y/n smiled. "To my mother and father who never left my side, I dedicate this to you. To the culers and to all the little girls around the world dreaming of holding this award, this is your award as much as mine, i gràcies pel teu suport."

Her gaze drifted to Alexia, standing near the front with the brightest smile, her eyes shining with pride. Y/n’s heart swelled, and she took another breath, her voice softening as she spoke directly to her inspiration.

"But there is one person who helped me develop as a player more than any coach, friend, or teammate has ever done, and I am pretty sure I wouldn't be up here without her guidance. Growing up, my dream was to be like Alexia Putellas. She was my hero, I based my style of play on her before I even developed my own, so in my football DNA, she is rooted so deeply into it."

"I remember on my first day of training with the senior team 3 years ago, she was the first one to actually say hello. She has pulled me out of fights both on and off the pitch. She has calmed me before big games. She truly is what you would envision a Captain to be." The crowd quieted, hanging onto every word as Y/n glanced at Alexia again, the emotion in her voice evident. "Standing on this stage, where my hero stood to accept her Ballon d’Ors, it’s the greatest honour I could ever imagine. And even if I never win another one of these, or if I never won one to begin with, I’d be happy because I got to play alongside my childhood idol. Visca el Barça!"

The crowd responded with a wave of applause, but all Y/n could see was the tear in Alexia’s eye, her smile even brighter. As Y/n left the podium, Alexia stepped forward, meeting her halfway and pulling her into a tight embrace. "Estoy tan orgullosa de ti." Alexia whispered, her voice filled with pride. "Gracias, Capí." Y/n replied, barely audible above the applause. "He recorrido un largo camino desde La Masía."

[mage-ical-character-person]

Yeah… they advertised too close to the sun on this WOTFI it didn’t live up to the promo material at all. But on its own merits it was fun.

Anyway Puzzles is like a combination of Three and Four’s worst traits and that’s a big part of why he’s so appealing to me.

I’ve rambled at length about the parallels but like. It’s Gotta Be Perfect. Four was already doing that before getting possessed. Mar10 day happened before he got possessed. He was only snapped out of it when SMG3 reminded him his friends would always be there for him. And guess what Puzzles doesn’t have?

Puzzles feels like bad ending SMG4 to me in that way. Puzzles on a normal day is equivalent to SMG4 at his absolute worst. That’s what makes him so narrative foils.

and I absolutely do think Four struggles with empathy. Or something along those lines. He gets too stuck in his own head and forgets that his actions affect the people around him. He loves his friends! He’s not great at taking their feelings into consideration and often needs things regarding others’ feelings pretty much spelled out for him. (Which is the root of like 70% of his conflicts with Three, who refuses to just be honest about his feelings until pushed to a breaking point. (See: almost any episode regarding Three’s Cafe, and the end of “Mario’s Spicy Day”))

My guy is oblivious. It was pretty obvious in Trash Friends that Three was not doing well at all and Four was pretty clueless. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, he absolutely does!

Just very little emotional intelligence on the meme man.

Stop that. Four no.

(There’s also “I put Mario in Danger for Views” and stuff. Puzzles is not the only one putting people through dangerous challenges for content. Four’s less extreme about it of course. But still. And “I put Mario in Danger for Views” isn’t the only example of Four doing this but it’s the most obvious)

Puzzles also cares about his “friend(s)” but has zero experience and no moral compass and very little ability to do an empathy so it ends up being unhealthy but like… he does in fact care. So much. It’s just in a VERY twisted sort of way. He’s never done this before, it’s all so new to him and he’s terrified of being alone again…

God. The way he hunches over the screen with Leggy on it. Possessively but almost, almost protectively. So close to cradling it in his self-mutilated hands…

Just… he… <3

And as for Three… SMG3 has Puzzles-redeeming potential because he’s just about the only one who can… meet Puzzles where he is, if that makes sense? As an ex-villain whose villainy was also motivated by a desire for attention/recognition Three can understand what Puzzles is going through and he IS a licensed therapist. He’s very good at it! He got Waluigi to stop causing the apocalypse and do petty theft and stuff instead in only 1 therapy. Puzzles is a more difficult case but I believe in Three!

sooo…

WOTFI

THEY DIDNT ADDRESS ANY OF THE PARALLELS AND THEN THEY

INSTITUTIONALIZED HIM

I’m so mad about this. I’m so mad. I’m so mad.

because okay. Okay remember this.

His super dramatic flinch here and there was that post going around like “I wonder what happened in Mr Puzzles’ childhood to make him flinch like that“

CHILD PUZZLES DOES THE SAME THING

EVERY TIME MEGGY/LEGGY APPROACHES HIM HE FLINCHES. HE COWERS. EVEN OUTSIDE OF THE POTENTIAL CONCLUSION HE WAS BEATEN, SOMEONE GENUINELY CARING ABOUT HIM IS SUCH A FOREIGN CONCEPT THAT HE ASSUMES THE ONLY REASON ANYONE WOULD GET CLOSE IS TO HARM HIM.

AND HE’S NOT EVEN WRONG?! THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS?

THEY INSTITUTIONALIZED HIM HE IS TIED TO A TABLE IN A PADDED ROOM. THEY APPEALED TO HIS HUMANITY AND FOUND THE GOOD IN HIM AND THEY USED IT AGAINST HIM.

YOU THINK THATLL HELP HIM? TARGETING THE MOST VULNERABLE PART OF HIMSELF AND GETTING HIM SENT TO AN ASYLUM?

AND IT SUCKS BECAUSE I WAS LEGITIMATELY ENJOYING THE EPISODE BEFORE THAT! I was having fun until that ending. That’s literally the one thing I didn’t like. The scene with Kid Puzzles was really well done. Everybody’s outfits were so cool. IGBP flesh blobs were there that was really cool

but then

I hate this. Genuinely worse than killing him off to me. It just feels wrong

[soupforsoup]

The parallellism of Adric and the fifth Doctors' last words being each others names

I am sick to my fucking stomach babes

[theoldkyokodied]

good evening bloodweave enjoyers

[valtsv]

i think my favourite version of doubling/mirroring is actually when one person is a possible future version of the other. and in turn that person is looking at them and seeing their past self. the beginning and the end points of the same road.

[kiashieart]

"It's okay. You can't always be the hero"

[lucabyte]

Almost, but not quite.

[vaguely-concerned]

okay. listen. a Concept. garashir roughhousing (gone (psycho)sexual) and at one point bashir wakes up from the high of finally getting to express all his repressed aggression in a safe space with someone who not only accepts that in him but can match him and is actively Into It, especially when he stops holding back some of his lil gmo twink strength, to be horrified like 'oh my GOD garak your nose is bleeding hang on I'll get a napkin or something I'm so sorry holy shit' and garak's lying there woozy with lust gazing up at him with wide betrayed eyes like 'no wait don't go you haven't even stabbed me yet :'('

(obviously this is mostly a shitpost, but I'm just saying I think they could provide a certain kind of space for each other that way. julian gets to have a place to live out all the rougher, less socially acceptable sides he usually has to downplay and push away to seem as non-threatening as (augmented) humanly possible with someone who loves him and who appreciates getting the entire spectrum of julian bashir, from the most obnoxiously annoying and needy to the unsettlingly coldly ruthless and back. and garak gets to have the shit beaten out of him in as medically safe and infinitely loving way as possible and/or finds he can still use his bloodied hands and take care of someone with them. this to me is the definition of what one might call a win/win situation. like don't get me wrong they would be having a lot of embarrassingly tender yearning gently-stroking-your-hair-and-holding-your-hand sex too. but. also this. which I think is also very tender, just in a different way. do you feel me.)

[hey-hey-j]

I feel like branch hates the fact he looks the most like JD because he worries he will be selfish like him to leave someone behind. Branch essentially sees JD as someone who didn’t care to think about him and he wishes he was more important to his brothers life for them to stay . HAHA i love brozone angst

NO BUT REALLY THAT'S THE THING, it drives me insane from a meta standpoint that Branch and JD are the most physically similar, especially since it's noted in the art book that JD was intentionally designed to be a more extreme version of Branch?? So in a way it's not that Branch takes after JD, JD TAKES AFTER BRANCH

but going back to the main point of the ask, the way I see it, Branch doesn't really realize how similar he is to JD because it's been so long since he last saw JD, so it doesn't really bother him (stubborn Mr. I-Am-Nothing-Like-You). But JD on the other hand, he sees how much like him Branch turned out and it's a punch straight to the throat. Not just the physical similarity, but the same anxiety? The same emotional repression?? The same ISOLATION?? Like, did I really screw up THAT badly that my baby brother turned out exactly like ME??

I am. So normal about these two can you tell. Can you tell :)

[chimerical-daydreams]

Love your It Never Happens au.

Question, in what order do they pick up the family members? Obviously Bonnie is first, and I'm guessing Siffrin is last? But what about the rest? Is it canon order(if there is one?) And how does king like they rest of the family?

Again, love the au. You don't have to answer this, but I would be honored if you did.

While I don't have anything concrete for now, I imagine the order would go something like:

Bonnie & Nille: live in the closest city to the coast where King washes up. King really leans on Nille for his problems, and would probably tell her anything. He helps offset Bonnie's constant enthusiasm, and acts as a grounding point for them.

Odile: Arrived by boat, so probably somewhere along the coast as well. King asks deeply respects her knowledge, and shares in her interest for Vaugarde's culture, but struggles getting past her emotional barrier.

Mirabelle: Dormont is pretty far inland, so it'll take a while for everyone to get there. King appreciates her more than he could express, so he settles for helping her out whenever possible.

Isabeau: Jouvente is the furthest town from the coat we know the location of. King gets a little flustered by his boisterousness, but form a kin of warrior's bond as the party tanks.

?. Siffrin: A wanderer. I actually imagine the group will have passed by them multiple times before he actually joins (because someone coughcoughLoopcoughcough keeps going away from him). King and Siffrin are very similar in many ways, but I feel like Siffrin would struggle with having someone who Sees Through Them, so he'd kind of avoid King a bit.

[comicaurora]

wonder why I love writing all my characters in a constant contest to see who can sacrifice themselves for their loved ones the hardest. anyway time for my biannual yugioh rewatch

[aingeal98]

Bruce and Cass both have autism that manifests itself in many of the same ways. Babs and Dick both have adhd but many of their symptoms manifest themselves differently. Does this make sense.

[cringefaecompilation]

hot take i don't think laudna is gonna be upset with orym when she finds out about the pact he made bc she's going to see the rest of bh (except for fearne probs) scream at him for selling himself into slavery just to gain the power he feels like he needs to help them and just listen silently like

"huh."

[radyo-kabaw]

SPARK

this is. about the dialogue between Bonifacio and Rizal, the impact that one had on the other, the way Rizal's novels could spark desire for freedom like a wildfire that will not be tamed. there's an element of 'I would have gone through life half asleep if I never met you,' to it. the linked tragedies, the characters from the novels themselves seem to echo forward onto Bonifacio and Rizal in their own way as well.

Rizal and the Revolution, Floro Quibuyen

The First Filipino, Leon Ma. Guerrero

Closet Queeries, J. Neil C. Garcia

additionally! the illustrated panel of Ibarra and Elias! it's a combination of a few things; them in Noli, but it's combining the character trajectory Ibarra/Simoun has gone on with El Filibusterismo (hence. the flames. dude said I came here to burn shit to the ground, and damn, it was a speech.) like. do you see the similarities between Bonifacio and Rizal in this because I cannot stop thinking about it.

Introduction to Ma. Soledad Lacson-Locsin's translation of Jose Rizal's El Filibusterismo

🍊 twitter 🍊 pixiv 🍊 bsky

[valtsv]

still don't ship them but i want shrue and VAL to team up to kill carson together like judith slaying holofernes