#one thing about me is i hate trauma for traumas sake. and this has such a high concentration of it. god it’s so bad

[deerdogs]

hello transcripts from bits of lukey's meta talk/qna from 7/5/25 (chat msgs he's reading will be formatted "like this" and books 'like this')

some of this is also ambiguously between in/out of character so interpret that as you will. i transcribed the bits I thought were relevant or important, not everything.

topics covered: tr!Lukey's risk taking traits/moral ambiguity, tr!Pili and tr!Lukey against keepers, keepers as a whole and criticism on their behavior/structure, tr!Lukey in a position of power/knowledge, the null and it's bounds briefly, tr!Lukey and vulnerability, memory lane, tr!Lukey's relation to his trauma, tr!Lukey's age and time in the null

I wanna- Something I want to do is.. play into the more.. aggressive risk taking traits that tr!Lukey has. And, what I mean by that is- It's- I mean it's already like, it's already been made known that... you know, I-I bend the rules a bit, to- do what I want, right? To get what I want. Think of the entire, like, cure, right? Like, I was not supposed to be doing that research, right? I came out on top, and I came out correct, and that was like.. good. And I suppose that's the only thing that made it okay. But, the concept of... using more unorthodox methods to get what you want. i.e., enabling Pili, right? Which is a bit more of like a, a dirty play from the keeper's perspectives. But. It's, uh. At least in my eyes I think it's a bit of like a power move, right. It's "justifiable only in retrospect", right? So like, am I the bad guy.. to enable Pili.. if it creates a better change, overall amongst the keepers? Maybe. Will that power get to my head? (laughs) maybe. Will there be consequences? Maybe! Or maybe I come out on top too. "He was unethically experimented on" that's true. That's also true, is like. "for the sake of the long gain rather than instant gratification-" Like- the keepers have done some terrible things. And- of course I hold that grudge. I'm pretty subtle about it, at least on the surface level. But I don't let that go. "Two wrongs don't make a right" well I'm also aware of that, which is why I don't wanna go on like a- I'm not going on a massacre to kill all keepers, because I don't believe in that. I don't believe in- Whereas like, Pili- Y'know, is for entertainment. I think.. there is an issue with the keepers and something needs to be changed, but I don't hate the keepers themselves for existing and having more power. Because I have respect that they're a civilization right? Like- Grankeeper doesn't need to die to my hands (laughs).

Wheras Pili is like, 'the keepers need to die because they're stronger than us and they fuck with us,' I'm like- something needs to change with the keepers, right? Will I get my hands dirty to make that change happen? Maybe for the first time yes. Because it's a combination of my own justification plus the grudge i'm holding for how I was treated, right? And it's like- maybe, one or two particular people in charge, need to be knocked down a peg. But obviously, the keepers are... strong persay, -er than the average player. And so my response to that would be. A more.. nuclear option. i.e. Pili. Does that logic track? Because I don't have much else in my arsenal.

"so its justifiable to take jurassic action" Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeah. If I have to, I will. Once again- it's an unorthodox method to get what I want, but it's not the first time i've- used unorthodox methods, to- get what I want. For good or bad, right? With the sculk. Um, I can't remember- What did the High Keeper- What did the High Keeper book say? Because they made a particular comment about me that really stuck.

'Glad to see you haven't changed, LUCAS. I should have known that rotten defiance when I saw it. Next time, keep your "diaries" safe, you learn so much from them, hahaha. I shall keep quiet. For now.' Now I would never defy anyone [holding hands up like CAUGHT and smiling] Unless. (laughs) Unless I really, really believed that what they were doing was [wrong]. But like- this implies, like- this is a grudge from the past, right? 'I should have known that rotten defiance when I saw it.' Like- They're like, 'Shit. I know this guy.'

But yeah, that's where I am with the keepers at the moment. And that's why I've got Pili. Pili isn't involved in the issue yet, but Pili I think is like- locked and loaded. Ready to go. Right? It's a- It's a card i'm holding. "Pili is just lying in wait rn" Yeah- But Pili's dangerous too. Right? Like I wouldn't be taking risks like this with Pili, unless I thought I had to, and- Maybe I feel like I have to. Desperate times call for desperate measures- Pili is a desperate measure.

"time to escalate" Well-... Cause I don't even know if the keeper's.. have the cure yet. Which I'm- Like I'm happy to like-I don't even have the cure yet. My days. That's so awkward. Pangi has it- the egg. But as far as the keeper's [are] aware I've got it. But I don't know what they're gonna do with it. And I don't know if you can cure the keepers, I don't know if they want to be cured, I don't know if they'd gatekeep that knowledge. Like- The keepers play dirty. And I think it's because they're scared. I don't think it's because they're evil. But- It doesn't matter why they're doing it, to me it's proven that they aren't.... they aren't- qualified? They aren't capable? They aren't- They aren't fit to make those calls? And use us, or like- use the outworlders as like- puppets? "Professional?" Not even professional, respectful. Like- Like, human decency. "the keepers would definitely continue to use their powers to keep themselves in power,, they have a god complex with the powers to match" That's it. Yeah- Once again, I don't think all keepers are bad. But some of them definitely are. The ones- The important ones are bad, right? "the high keepers" I don't even know if it's all the high keepers, I don't know if Alpha, is still around and in the question, like... It's- bizarre. "he went missing-" yeah that's the thing, he went missing, was not confirmed dead or alive. Which means it is very possible that he's alive still. But I don't know his current motives, or why he's choosing to remain in hiding. If his kingdoms falling apart that's.. kind of an issue. I don't like the fact that he's- fled from his problems. Unless there's something I don't know but I haven't had that conversation.

- - past here he specifies that now he is officially ooc and meta talk

I would like to see a climb of power. For- tr!Lukey. Dude- Okay, this is meta talk now, officially, like, out of character. You know like- Okay, this might be a weird comparison to make, you know like- Sans? You know how he's just like a- like a weird grey area? Where it's like, he doesn't often do loads, but it's like he always kinda just knows what's going on. And how he's like... He knows about the different save files that are going on. Or like the different- Realms or servers and this that and the other. Right? And like- He kinda just takes it upon himself to keep things in check. Right? That like- sure, good and bad will happen, but like nothing too crazy world ending will happen, right? Does that make sense? Like he's not- He's not a front liner, but like, knows more than he lets on. "if trlukey got offered the position of high keeper do you think he'd take it" Position of a high keeper? ....I don't know if I wouuuuld. It'd wanna be- No, not like the other keepers. It wouldn't be like the other keepers. "[i] could fix it" Yeah, but- all the high keepers are the same, as far as I'm aware. Excluding, like.. maybe the original 7. Yeah, I'd rather carve out my own position. Or just like- "He wants to be something "New", not someone in a position of being controlled." Yeah, that's it. Something new, not a position of being controlled. Exactly. But it'd be cool- Okay, another comparison now. You know how like- in minecraft story mode, I can't remember what chapter, or what like- season, but like, in one of them. They're walking through that big hallway, and it's got all the- This is how I visualize, like, the realm lore. This could be wrong, this could be canon, I have no idea. But like- You know in minecraft storymode, and they have that huge- hallway, corridor, with all of like, the nether portals that lead to other dimensions. They're not actually nether portals, they're like, portals to different like, worlds. It would be really cool to see something like that visualized. And then.. just- Once again, not be a front liner, but.. be aware of what's going on within all of that. And maybe just take it upon.. oneself to- keep shit in check. Right? Like personal affairs aren't my problem, but.

Like, I could still have.. maybe the ability or knowledge perhaps, without the direct affiliation with the keepers. Or just operate differently. "like, you want to be a watcher and just know general information about everything?" ...Think of Sans. Like, what's his job/role. He doesn't have a specific assigned one, or at least it's not clear. That's- And that's it, is it's unclear. Does he time travel? Eh, don't really know! Is he, like- immortal? Eh, it's a bit of like a grey area. Like he's just there, and then it's until there's a real problem- [...] that he like, steps up.

"do you think if we will ever see the kingdom of null ? what it was like back then ?" That would be cool, to see like.. parts of it, how it functioned- cause I imagine it still exists, to some extent. But also, the null as I see it, and especially after seeing like Ros' castle and stuff, it can also be used as a place to archive, right? It's like sanctuary, right? It's why the keepers went there when the corruption got really bad. And I- I mean, I can traverse to the null. Which no one else can do. "you just cant get out of memory lane tho" Well I've never really tried. Now that I think about it. But yes, that's true. I've never just- gone out and about in the null. But I've never tried. I mean the ticket is 'ticket to the null'.

"Why is it, that tr!lukey never really speaks of his past to other people (not even tr!pangi or tr!aimsey)" Uhm, there's a couple reasons. I think a primary one is I don't wanna burden people. With my own burden. Right. Like- although what happened's bad, because I see it so logically I just know that telling people wouldn't change what happened. Right? And like with everything else going on- But then, also secondly, there's an element of knowledge is.. power I suppose? And- Being seen as overly vulnerable? Unless like- Like I wouldn't tell unless I was provoked to, right? Like unless I had a reason to. Like Water really pushed, and I was like- 'Fine!' and I gave like, the first little hint of a detail, that something had gone on and like the memory was wiped, right? "truth is currency" Yeah,... "you cant reveal all your cards and not expect it to be exploited" Exactly. But also, like, since I've been here, my past has kind of made me a target, right? Like, the nature of me just appearing out of nowhere, my possible affiliation with the keepers. And- I kinda learnt the hard way (laughs) to play it close to my chest. "not even truth is currency but information is powerful and a big currency in the realm" Yeah! And like once I say something to someone, like I can't- You can't undo that. They know now. They-They are free to tell- Whoever they please. And I can't- stop that. "i mean you did say pangi and aimsey can read memory lain if they want to" There's also- Okay, and now for like the more meta answer too, there is an element of like.. Like I know Pangi isn't- by playstyles, right? Whereas Aimsey probably would, not everyone else would- just read through pages, and pages, and pages of books. Right? Like I don't wanna be like- here's a whole thing like you can read up on. "i mean you did say pangi and aimsey can read memory lain if they want to" Well he can! Like he has the option to. Like Pangi can. The thing is, is like- I've told him. I've told him he can read it whenever he wants, he just asks me and he can go. But he hasn't. Like I wouldn't stop that from happening, if he said "Lucas I wanna read memory lane," I'd be like "Yeah sure." Like I don't need to- hold his hand through it. He'd be welcome just to go. But like- everytime I've been there, I focus on.. everytime I've taken people there, I've focused on the points that I think are relevant, right? Like, my work and the progress I've made. And.. the cure, and the corruption, which is the threat- And I just don't see my own burden as part of the picture, as- as relevant. And maybe that's- comes from a place of.. insecurity about it? Or just, like... ""Hey man can i hop into your brain rq i wanna read through your trauma"" Yeah like- (laughs) the trauma- I wanna read the trauma series.

"I wonder in memory lane might get longer, the time spent in the test tube was alot longer than the life before." That's true, yeah. "Does tr!lukey remember much of the time in the test tube?" Time spent in the test tube? Well- I mean, If you think about your week, IRL, right. And how much you've done. If you've spent all week in your room, in the same place doing the same thing, you'll find it's- far harder to remember the things that happened within that time, than if you were... on a road trip for example, or on holiday going to different places, on different days. So like- I suppose after a while, that time just blends into itself. There were- breakout attempts. (laughs) Probably- Probably back- at the time, the most exciting part of my day. But- yeah I remember, like I have all those memories, but I just- don't bring it up. I don't like being vulnerable with people. "okay but like... how funny it would be to be like "heres all this important stuff blah blah oh yeah I got tortured for millions of years in a test tube but thats not important, ANYWAYS! this othe thing..."" Well that's kind of what I did. That's kind of what I did! Was like- Like I actively led Aimsey and Pangi like, past all of the scenes, where I was trapped, and encased, and the whole kingdom as I knew it burned down. And I- I did! Like that's not even a bit, I breezed past that because I didn't see that as valuable to my friends at the time. It was just.. I just focused on my achievements, I suppose. "also the insanely prolonged solitary isolation and torture just. cannot be good for your memory or your ability to be vulnerable socially" Well that's it. I don't really trust.. a lot of people. And no one entirely. I think the one person I could probably trust.. with everything would be Newt. Right? Like- I don't think- No outworlder I could completely trust. And for the first time that's been tested, cause this whole- this whole memory sitch. "you focus on the good parts in your life so everyone thinks youre ok when most likely youre not" Well.. yeah! Like Newt has been there since the beginning. He understands- Like I don't need to tell Newt what happened he was- he was there. Like- when no one else was.

"come to think of it tr!pangi has a crazy age gap with both his major situationships" Yeah, the age- from a meta answer, my 'age' has.. it's a blurry answer? I suppose that does make me x amount of years old, but also.. my intention when logging on wasn't to- y'know, inact this... 3 billion year old guy. But also think of Sans, man. how old's he. "mental age is different though" It always has been (laughs) "could there be a point in the near future where we see tr!lukey having a bit of a breakdown due to all the trauma he's endured?" Perhaps, If provoked. Yeah. But- That depends on what.. "the null’s time doesn’t move so you kinda stayed stagnant so did you really age in there? or stay still?" Well, yeah- I wasn't affected by the null time. Right? Whereas everyone else, all the outworlders when they went to the null, they were like 'Oh my god, so-and-so million years have passed." But when I was reset for the first time, for whatever reason, I- came out pretty unaffected. [...] But yeah, having a breakdown, I've nev- It depends, it depends what would provoke it. [...] "the panic room" Dude. The lab's my panic room. [...] "speaking of, what are your thoughts in and out of character on “the safe space not being safe”" [he never got to answering this sadly.. started but got distracted...... sigh....]

end transcript.

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[impossibleheartflower]

I didn't get drunk for him, I got drunk for me <3

[whimsicalsesquipedalian]

Some thoughts on Andor, and that final shot everyone hates so much.

I don’t. I’ve been sitting with this show for a while now. This whole season I’ve been waiting to hate Bix’s arc with the same fervour that some of the more vocal fans do. I’ve been waiting to feel the injustice done to a “strong female character” (a phrase I fucking hate by the way, but that’s an argument for another time). I’ve seen the arguments that she should have stayed with the rebellion, that she was a fighter sidelined for the sake of a man, that she was reduced to a baby-factory straight out of right wing propaganda (Jesus Christ). And I disagree with every fucking one of them. 

For me, in season two, Bix is the heart of the show. She is the ethos, the drive, the reason that rebellion matters. Bix becomes, in a way, the most important character Andor has to offer us.

Andor has always been very clear in its ideology. Blatantly so. And one of the ideals it strives to impart to its audience is that we are not meant to live in fear. We are not meant to live under oppression. We are not meant to live looking down. For Andor the heart, the drive, the reason behind rebellion is to create a future where we are free. And where love, and peace, and community, and kindness, and hope are our foundations and are the only matter of our lives. 

Andor doesn’t want its characters to be fighters. They are forced to be. Andor doesn’t want its characters to live hiding and scared and clawing for any glimpse of peace and love and hope they can get. They have no other choice. Rebellion is important. It is so so fucking important. But it is only important because of what it fights for. 

Bix is not a fighter. In Andor’s first season she is a mechanic selling to Luthen on the side for extra money. She is not struggling against the empire. She is not joining a rebellion. She is getting the fuck by and living her fucking life. And one day her connection to Cassian puts her under the empire’s gaze and she is invasively tortured and horrifically traumatised because of it. And she endures. 

Bix is, also, an incredibly important character to me personally. There can often be a narrative surrounding trauma that it should make you the fighter everyone seems to think Bix should be. That you should take your pain and terror and suffering and turn it around and let it make you stronger. Use it to beat back against the person, or group, or institution that traumatised you. That you should pick yourself up, dust yourself off, take that horror, and fight back (girlboss-ify yourself and take those motherfuckers down). And to that I say, no. I don’t want that. I’ve done my fighting. I’ve lost my battles and I’ve come out the other side scarred in ways that still hurt to touch. What I want is to stop. Is to rest. Is to put this pain down and move out the other side of it and live, finally. 

For me, watching Bix as an horrifically traumatised woman live stuck in that fight for the first half of the second season was harrowing. To see her spend her time in the Coruscant safehouse grappling with the true cost of what it means to fight the way she needs to in this war, never at peace as the life she lives and the things she must do force her to stay held in her trauma, had me aching in ways I didn’t realise I would. To see her stuck in the dark and the gloom and the cold, and yearning the whole time she is in Coruscant to be able to go out and live without having to look over her shoulder, hurt in ways I struggle to put words to.

And then, to see her get out. 

I know there is a lot of contention about seeing Bix have little to do on Yavin. And to that I will say, it’s a big show, there are a lot of characters, and she is on Yavin during a storyline that arguably should not narratively or structurally be focusing on her anyway. I know there is also a lot of contention about writing her leaving Cassian for the sake of the rebellion. That it diminishes her character to a plot beat. And while perhaps the tropes at play feel trite in comparison to the more grounded beats the show is known for hitting, this is still storytelling. All the characters are, functionally, still devices serving a narrative. Bix leaves, and narratively becomes our ethos. Becomes the heart of this story. Becomes the reason we have been watching this all play out for our two-season run. Bix becomes the most important character in the show. Because this is why we must fight. For Bix. For everything she represents in that moment. She becomes the way Cassian’s life should be if it weren’t for this war, and in doing so becomes the way all of their lives should be. Should have always been. And will be one day soon. 

She is the reason. For all of it. For every loss, for every death, for every fight. It is her. She is the hope at the heart of the rebellion.

That last scene on Mina-Rau; the gentle light, Bee playing, the table set for a community to eat and laugh and be. People smiling and content and together and peaceful. And Bix, free. Of the trauma, of the loss, of the death, of the fight. Looking up at the open sky with her child. Literally holding in her arms the life that the rebellion has always been fighting for. 

That is the hope at the end of our story -- that Bix is the one that gets to live. 

And you can pry that fucking ending from my cold dead hands.

[fagsystem]

I did Other/Results because I am not 100% sure how retcon is defined. If I'm misunderstanding I am so sorry.

But I say Jason Todd, and the retconning to his personality when his death was retconned

I am not as well versed in the comics as I could be so I'm sorry if I'm missing something. But my understanding is that while his Robin run was short there were still a few pillar character traits established.

Yes, he was willing to murder people who he thought deserved it. He was also a bit unstable/moody, especially towards the end, due to having childhood trauma

But he was also a bright kid. Both in the sense of being smart and dedicated to school, but also being optimistic. 'Robin gives me magic'. He wasn't that way out of naivety. He had seen and experienced terrible things. He just knew he could make the world a better place and was smart enough that he could absolutely have figured out how to as he got older.

I know about the trope of coming back wrong. I know it would have been a severely traumatic experience and that would change him. I know it wasn't completely baseless.

But I feel as though he's honestly quite unrecognisable from who he was as Robin.

While he had a tendency of violence towards certain criminals and considered killing them just, he was also incredibly affected by casualties. People can be framed. He can misunderstand a situation. He could mistake someone innocent for someone worthy of death.

He just seems to not have nearly enough regard for making sure he's not accidentally killing someone innocent. But also he has killed people for far less than accidentally killing someone innocent. He seems too smart to not recognise he's not infallible.

It also never ever sat right with me him attacking Tim at Titans Tower. Like I get he was angry after his death. But like his dad didn't seem to care that he was killed, at least not in his perspective. He didn't avenge him. He replaced him as though it didn't matter that he was going to lead another kid to an early death. And yes, he didn't consider Tim an adequate replacement.

I felt as though it was weird that he decided he'd kill Robin himself. Like I always felt as though he wouldn't blame a sheltered rich kid for being brought into something he didn't feel as though he understood. But even if he did like I always felt like it would make more sense for Jason to not even be able to stomach the thought of it, because killing Robin meant he was like his murderer. It would make him like the Joker. It would make him a monster.

And I just feel like he's too smart to be trying to make the world a better place by becoming a crime lord. And too good at heart with too much of a traumatic history caused by people close to him struggling with addiction to be doing it for any other reason

I need to sleep

I hope I didn't misdefine retcon

Which Batfamily character has been done the worst by retcons?

[haztory]

where you are.

— continuation to bias. (yes, i am making a series. yes, i am making us work for it) — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, angst, mention of patient death, gore, medical descriptions, descriptions of c-sections and premature birth, medical inaccuracies, jack and city girl being a formidable unit together in the ER then a LONG stint of pining, yearning, and embracing of domesticity, these two taking care of each other without realizing, please heed the warnings there are descriptions of invasive and traumatic birth — word count: 4.5k — summary: The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you.

masterlist

The night had been going fine up until this point. Maybe it was that faulty line of thinking that led to this. The sudden implosion, the shatter of the steady. 

Jack isn’t one to brag much about himself. There’s no grand honor in being a doctor. Private practice, sure. Maybe. In the ED, it's shit work in shit situations where actual shit may or may not be involved. He’ll tell that to anyone who asks. When the inevitable question comes—are you any good at it?—he’ll shrug and tell them, depends on the day. 

He’s seen enough, done enough, worked with little more than two plastic straws and a boning knife to do a crike in the middle of a firefight in Afghanistan. He knows his way around the block, and can do more than the average ED can—that he will admit. But it's still a shit job sometimes. 

He hates all of the tragedy that rolls through the doors. They all eat away at the sinews of the mortal coil, but pregnant traumas? They get to him. It’s unsteady ground, the one type of call that he’s always shown a physical reticence to handling. 

There’s too much variability, too many unsuspecting errors, too much divided attention in the multidisciplinary approaches where focus has to be split for the sake of mom and baby. Crack open a body and you’re in for a world of hurt. Throw pregnancy into the mix, and now you’re one step away from God’s door asking what kind of games he’s playing. 

Aching despair is wedged in each part of an obstetric trauma that makes someone as battle tested and weathered as Dr. Jack Abbot sweat and cringe with a grief too profound for words. 

They wheel the young woman into Trauma One and the adrenaline surges through him like a needle straight to veins. His eyes, cold and hurried, press into Lisa. A terse instruction is barked out, your name in his lips.

“Get her in here now.”

Lisa is quick on her feet, stepping out of the OR to find you just as he cuts open the young girl’s shirt. In his survey of her body—the distended stomach dark with bruising from her injuries, blood staining every part of her body, most notably her inner thighs—his eyes find her face, shining a light in her eyes. 

The pupils remain unilaterally fixed in their dilation, non reactive. And it’s then that he notices how much of a child she looks. 

The sudden slam of the trauma doors welcomes you into the room, a rush in your step as you tie the surgical gown behind your back. A readied focus on your eye. The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you. 

“Tell me.”

A resident presents with speedy construction as Jack oversees the tracheostomy. Young female ejected from an MVC, tachycardic, extensive blood loss and apparent extreme cardiovascular collapse and hypoxia. Non reactive pupils indicating neurological nerve damage. EMTs conducted an ultrasound to confirm pregnancy and baby’s length at 30 weeks. Dr. Hudson, the OB-GYN specialist, is on the phone, her own hands wrapped up in an emergency delivery upstairs, asking for details just as they’re presenting them to you. But there’s value in having you in the room—you’ve told Abbot enough about your New York residency. He knows just how much knowledge you have in obstetrics for this. 

The decision is made by you without further delay. Sure and serious. 

“We’re getting this baby out, now.” Your suggestion meets no rebuttal from Dr. Hudson over the line.

“CT has been ordered, we’re next in line.” Dr. Basu, the attending surgeon, speaks from the side of the bed.

“For it to confirm what we already know and waste more time?” You explain, not meanly. Just direct, intense. “We’ve got vaginal bleeding, likely dealing with placental abruption and the longer we wait, the longer the baby is not getting oxygen. We get this baby out now or we lose both of them.”

Dr. Hudson’s voice rings on the other end of the line, “I agree. Keep me updated.”

Abbot’s a good soldier, takes direction without problem. He’s heard your directive loud and clear, the specialist’s agreement is just icing on the cake. 

“You heard them. Let's move.”

You fall beside him in perfect time, meeting his movements quickly as skin is cut, hands move, and a baby—small, pink, and too pure for how he’s born—is introduced to the world. 

The baby is passed to a resident for care, a separate team filling up the connecting OR to secure baby boy before getting him up to NICU. Your attention remains fixed on attempting to stabilize mom, or at least getting her stable enough to be put on life support so that her family can see her and make the call. Jack is by your side, equally intent as you. Grounds his feet to the floor, keeps himself firm as you speak directions to one another, pass steady compliments at performance, grit out expletives of frustration.

Intent to share in the dread of this one. 

It’s not going well. The injuries are so severe, compounding on each other that right when you think you get something halfway resolved, another crash of vitals sounds through incessant beeping. 

He says your name softly, an hour and fifteen minutes into the procedure, after her pulse is lost for the third time and three units of O-Pos have been pumped through her. A gentle echo in the orchestra of chaotic beeps. You look at him, blood staining your forearms, sweat beading on both of your foreheads, the dismay creasing on your face mirrored on his own. 

“Anything else you want to try?” He asks. It’s not a test of knowledge, a sudden pop-quiz from your attending, but true deference. 

You hardly imagine he’s had to do many emergency c-sections on the floor, much less when he was on the field, but seeing the monolith of a man equally lost like you is hard hitting. You shake your head, tired.

“Call it.” He gently issues.

“Time of death, 3:07.” The words heave out of your mouth in a shuddered breath. It’s through shot nerves and sheer adrenaline that your hands shakily pull the bloodied gloves off of them. You toss them to the floor in defeat as the respiratory therapist stops her manually pumping of the bag valve mask and Lisa shuts off the monitors. 

It’s the same punch to the gut every time the words are uttered. You still struggle to get used to it.

“Thank you all for your work on this one.” Jack says to everyone in the room. The team seems to deflate at his words, solemnity a gaseous cloud that poisons the crowd. 

“Let’s take a moment and honor her and the life that was here.”

It’s a tense and desolate moment of silence. They always are. It’s broken by the sound of the sneakers in the hallway and the opening of the operating doors. 

“Dr. Abbot—” Bridget’s whisper stirs the room, “Your patient in two is vomiting.”

That’s all that can be afforded. The room breaks, everyone filtering out as the world continues to revolve beyond this room. As everyone makes out for the doors, he notices you stay. Staring. Reviewing. 

Going through it all over, and over, and over again. 

“We did everything we could.” He calls to you, ritualistically. Because it’s the right thing to say, not necessarily the one he believes.

“I know.” You tell him, because it’s true, but not because you believe it. You stay focused on the girl’s face, childlike features marred with contusions. “I just want a moment.”

“Course.” He offers quietly, “Anything you need.”

Your lips tilt at the shared mantra, a settled phrase that you find each other saying more often these days. You nod, appreciatively at him, your blessing for him to take his leave. Still, he hesitates. Holds. Waits. Staying close in case you voice a need—in case you say you need him. 

He forces himself out of the room before he makes a fool of himself. 

—

Abbot finds you in the aftermath. When a clean blanket is covering the girl's face, and she’s been wiped of the blood and fluids, and moved to an observation room waiting for her family’s arrival. After you both have moved forward through the night in other cases. He finds you outside of the vending machine, your gaze stuck flicking between the number of options.

“You’re supposed to put money into the machine in order to get something out.”

The sound of his voice hardly surprises you, even from behind. Almost like you anticipate him throughout the night, expect to find him somewhere nearby—these days, you practically hear him in the swirl of your own thoughts. Guiding you, teasing you, comforting you. 

“I’m fighting a battle against the urge to gorge on chocolate.” You tell him succinctly, eyeing the trail mix hesitantly.

“How’s that going?”

“I’m losing.”

He huffs a breath then pulls out his card from his wallet. He steps up behind you, close enough where his chest brushes your shoulder as he reaches around and taps it against the machine's card reader. You don’t move from the innocent meeting of your bodies, out of some curious interest in seeing if he will. 

He doesn’t. You shove the desire to lean into his subtle touch with a ten-foot pole, beating it until it's nonexistent. 

He punches in ‘B6’ on the keypad without hesitation and watches as a Snickers bar is dropped from the rack. He bends down, reaching his hand through the slot and raises back up with a grunt, handing the chocolate bar to you.

Your stare is scolding, but you take the bar anyway. Ripping the wrapper and taking a bite of the candy. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Cushion before the blow.” He warns. Your chewing slows, eyes widening in dread at him.

“Our pregnant mom’s parents are here.” Jack explains and you sigh heavily. “She was sixteen.”

Solemnly nodding, your eyes find comfort in fixating on the tile floor. “We have her name?”

“Kerina Jackson.”

“Okay. I’ll head over now.”

“You want me in there?”

“No. I made the call, I can do it.”

“I don’t mind.”

He watches you think for a moment. Weighing the pros and cons of it all, before you meet his gaze. Looking into him as if searching for any insincerity or any indication that he might take your acceptance as weakness. 

Finding nothing, you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay. Please.”

The walk to the observation room is harrowing. Your candy lays half eaten in your hand before you eventually tuck it into your pocket, appetite lost. You both convene one final look at each other at the door—a quick check-in, an agreement to step in before doing so. Jack moves, his hand on the handle of the door and holds it open for you, following in after you. 

You speak first, introducing the both of you to the parents as the doctors responsible for overseeing their daughter. They hang onto your words with fevered worry. You tell them the outcome as softly as you can. Life shatters for them in an instant. 

Through their heaves and sobs, you manage to croak out. “The baby is stable, for now. He’s been sent up to NICU for care. One of our nurses can take you to go see him.”

“And our daughter, where is she?” Her father asks. 

Jack speaks then, “We have her ready for you in an observation room. You can see her whenever you’d like.”

“I speak for Dr. Abbot and I when I say that we are so sorry that this has happened.” You continue. They ask a few questions—what killed her? Severe blood loss. Blunt force trauma. How long were you operating on her? An hour and fifteen minutes. Are you sure you did everything you could? No. But that part stays quiet. 

The room descends in a choked mood. Tempered by the soft sobs to two mourning parents who have no questions to ask but to the God that decided to take their child. 

“We will be here for any other questions you have or help you may need.” Jack speaks amidst the tears. There’s gratitude at his insertion as you find yourself at a loss of what else to say. But Jack knows. He always knows. “If you let one of our nurses know, they’ll come get us.” 

His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you both out of the room. It’s a welcome feeling, a steady rock on shaky ground. As soon as the touch is there, it’s gone. He’s rounding on you, staring intently into you. 

“You good?”

“No.” You shrug. “You?”

He crosses his arms, tendons in his forearms stretching for a moment as he opens and closes his palms. For a moment you see the sliver of the man—the one that is becoming more and more familiar to you. That he’s revealing slowly, a new crack into the armor each time you happen to be around when these things happen. Weary and upset in a way that stretches beyond anger at the unfairness of life. Targeted almost in judgement, in disappointment at choices—his and beyond. 

It touches depths of sadness and hurt in ways that he doesn’t often let show. Visible only in the slow nod of his head and the downturn curl of the corner of his lips. 

A slew of questions sits in his mind—What was she doing out on the road so late? What did she run into? Why wasn’t she wearing her seatbelt? Why the fuck was she pregnant at sixteen? Each is more devastating than the last, sticking a knife into his back and drags down, down, down the seam of his skin until he feels like he’s split into two.

His leg aches, loudly, but admitting that is forsaking a life that this young girl doesn’t get to have anymore. 

“Gotta keep going.” He says, plainly. But his lips curl downward and his stare says more than he thinks it does.  

Your fingers itch to grab onto him and hold him tight.

—

The sun rises slowly and with it comes the harrowing end of the shift. It couldn’t have come sooner.

You should run—make for the streets of Pittsburgh and never turn back. Let your heart race in adrenaline from something other than tragic chaos. Run for nonexistent hills that whisper a promise of calm and levied bliss as you leave PTMC and all that it holds. It’s an amusing thought. If you were stronger, more committed, you would. But the clock ticks past your scheduled exit time, your bag slung over your shoulder and yet, your feet remain firmly planted to the ground at the loading bay. Stuck, held, waiting. For something.

A sign, maybe. A reminder of why you’re here. 

“I need a beer.” 

Much like he’s done all night, Jack sidles up beside you. Appearing out of thin air and standing next to you. You’re brows furrow in question, having thought he had made for the rooftop like he usually does after a long shift. 

“Isn’t it too early for that?” You ask. 

“Never too early for a good thing.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that a ‘city that never sleeps’ specialty?” 

“Touché.” You nod in concession. Silence befalls the two of you as the world sounds around you. Cars drive by as people wake up, sirens from an ambulance ring only a hair’s width away. The air is cool on your skin and you take the moment to breathe. The urge to run wanes, slightly. 

“I’ve got some beer at my place.” You offer, casually. “Wanna head that way?”

Jack turns to meet your gaze. It's an innocuous invitation, smeared with exhaustion and nonchalance. Nothing untoward. Like you wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t take you up on it, just as you wouldn’t make it a big deal if he did. Your thumb points south, gesturing to your apartment, the complete opposite direction of his home. 

He tilts his head after a thoughtful moment of consideration. “You take the train?”

“Bus.”

“Fuck that. I’ll drive us.”

— 

Your apartment is deep in the strongarm of the city, right at the crossing between loud and hectic, and just past the Allegheny River. The building is as quaint as it is quiet, which isn’t saying much. A big, tall eyesore and Jack can’t help but scoff. 

City girl staying close to what she knows.

He follows, woefully out of his element, as you guide him past the concierge and through the modern and minimalist decor of the lobby into golden elevators. You press twelve on the buttons and the elevator ascends in a quiet hum—lulled only by the whir of the machine. 

Comfortable silence emphasizes the line that’s been drawn in the sand. Work staying at the steps of the hospital, far from a desirable topic of conversation, even farther from being a worthy disruption of the tranquility. Rehashing the night, wondering what could have been done differently is a task you both save for personal time in the privacy of your spaces when no one else is looking. 

“Bienvenido a mi casita.” You sing, tired and a feeble attempt at jovial, as your keys unlock the apartment door. 1224, he notes. Puts it up on the crowded shelf with everything else about you he pretends he isn’t storing. He steps inside, eyes scanning the home with barely concealed interest. 

It’s a small space, clean—save for the mail you have scattered on the counter and the stray bottle of cleaner that you have yet to put away. The apartment is decorated modestly, color popping in the pillows on your couch, the rug you have in the living room, the dinner mats on your two-chaired dinner table. Photos of friends, family, your nieces hang on every wall in a pleasant array. It’s lived in, alive, warm, yours.

He doesn’t realize he’s studying the place until you call from behind him from the kitchen, your head deep in the pantry. “You still want that beer? I can make some coffee instead?”

“Coffee’s good. Bl—”

“Black. I know.” You look at him over your shoulder, a twinkle somehow emerging in your eyes. From the ash of a smoldering fire that burned all that was sane, you still rise—sparking anew.  He watches, curious. You grab coffee grounds and move through your kitchen, filling the machine and starting a brew. 

“You hungry?” You ask. 

“Are you?”

“I could eat.” 

He didn’t come here to eat breakfast. He’s not sure why he even came in the first place. But he nods despite the uncertainty that makes him feel idiotic. “Sure.”

He wades awkwardly into your apartment. Unsure where to stand, how to take up less space, if he should bid his goodbye now or later. His eyes fall to a box leaning against your living room wall, beside your television that sits pathetically on the floor. 

“What’s going on here?” He asks, gesturing to the cardboard with black lettering that has too many umlauts above them. 

“A TV stand that I’ve been procrastinating building.” You respond, the sound of eggs cracking on the counter and into a bowl ringing throughout the room. 

“How long?”

“‘bout a month.”

“Christ.” He scoffs. “You waiting for God to show up?

“Something like that.” He hums. His eyes narrow for a moment, before deciding resolutely. 

“Got a tool kit?”

The morning unfolds slowly, comfortably. Jack sitting in your living room, building your TV stand to create a reason as to why he’s here. He pauses only when you plate up some breakfast. Eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. He eats in a steady quiet with you, unsure when the last time he had breakfast with someone was.

Conversations are interspersed infrequently. Mostly unimportant; something about this new hot sauce you got from the farmer’s market and the plans you have for redecorating. He tells a stupid story about the billboard outside your apartment window that used to have the picture of the two twin lawyers and their fish man.

(“Their fish man?”

“Shenderovich, Shenderovich, and Fishman. 1-888-98-Twins.”

“Shenderovich to the second power. God, that’s awful.”

“You’re telling me.”)

Quiet things, small delights that bring the slight quirk to his lips and the gentle huff of laughter from you. The small things the diffuse the tension of the night, that force the slow revival into becoming a human again.

You take both plates when you finish, humming at his quiet thanks and returning to the kitchen to clean while he returns his attention to the stand. And it’s normal—so pointedly normal and domestic it’s a wonder this hasn’t been a routine occurrence. Jack is sore thumb in his scrubs sitting on your living room floor, your measly excuse for a toolkit beside him as he fits wooden slabs together and builds. An entirely new sight, certainly not something the version of you a few months ago would’ve thought you’d ever see, but it's a welcome one. 

Weirdly, he fits. His figure, his presence, him. Makes your home feel whole, meaningful.

Time passes with little recognition. It’s a relatively simple stand—easy and mindless to put together. The Swedes are built off of functional efficiency and he sends a quiet hail mary to the Scandinavians. One moment, Jack is scanning the instructions, his eyes glancing to yours as you place a glass of water beside his mug on the coffee table next to him. Then he blinks and the stand is assembled, only the quiet hum of the morning news sounding from your television. 

It’s a welcome thing. He’s never able to fully turn his mind off but in the mundane, the easy turn of the screw and the pleasing click of pieces together, the turmoil dulls to a quiet chatter and he can breathe easily. Zoned in so readily that he lost touch with reality for a second. Forgot where he was, what he was doing, who he was doing it for. 

He pushes the stand into the place where your TV sits on the ground, then lifts the TV onto its surface. Settling the furniture into the place that he supposes you would want—the place he thinks it looks best. 

He’s turning, content at being useful and ready to ask for your approval. Then he realizes that he’s heard very little from you while he was building.

He finds you on the couch behind him. Eyes shut, mouth slightly open as your breaths are softly and evenly exhaled in your sleep. Your hair is released from the tie you had to hold it back throughout the shift, the strands messily framing your face as you lay against the pillow of the couch. Still clad in your scrubs, your face settles peacefully as you rest. Not scrunched in frustration or stony in your focus. 

Under the soft of the morning light, a sharp contrast to the fluorescents he’s always seen you under, exhaustion resounds on your face. Tamed only by the sweetened sighs of your slumber that remedy the ailment. You sleep, sweet and easy.

A stray strand of hair crosses over your nose, moving with the rhythmic rise and falls of your breaths. A twitch aches in his fingers. Spurned by need and the deep rooted ache of loneliness that craves the taste of tenderness. 

He brushes the strand away from your face, eyes focused on the action, watching your face remain peacefully asleep. Relishes in the brief moment of softness he’s been afforded. 

There’s a twinge of guilt as he has to disturb the solitude, yours and his, when he taps your leg gently. You stir in tired confusion.

“Lock the door behind me.”

“You’re going?” You ask, wiping your mouth, sounding disappointed at the notion. 

“Yeah. You need to sleep.”

“You sure? You can stay.”

The excuse is on his tongue fighting against the urge to read into that. There was hardly a reason for him to be here today, much less one for him to linger around. Insist and bore drill into the cracks of his thick skull that this shouldn’t happen again. That this is inappropriate. 

It’s pointedly not, though. He built a stand for you, you made him breakfast. That was all there was to it. That’s all that was being expected by you, because why would you expect anything further?

(You wouldn’t. Because there’s nothing going on. Despite the stares from the nurses, and the whispers of a rumored bet, and the lingering glances that get sent between you two—nothing is going on.

He’s sure of it.)

But, Jack doesn’t do things flippantly, without purpose. And walls don’t get torn down, softened, for just any reason. In the ingrained pattern that Dr. Mott insists is a defense mechanism and that Jack believes is just normal human condition, he feels the walls so carefully erected find their place once more. Fortified to shut out the possibility of some inane want for something burn without restraint within him. 

The armor that’s been slowly cracking back settles onto him and he aims for a neutral expression. Curt, succinct. No room for error. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

“Thanks for the stand, you didn’t have to do that. But it looks great.” You trail behind him slowly as he walks towards your front door. “I’ll be calling you for all of my furniture builds. I’m spoiled now, old man.”

Here’s the chance. Stop it here, smother the budding growth of a tender seed before it takes root and spreads into his lungs. Prevent the tendons from reaching up his throat, crawling into his brain, and mold the perfect image of you into the grey matter. 

He should tell you, firmly, that this will not happen again. Throw in a degrading tease, diffuse the sincerity of the moment. Get you to stop looking at him like he means something.

“Anytime, city girl.” He says, instead. 

You smile— warm, relaxed, gentle and he’s ready to aim gun to temple at the realization of how much he likes it. He can only do what he knows best, what he does with everything else he stupidly seems to notice and grab onto with you, and puts it on the shelf. Half ready to lock it in a chest deep in his mind and toss the key into a cavernous abyss. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” You say, content. And he nods.

He drives back in silence and the promise forged in tired smiles and quiet closeness chokes him all the way home.

a/n: i would like it known, this is the fastest i have ever put out work in a series. im just so bewitched by this middle aged man, i want him inside me.

know this is a quick one and not much happens but i'm a true believer in slow burn being both slow and burning :)

next one will be fun, promise!

[redvexillum]

"EPISODE 5 ISN'T A RAGATHA EPISO--"

So I just finished watching Episodes 4 and 5 of The Amazing Digital Circus for the third time because I’ve clearly given my life to this show and Gooseworx owns my soul. Genuinely, what phenomenal writing. I've seen mixed reception for episode five but I’m thrilled that the majority of the fandom can agree this episode was amazing. Because that means I can scream with all you FunnyBunny shippers and dedicated emotional wrecks alike.

Now. Let me get into why Episode 5 wasn’t just a Jax episode (though it very much was)—but why it was, at its core, Ragatha’s episode. This is gonna be long and laced with “am I overthinking this?” moments. Buckle up.

WHO IS RAGATHA?

When we first meet her in Episode One, she’s nice. Incredibly kind. Super peppy. But there's this teeny-tiny crack in that candy coating. She spirals, just a little, and we see a nervous, anxious edge slipping through her “positive vibes only” persona.

And that spiral? It’s not a one-time thing. It gets worse. The deeper you go into the series, the more you notice how her overbearing positivity feels less like optimism and more like a coping mechanism. A weaponized smile. She’s not just trying to cheer everyone up, she’s gaslighting herself into believing she has to be happy. She has to be likable. That it’s the only way she’ll be accepted.

And in the Digital Circus, where identity is shredded (like you forget your name for fuck's sakes) and everything’s performative? That’s not just sad...it’s devastating.

EPISODE 4: THE CRACKS BEGIN TO SHOW

Episode Four set the entire foundation. When Ragatha gets “stupid sauce” in her eyes and all her emotional filters drop, you finally see her. She stops curating how she’s perceived and just exists...and what comes out? She reminisces of her life (which gets confirmed in Episode 5). Gangle tries to warn her she might get hurt, and her response is almost eerie in how casually she brushes it off.

Sure, it could be a nod to Raggedy Ann and all that doll-abuse lore, but when you learn about Ragatha’s real past: abusive, narcissistic mother, high-society pressure cooker upbringing...that “hurt” starts feeling very literal. Maybe this line wasn’t just random doll humor. Maybe it’s a whisper of childhood trauma, manifesting through a false smile.

And then comes the Gloink Queen. The way Ragatha lights up at the idea of a mother who genuinely cherishes every single one of her hundreds of children? I fucking felt that. It wasn’t just admiration; it was longing. Desperation. Like she never got that kind of love growing up, so the concept itself is intoxicating. It’s this quiet heartbreak that adds a whole new layer to her need for approval.

She hates Jax. Let’s be real. He antagonizes her constantly, pushes every one of her buttons (he literally threw her in a goddamn vat of boiling oil for fucks sakes). But the part that wrecks me? She doesn’t want him to hate her. Not because she likes him, but because anyone disliking her is unbearable. Being disliked means she failed. Means she’s unworthy. Means she’s alone.

That’s why her facade, this grinning, chipper armour? It's everything. And the more we see of her, the more we understand that it’s crumbling.

I NEED YOU ALL TO LOCK THIS SCENE INTO YOUR BRAINS, OKAY? Because this exact emotional thread gets replayed like a broken record all throughout Episode Five. It’s not just a one-off moment, it’s the theme. The cast knows Ragatha’s cheer is fake. And honestly? It makes sense. They’ve been stuck together for who-knows-how-long, and you learn a lot about someone in that kind of nightmare.

But here’s the thing: when someone keeps pushing toxic positivity, constantly trying to “cheer you up” without actually listening, it doesn’t help. It hurts. It makes the person reaching out feel like they’re talking to a wall. Ragatha so badly wants people to open up to her, but she’s terrified of doing the same in return, and that’s where the entire disconnect lies. She’s hyper-aware of how she’s perceived. Her self-image is a prison. And at the core of it all?

Rejection.

Her biggest, ugliest, most soul-deep fear. Because rejection leads to isolation. And isolation? Leads straight back to the kind of loneliness she probably drowned in as a child.

Now, you're probably wondering: why am I still going off about Episode Four when I promised this was a breakdown of Episode Five?

Because Episode Four is the breadcrumb trail. It's the soft warning. The writer’s subtle little “hey, pay attention to her” moment. It’s the appetizer. It preps us, emotionally and narratively, for the main course of Episode Five, where Ragatha's carefully-constructed image begins to crack and we finally, finally, start to understand the full scope of her trauma.

Let’s address the big criticism real quick: a lot of people think this was a Jax-centric episode. And I get it. Jax got depth, growth, actual backstory. But here’s my take: Jax and Ragatha are each other’s foils.

One is warm, soft-spoken, always smiling, but secretly repressing everything real.

The other is brash, rude, antagonistic—but when he opens up? He’s real. He’s genuine.

They’ve been clashing since Episode One, and their dynamic works because they’re mirrors: distorted, but parallel.

Why was using Jax as Ragatha’s foil so brilliant? Because it does two huge things. First, it finally shows us Jax as a person instead of just telling us he’s a dick with a smile. But more importantly?

It amplifies Ragatha.

A foil, by definition, is a character who highlights the traits of another character by contrasting with them. And what better way to show Ragatha’s entire internal collapse than by placing her beside someone who, while difficult and abrasive, actually manages to connect with someone else?

Because as Jax grows closer to Pomni, the very connection Ragatha has been chasing since Day One, it throws Ragatha’s failures into painful high-def. She’s tried everything. She’s been kind, supportive, the “good friend.” And yet, it’s not her Pomni opens up to. It’s not her Pomni laughs with.

And that is why Episode Five is a Ragatha episode. Maybe not in the obvious, center-stage way. But in the subtle, devastating unraveling that plays out just beneath the surface.

Now, let’s talk receipts. I’ve got observations, breakdowns, and repeat viewings of Episodes Four and Five loaded and ready.

I don’t know if it was a deliberate artistic choice or just an organic part of the scene composition, but I can’t not point out how telling it is that the characters are all paired off: Jax and Pomni, Kinger with Zooble and Gangle, and yet Ragatha? She’s standing off in the distance. Alone. Isolated. Visibly excluded from every natural dynamic.

And I really want to believe that was purposeful. A quiet visual cue for us, the audience, to understand not just the social dynamics of the group, but how deeply disconnected Ragatha truly is from the others.

Honestly, I think this was the moment her carefully held-together mask started to split. The start of the spiral. Go back to the earlier episodes and you’ll start noticing it: Ragatha drops a lot of sharp, snarky comments. Some subtle. Some cutting. Whether intentional or not, those little moments are emotional leaks. She drops her filter more often around Jax, which makes sense, she hates him. She doesn’t bother hiding it. But the fact that her snark surfaces at all tells us something: the mask is slipping.

Think about Episode One, when Ragatha spirals, it’s visceral. It’s raw and disturbing in a way the others’ breakdowns just… aren’t. Why? Because for Ragatha, cracking isn’t just about stress or fear. It’s about exposing something she’s worked so hard to hide: her real, “ugly,” human feelings. She’s repressed them for so long, forced herself to smile through it all, because she believes that if she isn’t likable, if she isn’t “good,” she’ll be abandoned.

And now? That bottle’s starting to shake.

I'll circle back to this moment when I dive into the bar scene later (because oof—there’s so much there), but let’s keep things chronological for now.

Right after Ragatha leaves, Jax drops a line on Pomni: “[She] is taking advantage of you.” And it hits especially hard because just before that, Gangle told Pomni she didn’t think Ragatha was genuine. That? That’s when the discomfort surrounding Ragatha starts to really take shape.

Here’s why I think that hit a nerve with the rest of the cast.

They are all constantly fighting for their sanity. For their identities. They’re trapped in this surreal, terrifying digital purgatory where reality is questionable at best and all they’ve got are each other. That’s it. Just a bunch of strangers trying not to fall apart or, worse, abstract.

And when you're in that space? Vulnerability becomes everything. And it’s risky.

Being vulnerable to the wrong person, someone who doesn’t reciprocate, or worse, uses your openness against you is traumatic. It teaches you to close up. To withdraw.

To stop trying.

Now imagine reaching out to someone like Ragatha, who seems supportive on the surface, who says the right things, but there’s a disconnect. You don’t feel like you’re being seen. You don’t feel safe. You don’t feel like you’re talking to someone who’s willing to meet you in the mess.

And when that happens? Of course they gravitate elsewhere. Of course they pair off, find comfort in each other, and leave her on the fringes.

What hurts the most, though, is this: Ragatha wants connection. She’s starving for it. But she doesn’t know how to give it back in a way that feels real. She’s so wrapped up in being “the nice one,” the peacemaker, the cheerful glue of the group, that she can’t drop the act—even when it’s pushing people away. Even when it’s exactly what’s isolating her.

She wants to be close. She just doesn’t know how to be vulnerable.

Now, the biggest lore drop of Ragatha's past, let's break this down:

Throughout the entire series so far, Ragatha always speaks with this carefully curated tone: gentle, friendly, overly polite. But every time she gets a moment alone to monologue? It always derails. Every time. Her words unravel, her tone falters, and what starts as “everything’s fine” ends with something much darker, much sadder.

And this scene? God. This one hurt. Because when she starts talking about her mother, it stops feeling like just another breakdown. It feels like the core of her trauma is being yanked out into the open. She’s clearly an adult. Had a life. A career. Probably responsibilities and routines. And yet, that wound from her mother is still festering: deep, raw, and most importantly?

Completely unresolved.

This is where you see her coping mechanisms in full force. Ragatha has this heartbreaking tendency to downplay her own pain. She’ll smile through it, make a light comment, move on like it doesn’t ache. But it does. And that habit? It sabotages her ability to connect with people in a real, vulnerable way. Because how can someone share mutual pain with you if you never admit to having any? If you can’t even be real with yourself?

Remember when she confessed she hates Jax, but she doesn’t want Jax to hate her? That moment says everything. That desperate need to be liked, even by someone who openly antagonizes her, speaks volumes about her internal wiring. She’s terrified of rejection. Of being disliked. Of being seen as not enough.

And this scene, to me, is one of the most heartbreaking moments in the show. Ragatha is caught in this awful limbo: she wants connection, deeply. She wants friendship, understanding, belonging. But the second she senses discomfort, awkwardness, even the slightest ripple of tension, she backpedals. She shrinks. She brushes it off with a laugh or a sugar-coated phrase. And that’s exactly why the others can’t reach her.

She’s surrounded by people and still completely alone.

This scene also confirms what we’ve suspected all along: her mother had impossibly high standards. That nothing Ragatha did was ever good enough. That she had to perform perfection just to maybe receive love. It was a transaction. "Be the perfect little girl, the perfect daughter, the perfect doll, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll earn affection."

So of course she acts like this now. Of course she wraps herself in forced smiles and gentle words. Because somewhere deep down, she still believes that if she slips, if she messes up, if she shows anything “ugly”...then no one will love her.

Jax was a grade A asshole for this one. No sugarcoating it. He knew how badly Ragatha wanted to be Pomni’s friend. He’s not clueless. So when he swooped in and started getting close to her? Of course it triggered Ragatha. You could practically see her flinch.

And that sting? It echoes through the rest of the episode five from that point onwards. Especially when they get to the ball game scene.

That was the moment Ragatha finally let some of that bottled-up frustration out. She flat-out called Jax out, asking why he was trying to influence Pomni into acting like some careless, insensitive jerk. And yeah, on the surface it seems like just another clash between the two of them, but if you look a little closer (and maybe I’m reaching this), there’s something deeper going on.

From earlier episodes, we’ve seen Ragatha has this habit of telling Pomni how she should feel. She does it in this oddly motherly tone, like she’s trying to guide her, but in a way that almost infantilizes her. In Episode Two, in the candy kingdom bit, Ragatha starts talking to Pomni like she’s a child and Pomni immediately shuts it down: “I’m not a kid.”

That wasn’t just sass.

That was a boundary.

And it clicked for me: Ragatha might be echoing her mother’s behavior here. That condescending tone disguised as “help.” The “cheer up, it’s not that bad” mindset. The insistence that things should be okay, instead of just lettingpeople feel. Maybe that’s all she ever knew. And now, she’s unknowingly replicating it.

So when she follows Pomni’s advice to “try being a jerk sometimes,” and it backfires, when Pomni looks at her, clearly uncomfortable, it hits Ragatha like a rock. That same feeling of rejection, all over again.

And did anyone else notice the glitch when she apologized? Because I sure as hell did. It was subtle, but holy fuck, please don't be the next abstraction!

Then came the "Pomni Saves the Day (Almost)" scene, when it’s her turn to bat. She asks Ragatha if she wants to take her place, to "redeem" herself from her earlier miss. And for just a second, Ragatha lights up. It’s this tiny flicker of hope. Maybe this is her chance. Maybe she can fix things.

Maybe she’s needed.

But then… the game was already over and they won before she had a chance to bat because their evil version is basically KO'd. She turns to Pomni and sees them.

Pomni and Jax. Laughing. Close. Connected.

And suddenly that hope? It deflates.

Just like in the stargazing scene, we get this physical distance motif again. Ragatha is always just far enough to see the connection—but never be part of it. And in that moment, you can see it on her face, this quiet, confused heartbreak. The kind of grief that doesn’t explode...it just sinks in. Like she’s trying to understand why her kindness, her effort, her presence was never enough. Why being “nice” only pushed Pomni further away.

That expression she gives, caught somewhere between confusion, disappointment, and slowly-processed loss? God, that got me. It wrecked me. Because in that moment, she’s not angry. She’s not dramatic.

She’s just... alone.

And then finally… the nail in the coffin. The moment where the silent divide between Pomni and Ragatha becomes undeniable. The moment the entire show has been quietly building toward since Episode One.

Ragatha, who has tried so hard to make Pomni smile. To be her rock. To forge a connection. She wants that closeness. She craves that intimacy. But instead, she watches as Pomni laughs, genuinely, mind you, and effortlessly at Jax’s antics. And the second Pomni notices Ragatha looking? Her smile drops. Instantly. That joy disappears, replaced by awkwardness, tension, that same guarded expression we’ve seen before.

And it says everything.

Pomni can’t be herself around Ragatha. She doesn’t feel safe doing so. She might think Ragatha is a “nice enough” person… but that’s it. That’s where the connection ends. She doesn’t let her guard down. Doesn’t let Ragatha in. Because Ragatha, in all her curated cheer, never really opens up either.

And then the show drives it home with brutal elegance: the group starts to drift off, one by one, naturally falling into their new little dynamics. And Ragatha? Left standing in the middle. Alone. Forgotten. No one turns to her. No one invites her. She’s just there.

For all the time she’s spent in the Digital Circus, Pomni managed to connect with everyone else. Even Jax. And that, right there, is pure devastation for me.

Because all Ragatha has ever known is people-pleasing. That’s how she survives. That’s what she was taught. Be the sunshine, be the good girl, be agreeable and comforting and helpful then you’ll be loved. Then you’ll be safe. But what happens when that mask doesn’t work? When it actually pushes people away instead of bringing them in?

She doesn’t know how to express her loneliness. She doesn’t know how to say, “I’m hurting too.” Because that’s not what was modeled for her. That’s not what her mother taught her.

And this...this right fucking here is why Gooseworx was so right when they said this was a Ragatha episode.

Because Ragatha’s character flaws, the heart of her tragedy, are brought into the light not by spotlighting her, but by quietly contrasting her with a pair of characters we never expected to bond: Jax and Pomni.

From the start, we’re fed this narrative: Jax is an asshole. He teases Pomni. He’s rude, smug, abrasive. And yet… Pomni starts to soften around him. She connects. She even laughs. And you start to wonder...why is he getting through to her when Ragatha can’t?

Because Jax, in his own messed-up way, gets real. He opens up. He admits things. He’s emotionally messy, but it’s genuine. And that rawness, that honesty, is something Ragatha can’t allow herself to show. So while Jax slowly reveals the depth beneath his snark, Ragatha clings to her role: the always-smiling, ever-positive comfort character.

And that contrast? It’s heartbreaking.

You see it at the very end. How alone she is. And the cruel twist? She’s probably the one who needs connection the most. But she’s so stuck in her pattern, so locked in that internalized belief that she has to perform to be loved, that she ends up isolating herself even further.

I can’t stop thinking about this: Ragatha feels like someone who’s spent her entire life just close enough to be seen, but never close enough to be reached. She’s the background character in her own life: present, smiling, helpful… and utterly alone.

And maybe the reason so many people felt like this episode was more about Jax than Ragatha is because we’re supposed to feel her slipping into the background. Just like the cast is starting to overlook her, we as the audience are starting to, too.

That slow fade?

It’s intentional.

Thank you for coming to my rant. I never done a character analysis before, but I just fucking love this series so much.

Read More TADC Character Analysis

[hellothisisangle]

I don’t have the stamina to comic all this dialogue so here it is:

[At some point between PLAYING FOR TIME and I WALK THE LINE]

J: Look at you, more bolts and chips and wires than meat. Not sure what the hell you even are at this point. Some kinda strutting identity crisis. Bet if someone shook you hard enough you’d rattle.

V: Yeah, well, you’re just a ghost of a walking hard on that played mediocre guitar. Guess we all got our own tragedies.

J: Ooh, hit a nerve. Change your face, change your junk, but it doesn’t actually change a thing. Another plug in another crack that keeps fracturing. Can’t patch a hollow core, V.

V: This, coming from the poster boy for ‘oh please, someone, pay attention to me’? Hey, Johnny- was it before or after the bombing that you decided terrorism made you a man?

J: Know what your problem is? Don’t ask questions. Just do your job. Get your reward. Say you hate authority, but you fit into the glove tailored for you just as much as everyone else. And like everyone else, ‘ya still can’t help havin’ dreams of respect, fear, adoration, love. Dreams only big enough to stay dreams, not enough for you to do jack shit about it. Aren’t you lucky you got me. Now you can wake the fuck up.

V: Ha! Never believed for a second you cared about the bigger picture. Nah, you’re just the guy who played hero to hear someone chant his name. Spoiler alert, no one’s chanting anymore. You think I should follow your lead? Screaming louder, hitting harder, waving your dick around like it’s a goddam flag?

J: Better’n nothing. Keep telling you we’re really not so different, you and I. But swapping parts like spare tires- I mean come on, don’t get all pissy when I call it what it is.

V: Replacing myself, piece by piece, finding a version of me that can stand existing is not the same, will never be the same, as your bullshit tantrums.

J: Keep tellin’ yourself that.

V: For fucks sake- the yapping, barking orders, flexing those fake muscles- wanna know what you remind me of?

J: Not really-

V: All the other assholes who told me I'd never be good enough unless I was just like them. Why I had to rip myself open just to breathe. You’re not a legend, Johnny. You’re a cautionary tale. A child who never learned there’s more than one way to be strong.

J: Pull that one outta a fortune cookie or just your trauma stash? Pft- A child calling a child a child. The shit I have to put up with.

V: Quiet the fuck down or I’ll do something that’ll decom both of us for a bit. I need some air.

J: Fine. See ya later. But would’ya smoke a stoge while you’re at it?

[At some point after I WALK THE LINE]

J: For a chrome-clad existential nightmare, ‘ya ain’t all bad, kid. Startin’ to remind me of me. Without the impressive cock.

V: And for a dead relic clutching his dick like it’s the only personality trait that survived, you’re almost tolerable. But don’t get clingy, I’m not a collector of antiques.

[red-garden]

Time travel au where Shen Jiu is the only one who doesn't remember, but everyone else does. So Yue Qingyuan saves him early, like in a couple of months after he was sold to the Qiu house, with the entire backing of Cang Qiong. Sj is happy, but there is a bit of a problem.

Shen Jiu wants to take Qiu Haitang back with them.

While Qiu Jianluo never crossed any lines, he was still being too much of a creep to him. Shen Jiu also notices that his behavior was also being directed at his sister. And since she was kind to him, he wants to get her out and away from her brother before things escalate.

Imagine baby SJ looking directly into YQY eyes and saying, "She needs saving too, Qi-Ge".

Yue Qingyuan, who wants to refuse because this woman helped ruined Xiao Jiu's life, immediately crumbles. However, Qiu Haitang also remembers and wants nothing to do with Shen Jiu or Cang Qiong, so she refuses. So, Shen Jiu has no choice but to leave her there, but not before letting her know that if she ever needs help to find him.

Imagine baby SJ going up to Qi Qingqi, looking up at her with innocent eyes full of awe and calling her Qi-Shijie, to ask if Qiu Haitang could have a place in her peak in the event she comes to Cang Qiong in search of refuge. Occasionally, he'll also ask her if she can look in on her once in a while if she has a mission near the area (Which she doesn't, even if she agrees, because she doesn't particularly like Qiu Haitang either).

Years later, Qiu Haitang does show up, haunted by the true monstrous faces of her family and the reality of her actions in their first life, after she herself burns the Qiu House to the ground. Shen Jiu accepts her with open arms, but everyone else doesn't. But, they tolerate her for SJ's sake since he deeply cares about her and wishes to repay her kindness.

Qiu Haitang effectively becomes an overprotective sister, partly due to guilt but also because Shen Jiu, who is not bitter and with a hell of a lot less trauma, is just a bratty little brother who is just too lovable.

SHIT EATING BRAT DISCIPLE SHEN JIU SAVE ME!!!

If all of Cang Qiong already knew he was a slave, he would have no reason to put on airs, free to be that little bitch of an urchin who throws rocks at Bai Zhan kids. I actually don’t think he would chose Qing Jing, at least initially. He just got his Qi-ge back!!! He’s staying in Qi-ge’s head disciple house, and if anyone tries to remove him, they’ll just get married so they can’t force him out!

Most everyone would hate him about as much if for his shitty personality this time rather than his bad reputation. But Qi Qingqi? Instant besties. Besties in crime. Besties in delinquency. I thing Qi Qingqi would feel soooooo bad about everything she thought about Shen Qingqiu she would spoil him endlessly. Xiao Jiu wants candy? Okay, jiejie will buy you candy. No one ever told her he used to be so little!!!!!!!!!!

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Thunderbolts Sexuality Headcanons by a hyperfixated lesbian!!

Yelena Belova || Black Widow: aromantic, asexual. Sex repulsed, but in a queer platonic relationship with Bob. He's her platonic soulmate–an immediate connection, deeper and more intimate than the deepest of friendships. She definitely wouldn't care if he wanted to, idk, sleep with someone that isn't her. Because they aren't a couple. They have their own bond, they are each other's first priority–whatever else works for them is to be explored. It's not quite sibling-hood, it's far more affectionate than that... That being said, when it comes to the rest of the Thunderbolts, she definitely sees them as siblings. (let's pretend Antonia is included because Yelena would feel SUCH big sister energy with her. <3)

If she were to really delve into it, she's probably agender too, or a demigirl, maybe. However, she simply doesn't care enough about labels or pronouns–she dresses how she dresses, enjoys what she enjoys, feels how she feels–and doesn't care to explain it to anyone. Call her whatever pronouns you want to, she won't start an argument about it. She has a unique relationship to womanhood because of the Red Room–like it's a burden she has to carry without completely relating to what it means. An experience she holds, while not belonging to it entirely. It's a thin line. She cherishes it–but if she could be something else entirely–a rock, a wind, a beam of light–she'd prefer it. Enjoys exploring her gender expression/fashion, because she grew up completely unable to do that. She was robbed of an identity. She's making up for lost time.

Ava Starr || Ghost: Lesbian. Always feels an instant connection to queer people in general, without even knowing of their queerness. (We were ROBBED of the Ava-Antonia bond. RIP Antonia you're alive to me.) She's experienced strong comphet for years–and has flirted with men, but she can't imagine actually being with one. (I do hear the argument of her being bisexual, and I don't hate ghostwalker, but y'know.)

She's definitely demisexual, if you really delve into it. She falls in love fast, but the sexual attraction doesn't come in until way later. Like, she literally doesn't experience any physical attraction until she fully trusts someone–but she will hold their hand.

Has displayed behavior in the past that was deemed as flirtatious, but that's because she's definitely got some undiagnosed neurodivergency and can't quite grasp social cues, norms and boundaries. That being said, when she realized she was being perceived incorrectly, she really shut down the more playful/affectionate side of herself, becoming much more reserved.

Her relationship to gender is unspecified. She is Ghost, refer to her as such or not at all. (Maybe demigirl. Maybe! I doubt she knows. She's fine with she/her for sure.)

Antonia Dreykov || Taskmaster: Baby butch lesbian. That's also her gender identity: butch lesbian.

Was definitely in love with Lerato, that one girl from Black Widow. If she had survived the movie–and for argument’s sake, let's say she did–I’d loved to have seen her and Ava develop a bond–maybe even fall in love, I don't know.

Also, if she was alive, I know for a fact that Valentina would use her and Ava for PR stunts and rainbow capitalism during pride month. She has to win over the left somehow.

Robert “Bob” Reynolds || The Sentry: Bob is a hard one, because his sex drive had been completely disintegrated for a long time because of the drugs and the trauma–and his attraction to people was never a priority, never something he had time to consider. He was in too dark a place, with no guidance whatsoever. In that sense, I think he's 100% unlabeled. Even now that he's sober and slowly but surely regaining his sense of self, no label feels quite right.

He definitely grew up in a household where every little thing he did that was deemed even slightly more “feminine” got him called the f slur. Even if it was just gentility, or kindness, or softness.

Part of me thinks he could be panromantic. I don't think gender would make any difference to him at all–I think he's blind to it. He loves the person, the soul, regardless. I think he finds himself to definitely be on the ace spectrum too, maybe aceflux, but he's not sex repulsed. He's open to it. He had been sexually active way before the Sentry project, but not because of any desire to be so. Just because the other person wanted it, maybe, or as a way to get access to more drugs.)

Lastly, do I think he's 100% cis? Nah. Demiboy, maybe? As I said before, unlabeled. He'd describe his gender the same way as Yelena. If he could be a rock he'd choose to be a rock–but is still exploring his own gender expression, since he never had the chance to do so in the past.

John Walker || US Agent: American. 🦅🦅🦅

Jk, jk. Honestly, I think Walker's repressed. He definitely grew up thinking he's 100% straight, maybe sprinkle in some internalized homophobia. He's a US Military propaganda machine, an example of how America manipulates and uses veterans before their mental health goes to shit and they're no longer “useful,” thus are discarded instead. Do you think he's super sexually liberated? Nuh uh. Of course not.

He definitely likes woman. Female lean, for sure. That being said–he was hopelessly in love with Lamar Hoskins, the same way Achilles was hopelessly in love with Patroclus. Does it excuse the outburst? The entirety evil abuse of his power and authority? No, of course not, but his feelings for Lamar were incredibly layered.

I think Walker would feel uncomfortable at first, as the others would come out one by one–and he'd pretend not to care. Eventually, he'd develop a special bond of trust with Ava and tell her about Lamar. (all questioning men need an emotional support lesbian!!) Then she'd tell him that, “well my guy, that's kinda gay.” I don't think he'd ever really label himself as bisexual, saying he's like, 99% straight with like, some exceptions. The others endlessly tease him about it–and about all the sweaty men in his working out posters and magazines. That being said, he's 100% a cis man.

Alexei Shostakov || Red Guardian: Like, straight? Has gotten boners while looking at pictures of Lenin and always found the Winter Soldier strangely hot. He also sometimes says some suspicious shit about his old comrades–but overall? Pretty straight. Was raised pretty conservatively but never cared too much about people's sexuality. Now, when it comes to his own... He's like, thought about it ever since joining this group? Because he wants to relate with them? So he's like. “I could ride my comrade........ maybe..... no I couldn't-” and then imagines himself having say gex, gets grossed out, moves on. This is like, a monthly occurance. HE REALLY WISHES HE WAS INTO MEN, so that he could relate to “THE LITTLE GAY PEOPLE” in his team. But, what can you do? He likes Melina. And honestly–who can blame him? He's also very much cisgender.

James “Bucky” Barnes: Cis. Bisexual with a heavy male lean OR gay with some internalized homophobia. He got more comfortable with it in the 21st century, after TFATWS. For all the flirting he did with women, the moment Steve did the same, this boy was internally tweaking.

This should be no surprise to anyone–Bucky has been Marvel’s favorite source of queerbaiting for as long as he's been in the MCU. Between Steve and Sam, Bucky comes with the shield in more ways than one, that's for sure.

His intense gay staring at Sam? The way Steve's voice and words were enough to pierce through his winter soldier mind control? His utter devotion to each of them, the pedestal he had them on? The mention of his online dating history in TFATWS, in which he vaguely mentioned that a lot of the profiles he looked through had profile pictures of people with tigers and shit–suggesting that he was looking at men's profiles–and addressed ever-so-vaguely by the show runner, telling people to “keep watching” without ever giving queer audiences the catharsis they hoped for. Anyways. Sambucky and Stucky real!

Melissa “Mel” Gold: Cis. Also, the biggest bisexual to ever bisexual. Was she attracted to Bucky? Yes. (although I don't find their relationship romantic at all, more like, a failed attempt at guidance.) But she also has her weird, toxic, problematic devotion to Val. Val shaped her worldview when she was still young–and part of her will always be loyal to her, because by now it's instinct. And she no longer regards Val as infallible or admirable. She knows what Val is–she's seen her miscalculate, she's seen her messed up, she's seen her vulnerable and human. And she knows more than anyone that Val isn't a good person at all. Still. She's in too deep, now. I could make an entire separate post on this dynamic.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine: Sees men as a means to an end. Also seems women as a means to an end, but a hotter one. She's a cis lesbian, technically, but not culturally queer. She doesn't have an inch of internalized homophobia within her. She's fine. She doesn't care. She just cares about her public image, about having control–curated control.

Her marriage to Everett Ross was a PR move. She did have some genuine affection for him, for a while, but no attraction. Not really. So, she's not openly a lesbian, not at work, but also, she doesn't hide/deny it in private settings. She holds the power to squash any rumour that actually poses a threat, after all. And even if it got out somehow, she'd find her way around it.

She's the first to engage in meaningless rainbow capitalism–to change the profile pictures to rainbow logos–to come up with vaguely pride flag colored ‘New Avengers’ merch during pride month, and leave no trace of it the moment July hits. She's never cared to attend pride, never cared to fall deeply in love. Also, she only applies rainbow capitalism under democratic goverments. When the republicans are in office, It's radio-silent from miss Valentina. She squashes homophobia and bigotry in her personal life–but in business? She's no activist.

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 8)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves. SOTR SPOILERS

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 7

“I’m tellin’ you somethin’s goin’ on with Y/N. The way she’s actin’.” The footage they’re showing of that little girl mentoring the games, makes it look like she’s having the time of her life. “That ain’t her.”

“You need to leave now.” Y/N’s father insists, attempting to close the front door between them.

“Valor, please.” Cherry presses her hand against it. “She’s your daughter.”

The mayor’s eyes narrow, full of rage. “Do you think I’ve forgotten that? Don’t you think I’ve tried to buy her way out? Barter and plead her way out? She’s my daughter, for god’s sake!”

“So what then? You just give up?” Tucker places his boot between the door and its frame.

“My daughter will be home from the Capitol any minute.” Valor reminds them. “After which time, I have one year to come up with a solution that doesn’t end with my entire family dead. I advise you to do the same.”

Tucker yanks his boot free of the slamming door. “Prick.”

“What do we do now?” Haymitch doesn’t have any family left. No real friends. Just that girl and him, exiled in Victors’ Village.

“There is someone who might know something, but it’s a long shot.” Burdock hasn’t spoken to Haymitch in years. Not since Haymitch started pelting him and his girl with rocks.

Doesn’t matter who it is. “It’s the only shot we’ve got.”

————————————————————————

Burdock and Asterid are not expecting visitors. So when there is a knock at the door after supper, Burdock answers, warily.

Waiting at the stoop is their neighbors from a few blocks down. Cherry and Tucker Carell, lost their oldest in the games a few years back.

“We need to speak with you about Haymitch Abernathy.”

Burdock steps out onto his porch, floorboards creaking beneath him. “What about him?”

“I remember you were close as kids.”

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“Please,” Cherry cuts in. “It’s Y/N. I know you don’t know her, but we do…we did.”

“The laryngitis girl?” Haymitch’s wife.

“Yes,” Cherry snaps her fingers. “She said she lost her voice because she didn’t want them usin’ her words to glorify somethin’ she didn’t believe in.”

Burdock sighs, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Their loss. They’ve lost that girl.

“We want to get her back.” Tucker explains.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can’t. Once a person belongs to them, there’s no turning back. Whatever is happening to her…cannot be undone.”

“That’s not true.” It can’t be.

“Haymitch was my best friend.” Burdock presses on. “He changed, and I don’t blame him. For all he lost…the things he’s seen…”

“Did it happen all at once? The change in em?” Cherry asks.

“No.” Burdock admits, “it took time.” The drinking didn’t help.

“This happened in a week.” Tucker points out.

“Are you sure it is her?” Burdock mutters.

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know how true this is,” Burdock clenches his jaw, “the person who told me was…indisposed at the time. But there was a tribute from twelve, reaped for the Quarter Quell who was killed in the parade. They replaced her with a girl who looked enough like her…”

“A body double?” Cherry’s brows pull together.

“She had something in her ear to control her. They could speak into it and even pump some kind of medicine through it.”

“Some kind of bug.”

“Must’ve been.” Burdock nods. “Haymitch said it would bleed.”

“Haymitch told you this?”

“Like I said, I don’t know how true it is. He wasn’t well. But Wyatt Callow died before her,” or so the story goes. “Louella’s casket smelled a lot worse than his when we buried them.”

The silence hangs heavy between them. 

“You seem like good people,” Burdock says, “and I am truly sorry you’re wrapped up in all this. Please be careful, or people are gonna start dropping like flies again.”

Tucker tosses an arm around his wife, leading her away. “Thank you for your time.”

Burdock watches them go, with a heavy heart. To the victor go the spoils.

Cherry and Tucker make their way back home, leaning into each other as they walk.

“We gotta do it.” Run. This could be their last chance.

“We can’t take her.” Not like they wanted to. Not the way they planned it before.

Tucker hangs his head, staring down at the ground. “I know.”

Can’t even tell her goodbye.

“This is what she would want.” He reminds his wife. “The little girl who showed up on our doorstep with flowers for our boy and a gift for each of his siblings. She would’ve wanted us to go.”

“We could leave her somethin’ at least.” Cherry suggests, “a letter.”

————————————————————————

“We’re packin’ just a couple things, like we talked about.” Cherry reminds her children.

“When are we leaving?” Micah, her second oldest son, asks.

“After dinner.” Tucker tells him.

“Can I take my bear?” Peach, their youngest, newly six, holds up her favorite stuffed animal.

“Of course,” Cherry taps her nose. They’ve already packed up everything the little ones would need.

Interdistrict travel is strictly prohibited, but Cherry’s mother was always telling stories about when she was a girl. ‘Free as birds, we were. There’s life outside these districts, Cherry. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.’

District thirteen was said to be destroyed by the Capitol, turns out that isn’t true. A couple of their friends have trickled out to test the waters, sending signs that the coast is clear. They were only waiting for Y/N to get home.

Cherry sits down at the table, paper and pen in hand.

‘My dearest, Y/N.

I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans. I once suffered from some delusion that Tyson’s memories are tied to the walls of this house. That some part of him resides in the bones, buried outback. But I was wrong. My son is not trapped in a place, or a body or even this earth. We are.

Trapped in a district the president has no love for. Where children are starved and slaughtered for entertainment. There’s got to be more than this. We’re going to find it, for our boy, for all of our children, for you.

We tried waiting for you, couldn’t bear leaving you behind. I can hardly bring myself to do it now, but you belong to them. And they will never let you leave.

I know, in my heart, that if the girl we opened our home to and love like our own is still inside you; she’ll understand. I hope we find each other again, somehow, someway, in a new, free world. But for now we’ve gotta go and you’ve gotta stay. We’re still rooting for you, little girl.

Love always,

Ma, Pa, Tyson, Micah, Hudson, Rixi, Adelaide, Hoytt, Valley, Iverson, Olivette, Harvest, Fauna, Wells and Peach.’

When she is finished, Tucker raises the letter to eye level. Resting a hand on her shoulder as he reads it over, then folds it in eighths. Taking the pen in his own hand to jot down, ‘burn after reading.’

“I’m going to sit with Ty for a while before we go.” Cherry tells him, leaving the note and their simmering stew, in his care.

“Alright, baby.” Tucker presses a kiss to her cheek as she passes.

Cherry treks through the house and out the back door. Tyson’s headstone is decorated by a beautiful arrangement of wild flowers. Each picked by hand. She all but collapses onto the ground beside him.

“Tyson, I need a sign.” She murmurs into the evening breeze. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

Nothing.

Even the electric fence beyond the yard is silent. Silent because it’s off.

Knocking from the front door carries through the house. Cherry rises, brushing dried grass and dirt from her dress. “Tucker, who is that?” She closes the back door behind her, watching her husband peer through the peek hole.

“It’s Y/N.”

————————————————————————

When Y/N is finally permitted to leave, Cherry and Tucker are left with a truth much more devastating than any hypothetical they’d considered.

Y/N is still herself.

Fully aware; in her own body.

What controls her now is the fear of losing people she loves.

“We can’t leave her. Not now, not like this.” Cherry whispers.

Tucker covers his mouth. “Cherry, I put the note in her pocket.”

“What? Why?”

“Because nothing changed,” he takes her face in hand. “All we’re doing by staying here is giving Snow more leverage against her. Are you willing to put the blood of every name you signed in that letter on Y/N’s hands?”

“No,” Cherry shakes her head.

“Neither am I.” Tucker huffs, “we have to do this now. Like we planned, the fence is off. It’s now or never.” He doesn’t want to do this, he has to do this.

————————————————————————

Valor is still pacing in the foyer, after his unexpected visit from the Carells. Given their status, they’re not being watched by the Capitol very closely, if at all. They may be able to help Y/N in ways he can’t.

Donning his coat and shoes, Mayor Undersee sets out to visit the seam. The stares he receives from those who reside there are not the kindest. Still he waves and offers a quiet, “hello.”

There’s some commotion, near the far end, the very house he’s headed for. Smoke and screams greet him as he rounds the bend. The Carell house is on fire.

“Get up! Everyone, out of your houses. There’s an active fire. We need water.”

————————————————————————

Y/N is still holding the letter when Haymitch wakes the next afternoon. She’s so far gone that she doesn’t even realize he’s behind her, until a pair of arms encircle her waist.

“They’re gone.”

“I’m so sorry, angel.”

“They left,” Y/N waves the proof at him. “The fire was a distraction.”

Haymitch inspects it carefully, reading over the letter twice, before clearing his throat. “Gotta get rid of it.” Too damning all around.

“I know.” Her fingers clutch the corner.

“Come ‘ere.” Haymitch turns her away from the fireplace. Slowly working the parchment free from her hand. “Hold onto me instead.”

She does, desperately fisting his shirt in her hands.

Haymitch tosses the evidence into the fire, watching flames eat away at the words, until there is nothing left. He keeps her close, shuffling backwards toward the sofa.

“Don’t go anywhere, Haymitch.” Y/N says, softly.

Haymitch mulls it over for a moment. Hoping that some great words of comfort and encouragement will flood his brain. But there is no divine intervention, just the weight of her head against his shoulder. “I won’t.”

“Hold onto me instead.”

Part 9

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00 @solacestyles @inky-sun @dadbodfanatic-x @sandorcleganeslutt @indigoashh @mustainelove @darkened-writer @ch3rrybutterfly @boredomquest @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @kisskittenn @kwllakka @feeblemindedfool @oopsieikilledan @that-one-fangirl69 @just-levyy @thisisthepartwhereishutup @alixxhere @quackitys-amor @pepelachanel @lurkingsparrow @faithalsip09 @cwallace02sblog @animaloversammy @peachiesnsilk @libbyaller @juiceboxfullofslime @libra-2409 @heidiland05 @evansorry @caraxes-syrax

[urdepressedslut]

Hello lovely,

I saw your post that your requests are open, so I will give it a try =)

Imagine Bucky and reader are best friends but they have a huge argument and now they don't talk to each other for days. She's feeling really bad, missing him. He is her most important person and now without interacting with him for days, she's feeling lost and lonely and heartbroken. Maybe she has not a super power and is only a normal human, helping the Avengers with IT or something. Due to the argument with her best friend and not talking to Bucky (Bucky ignores her completely) she begins to feel it not only mental but also physically. She can't eat probably and at the end falls deathly sick.... With a fluffy happy ending and a worried and protective Bucky

Please. That would be nice.

Take care honey

oh my goodness— my heart 😭❤️ the angst is gonna hurt, but i’m such a sucker for it. i had so much fun writing this one, thank you for requesting and i hope you like it🥰

Love Hurts

♡ Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

♡ Warnings: language, mentions of bucky’s trauma, heavy angst, malnourishment, depression, anxiety/panic attacks, minor injuries, hospitalization, suicidal ideation, self hate, literally hurt just writing this

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | MATURE CONTENT 18+

Your nails bit into your palm, denting the flesh— threatening to pierce the delicate skin. It was all to hold yourself back, distract you from the words that wanted to burst out.

It was becoming a sickening routine, Bucky was reckless and had yet another near death experience on his recent mission. The anxiety and the nerves stopping your body from functioning— the dreaded wait for his jet to arrive back at the compound. You shouldn’t have to be used of receiving the call that he had yet again made a reckless move— but you were starting to discover a pattern.

It did nothing to ease the panic that swirled in your chest every time he left for missions. You’d sob, throwing up everything you had eaten that day— unable to stomach anything with the idea that Bucky was on a mission. You never found your anxiety to be so severe— but when Bucky was even mentioned about going on a mission… it spiked.

That’s where you found yourself in his room, watching him pace the space— avoiding your frustrated stare. You weren’t angry at him per say— you were angry that he didn’t value his life.

“Seriously (Y/n)— you get so worked up over nothing. I’m here and alive— isn’t that enough?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You pressed your nails tighter to your palm, yet the pain couldn’t stop your thundering thoughts.

“You’re here and alive now, until you do some stupid shit like this again and are dead!” You hissed, trying to keep your voice low but you didn’t know how much longer you could control yourself.

He glared at you, squinting his eyes in anger and then rolling his eyes.

“Oh for fucks sake— can you stop fucking babying me? I can handle myself!” He raised his voice, his metal arm whirring.

“I’m not babying you— I’m just scared you’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you care about your life at all?” You asked him aggressively, your voice raising just a tad.

He took a long pause, staring at you with his face void of emotion— only annoyance.

“Not really.” He admitted.

You were taken back, although you had these conversations with him a time or twenty. It was an ongoing process to get him to slowly love himself— his past as The Winter Soldier torturing his soul. He was so convinced he wasn’t deserving of anything, not even a roof over his head. It was a struggle to help him, but you weren’t going to give up on him.

“You realize if anything ever happened to you I—” Your voice broke, needing a breath, “Buck I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

You thought you saw his eyes flash with guilt, but before you could linger on the look for too long— his face was hardening again.

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.” He mumbled out, making your eyes widen.

You were extremely taken back from those words, your chest aching painfully— him not knowing what effect those words had on you.

“Are you fucking serious?” You asked him, your face morphing into a hurt expression, mixed with anger. “Can you just do your job without trying to kill yourself?”

His face grew red with rage and he was stomping up towards you— his face inches from yours.

“I am doing my job— very well in fact. Unlike you who just fucking sits here doing nothing!” He defended himself, his breath hitting your face in warm pants.

“Doing nothing? Buck— why are you like this?” You puffed your chest, not backing down from his towering form.

But your words seemed to have hit a nerve, as he shrunk back slightly, narrowing his gaze at you.

“Like what?”

You furrowed your brows, slowing your racing heart from the shouting— you weren’t sure you had said anything bad. Did you?

“What?” You squeaked out, nervous now.

“You said, why am I like this… like what?” He pushed, stepping closer to you now, his face still red with anger but you could see the hurt in his eyes.

You swallowed and wondered how to convince him you didn’t mean anything bad by what you said. But you were almost positive it would be an impossible task to get Bucky to listen.

“Buck, I didn’t mean anythin—”

“What— you think I’m not capable of doing my job? You think I’m still the monster hydra made me?” He spat, his chest rising and falling quicker.

“No, no Buck listen—”

That was definitely not what you meant, you could tell he was spiraling and you were still confused as to why. You would never make him think that.

“After 70 fucking years I finally have a job that I like— that I enjoy doing— I fucking help people! I’m finally doing some good and now you’re telling me I’m not capable of doing it?” He boomed, his chest puffing into yours and your stumbled back slightly. “You think I’m only capable of being a monster? Huh? Is that what you fucking think?”

You were growing scared now, the look in his eyes wild with something and you didn’t like how close he was to you— you knew he’d never hurt you but your fear overwhelmed your senses.

“Friday— call Steve and Sam in here now!” You shouted into the room, and Bucky’s eyes squinted painfully— his metal arm whirring again.

Bucky only saw one thing— you didn’t reassure him that he was thinking irrationally. You didn’t correct him that he wasn’t the monster. Instead you called for help, that you were clearly scared— because you thought he was a monster.

He was at a loss for words and just stared at you, almost through you— as his breathing was only getting heavier at the sight of your fearful eyes.

Not even minutes later, Steve and Sam were busting through the door, taking in the scene and separated you and Bucky.

“Hey— what’s going on?” Steve asked in between the two of you. “Buck, what’s wrong man?”

You couldn’t seem to find the words and just stood speechless as well— the fight startling you. This was one of the worst ones, and it was also one that still left you confused. You cursed yourself for not being careful enough with your words— but it was almost impossible to get through to him when he was on the brink of having an episode.

Sam walked closer to you, his facing morphing into concern as he took in your shocked expression.

“(Y/n)? You okay? Did he hurt you?” Sam whispered, keeping his words only between you two.

You slowly shook your head but still didn’t respond verbally.

“Okay, okay that’s good. You wanna go get a drink from downstairs? Why don’t we take a breather okay?” Sam suggested softly, big brother mode kicking in at the sight of your frazzled state.

Without another word, you left the room with Sam— missing the devastated look from Bucky.

Steve waited until the door shut, then his attention was back on Bucky.

“Buck, you gotta talk to me man— what happened?” He asked softly, watching his friend slowly relax, but it wasn’t from being in a relaxing mood— his body and mind were just exhausted from the argument.

“I fucked everything up. That’s what happened.” He mumbled, turning away from Steve to sit on the edge of his bed.

Steve followed behind but stood in front of him, shaking his head— ready to argue.

“You didn’t mess anything up, arguments happen. You guys will work it out. I know how much you mean to each other.” Steve pointed out, watching Bucky’s face unchanging.

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me— she’s scared of me I—” He shuttered, his breath shaky as he remembered your look, “I fucking scared her.”

Steve’s chest ached, the state of his friend breaking his heart. He knew Bucky meant no harm, and he almost for a fact knew that you knew that too. But Bucky for sure didn’t believe that himself.

“I didn’t see what you saw, but I can guarantee you that she’s not afraid of you. This is (Y/n) we are talking about. You are her world Buck.” Steve tried to convince him.

Bucky shook his head, running his flesh hand through his hair.

“I think I just need to stay away from her for awhile.” Bucky came up with instead.

Steve immediately started shaking his head, knowing that was the last thing he needed.

“Bucky I—”

“Please Steve… I just need some space.” Bucky pleaded, his body sagging in exhaustion.

Steve couldn’t find it in himself to argue with him anymore about this. Maybe he did need some time to himself, to cool down and gather his thoughts. Also Steve wasn’t going to force him to anything ever. After the years his pal went through— he would never make him do anything. He had enough things decided for him, and Steve wasn’t about to stoop to hydra’s level.

Meanwhile down in the kitchen, Sam was getting you a glass of water— standing across from your seated form at the island. He slid the cup across, sending a worried glance at you.

“(Y/n)?” Sam snapped his fingers getting your attention.

You were shaken from your state of staring, but even snapped out of the trance— the anxieties still swirled within you.

“Yeah sorry… I’m here.” You whispered, grabbing the glass and taking a tiny sip.

Sam gave you a quizzical expression, watching you start to slip back into a mindless stare— so he spoke up.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” He asked, genuinely curious what had went down.

He knew— hell everyone knew you and Bucky were extremely close. Best of friends, always there for one another— dancing on the line of strictly friends to lovers. Truthfully, Sam found it completely obnoxious and just wanted you two together already.

“I don’t really know… I think I said the wrong thing— I didn’t mean to make him upset.” You confessed, keeping your eyes on the countertop, not risking a glance to Sam.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up— mistakes happen. I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Sam told you.

You shook your head, gripping the cup tighter.

“God I hope so… I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You whispered pathetically, tears welling in your eyes.

Sam reached out to rub your arm comfortingly, trying to relax you so you didn’t start crying. He hated to see you cry— made his heart hurt.

“It’s been a long day for everyone, why don’t you go head upstairs and get some sleep. I’m sure things will have blown over by tomorrow.” He suggested and you finally met his gaze, smiling weakly and nodding.

Without saying goodbye, you stood up and headed to your room. Taking Sam’s words and playing them on repeat in your head.

Tomorrow is another day, tomorrow would be better.

God had you hoped that was the case— it only was the beginning on the torment.

You had slept in longer than usual, but overall felt refreshed. The first thing that came to mind when fully waking up was Bucky. Immediately you headed downstairs to find him— needing to talk with him— apologize.

Making it down to the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in at the sight of him sitting at the island— sipping at his coffee. You furrowed your brows, thinking he'd be done with his coffee by now, since you had slept in. Your chest ached with guilt with the possibility that he didn't sleep well.

You took a deep breath before making yourself known, although you were sure be could sense you in the room— considering he was a super soldier.

"Morning Buck." You announced, walking around the island so you could face him.

He kept his gaze down at his coffee, finding the cup more interesting than you.

Okay, that’s fair. You thought, you most probably deserved that reaction.

“You sleep okay?” You asked again, picking at the skin on your nails nervously.

Again— he didn’t even lift his head. In fact, he wasn’t even acknowledging you. You waited several minutes for a response, the silence becoming thick with tension and you couldn’t stand it.

“Bucky?” You tried, and this time he lifted his head.

Your heart twinged in your chest at his bloodshot eyes, clear evidence that he hadn’t gotten good sleep. You hated yourself for causing him the stress, especially knowing he was just starting to actually get hours of sleep. It was huge progress compared to his nights either screaming awake or just staring at the walls. But now you had to go and ruin all that progress. You felt sick to your stomach— disgusted with yourself.

“I’m really sorry about last night… I didn’t like how ugly it got and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you— you know I’d never intentionally hurt you.” You told him, picking more aggressively at your nails, causing to nail beds to bleed.

You swallowed nervously when he didn’t answer right away, instead staring at you with… what was that? Disgust? You didn’t know, but you hated the look altogether.

“Bucky, please say something.” You pleaded.

Bucky lowered his gaze to his coffee again, taking a minute before he stood up and looked your way.

“I just need some space.” He told you quietly.

You were relived to have him finally talk to you, but to hear him suggest space between you two— you could almost feel the knife digging into your chest. You tried to keep a neutral expression but otherwise felt your bottom lip quiver.

Without giving you time to respond, Bucky was walking out of the room— leaving you standing there speechless, lungs begging for air. You didn’t want your mind to go immediately to that thought, but you couldn’t ignore it either— he hated you.

“Hey babe, I need you to help me out in the lab tod—” Tony came busting into the room, but immediately shut up once he saw your broken expression. “Honey, what’s wrong? You alright?”

You nodded your head, lying to him and yourself and started waving him off with the fakest smile.

“Yeah— yeah I’m good. Just need to uh— need to get some things done.” You told him, your eyes darting all around the room, the familiar feeling of panic seeping into your being.

Tony gave you a ‘really?’ look and stepped closer to you.

“(Y/n) I’m not blind— I can see you’re upset. Talk to m—”

“Seriously Tony— I’m fine! Just leave it alone!” You told him a little too aggressively.

His face was taken back and you felt guilty immediately, cursing yourself for hurting everyone.

Why are you such a fucking issue? Your mind screamed at you.

You didn’t waste another second and sped walked out of the room, needing to calm yourself down before you ran into any one else. You were spiraling and you needed to just relax— take a deep breath. Maybe you just needed one more day and things would be back to normal.

Yeah… just one more day.

You had hoped that was the case as well… but as always— things only got worse.

Bucky refused to talk to you or even look at you. He’d given you the cold shoulder for almost two weeks now. He would get up and leave the second you entered the room. He couldn’t stand you it seemed.

You couldn’t keep hiding your hurt. At first, you had done a good job at hiding how you were really feeling. Saving the sobbing and attacks for when you were alone in your room. As the days lingered on, you found yourself weak and drained— you didn’t have enough energy to put up a charade anymore.

The whole team were sending you worried looks, and attempted to talk with you. But the second they’d try— you’d bolt. The subject was too sensitive, too raw. You didn’t want to talk to anyone but Bucky— and he hated you.

You had missed so many meals, forgetting to eat with your mental struggles throughout the days. You had been getting no more than two hours of sleep. You were so stressed, so stuck in your own mind that you couldn’t function. Even when you had managed to remember to eat, your stomach would knot up to the point that you were throwing everything up. You were gaunt, basically a real life zombie. You needed help— but you needed Bucky more.

You were laying in bed staring unknowingly into space, it had been hard to focus with no food or sleep in your system— so you had only managed to lay here. Even that was exhausting, no matter how much you laid around— your mind wouldn’t stop the assault. Your anxiety had never been this bad, you were a prisoner to it.

Knocking at your door had you jumping, your heart racing— and for a moment you forgot where you were.

You’re in the compound… yeah that’s right.

You slowed your breathing and swung your legs sluggishly over the edge of the bed to answer it. You weren’t prepared for the sudden dizzy spell, your vision spotting with black and white specks. You tried to blink it off, but suddenly you were toppling to the ground.

You fell to the floor with a loud thump, luckily landing on your front, your hands somehow catching most of your fall— you could already feel the throbbing in your palms.

You didn’t hear the persistent knocking, or the door open. You didn’t even hear the voice speaking from the doorway. It was when a hand landed on your shoulder that you were gasping, forgetting your surroundings once again.

Your eyes met Steve’s and you swore your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

“(Y/n) are you alright?” He asked you, hovering his hands over you— not sure what you had hurt.

You furrowed your brows, looking him over.

“Steve what are… what are you doing here?” You asked genuinely confused.

You watched Steve’s eyes widen and he swallowed nervously— his expression growing more concerned.

“(Y/n) it’s okay… I’ve got you.” Steve hushed, and he was pulling you into his chest, hugging you protectively.

You were still confused but then you tasted one of your stray tears, and you immediately came to your senses. You were crying in Steve’s arms… but why? You were having gaps of time missing from you, this wasn’t the first time this had happened— you just didn’t seem to care.

“Steve… my head hurts.” You slurred into his chest, sagging against him.

You were grateful that he was here, you desperately needed someone around. You were just hoping that someone would’ve been Bucky.

“Okay, let’s get you to Helen. She’s gonna take care of you, okay?” Steve asked you, and you could only give a weak nod.

He knew there was no way you were walking there, so he hoisted you up into his arms, and cradled your head as he started to the med bay.

You just stared blankly at his chest, not really caring if Steve were to throw you off the roof of the building. You just didn’t care.

Steve had gotten you down to her, and she checked you out. Alerting Steve that you were extremely malnourished, dehydrated— an insomniac. She kept listing off all the things Steve was afraid to hear. The whole time he was sure you didn’t hear a thing, although you were in the room— you were just checked out.

Helen eventually left, and Steve took his opportunity to speak with you. He pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed and grabbed your hand.

“(Y/n), what’s going on? You can talk to me— you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Please… just talk to me.” Steve whispered, pleading with you that you would stop torturing yourself.

“He hates me.” You mumbled.

Steve’s eyes widened and he frowned, knowing what you meant. He knew he let this go on for too long.

“(Y/n) he doesn’t hate you. He just needed time to himself, so he co—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, I don’t even know what I said to hurt him but I—” You rushed out, the heart monitor beeping frantically, “I’m a horrible person, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to!”

You wheezed out, clutching your chest as you couldn’t catch your breath. Your cheeks glistened with a steady stream of tears, your wheezing only growing by the second.

“Okay, okay (Y/n)— I need you to slow your breathing. You’re okay, he doesn’t hate you. Just take deep breaths okay— even if you can’t just try. I’m here.” He tried to coach you, but this wasn’t his thing.

Now he was starting to get mad at his friend, Bucky shouldn’t of let this go on for this long.

You followed his chest rising and falling, staring at him as he tried to calm you down. Your breaths were heavy and painful sounding. Steve was about to say something but stopped himself when he saw your eyes look behind him.

He turned and saw Bucky standing in the doorway— his face paled. Truthfully, he looked like he was going to be sick.

“(Y/n)?” He whispered, his heart breaking at your state.

He had ran into Helen in the kitchen and was informed of your condition— he didn’t believe it and had to see for himself. He was shocked to find you like this.

Your tears only edged on from his appearance and you shook your head in shame.

“I’m sorry Bucky! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” You sobbed and Bucky ran to the bed, kneeling down and taking your hands into his.

“Doll it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here— I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you… I’m sorry.” He rushed out, shushing your cries, watching you slow your breathing at his words. “There we go, just keep breathing with me. I’m here, you’re okay.”

He kept repeating himself, making sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Steve knew you were in good hands and slowly snuck out of the room— knowing you two needed to talk.

Bucky tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek to your jaw. You couldn’t help the way your face leaned into his touch, it felt like it had been forever since the last one.

Your breathing had slowed down, and now you just stared up at him— eyes glossy with more tears. You felt so many emotions. You felt relived, but also angry and hurt. Above all— you needed to know what you did to upset him. The guilt still ate away at your heart, and even just the memory of the argument had your chest aching.

“What did I do?” You whispered, making his eyes shoot up to yours, concern painting his face.

“You didn’t do anything.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows.

You were still anxious— he hadn’t answered your question. Even more so— if you didn’t do anything then why did he ignore you?

“Then why?”

“Why what (Y/n)?” He dared to ask, and you scoffed— ripping your hands out of his.

The anger was approaching.

“Why did you shut me out?” You wondered, and he only let his eyes cast down to the bed— making you angrier. “You ignored me for two weeks! Two fucking weeks you just acted as if I didn’t exist! Do you know how much that fucking hurts?”

You were breathing heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from panic— it was the full force of all your anger bursting out.

He lifted his eyes to you, and you saw how broken he looked. How your state had affected him.

“I could never do that to you Buck— I would never do that to you! You’re my everything! I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust you!” You raised your voice, while he stayed silent. “If I didn’t do anything then why would you— why—”

You broke out into a sob, covering your face with your hands. You felt good getting all the built up anger out— but now you felt extremely guilty. The pitiful face of Bucky staring at you, causing your heart to hurt all over again. It didn’t matter what happened, you always ended up hurting others.

“(Y/n) I’m so sorry I— god I fucked up. I didn’t ever mean to hurt you, please know that. You’re my other half, and no one has ever been there for me like you have.” He spoke through a tight throat, swelling with emotion.

You uncovered your face and just stared at him a little longer, still incredibly hurt from his actions— but you knew you couldn’t stay mad at him. You so badly wanted to forgive and forget— and just wrap him in your arms like you both needed.

“It’s hard to explain what’s wrong with me to someone when I don’t even understand what’s wrong with me— I just know I’m fucked up. I’m broken beyond repair.” His voice broke, his own eyes welling with tears.

You didn’t have it in you to keep up an angry facade, and so you reached out and took his hand in yours. His face almost immediately lit up, his breathing slowing at your touch.

“Try me.” You whispered, watching Bucky take a deep breath before he spoke again.

“The night of our fight…” He started, and you swallowed in having to remember that night. “I had never seen you look at me like that.”

You stayed silent, afraid to open your mouth and have a sob escape. You could feel it bubbling up— the memory playing back through your mind.

“You looked at me like you were scared. You looked at me like I was a monster.” He confessed and it all made sense to you now.

It wasn’t about what you said, it was your reaction that disturbed him to no ends. Even if you couldn’t control your reaction in the moment— you still felt guilty for causing him pain of remembering the hydra days.

“Oh Buck…” You whimpered, trying to pull him close— but he pulled away before he could reach your embrace.

“No— you don’t get to be nice to me after what I did. I promised I would never hurt you and I did— you’re in here because of me! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!” He raised his voice, and you weren’t scared of him— just concerned.

“I wasn’t scared of you Bucky, you just caught me off guard. Things were heated— I’m not afraid of you and I most definitely don’t think you’re a monster.” You tried to convince him.

“I really hope you’re not lying because if you were afraid of me… god I don’t know what I’d do. If you never wanted to see me again— that’s fine. Whatever you want, but I can’t live knowing you’re afraid of me.” He whimpered out.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He nodded his head, knowing damn well you’d never lie. That was one thing he loved about you— you were so honest. Keeping it real with him, even if he didn’t wanna hear it. He could count on you for the truth.

“I still don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He argued.

“Well too bad, I’m forgiving you anyway.” You finally told him and he felt his chest expand.

Like he could finally breath.

“Why?” He wondered.

You knew it was the line you two had been dancing on forever— but you knew if there was ever a time to say it. It was now.

“Because I love you.” You admitted quietly.

His eyes widened just slightly, and his breath stuttered. He had always had a feeling what you two had was more than friends, he just never spoke up about it. Of course he loves you too— god he loves you so much. That’s why the thought of you being scared of him was enough to pull him away. He couldn’t bear being around you if you were frightened by him. He couldn’t live with himself. More importantly he now discovered, he really couldn’t live without you.

“I love you so much.” He confessed back as your tears leaked down your cheeks.

You pulled his arm, and he let you pull him to the bed— close enough where you could cup both his cheeks.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, please. I need you Bucky— life is not livable without you.” You cried, kissing his forehead to which he leaned into your lips.

“Never again— I promise.”

This time, he wouldn’t break it.

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[genderqueerdykes]

My MtF friend and I got on the topic of TME/TMA bullshit the other day and she pointed out something I wanted to share (with her permission) "The whole concept of TME/TMA can even result in trans women never wanting to come out to avoid being associated with such shitty believes. If my first interactions in the trans community was someone who believed in it I would probably never admit to myself that I was trans cuz I don't want to associate with a group whose entire personality seems to be victimizing the trauma olympics I-Am-The-Main-Character all in one. Hell they would've probably told me I wasn't actually a trans woman just because my egg cracked late and exclude me anyway."

thank you so much for taking the time to send this, i really appreciate it, because your friend said it better than i ever could've.

I don't want to associate with a group whose entire personality seems to be victimizing the trauma olympics I-Am-The-Main-Character all in one.

this is something i've been wanting to flat out say for a while, so thank you very much for this. it literally is very VERY petty behavior at this point and i'm not humoring it anymore. we have to call things for what they are and admit that a lot of transfems are using this as an opportunity to wallow in their misery so they can control others to make themselves feel better because they feel powerless in cisheteronormative patriarchy. it's not fun or quirky or progressive.

i am very much over making queerness about who is the most oppressed or who is the biggest victim. i feel like a lot of people forgot what a victim complex is for the sake of mining pats on the back from strangers. so many transfeminine people right now are replacing their personalities with being a victim and it needs to come to an end. womanhood is not about being a victim, no matter how hard that woman has it. a lot of transfems genuinely do have this "I Am The Main Character" behavior. a lot of transfems genuinely do believe they are the protagonists of the queer community due to how bad they have it. we have to call it for what it is at this point. it's not an attack to say it.

i've been trying to point this out for quite a while: the TME/TMA binary and man/masc hating in general hurts trans women who are questioning, just now learning about transness, stealth, need to stay in the closet, are never transition, who struggle to pass, who don't want to pass, who are butch, who are gender non conforming, and those who are also men. but this especially hurts questioning and newly introduced trans women because nobody wants to be told that they're shitty for being a man one day, and then babied and patted on the back for being a woman the next. the whiplash from that would be damaging alone

your friend brings up a good point too because what about the trans women whose eggs crack later in life? what about those who don't realize they're a woman until they're in their 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s...? what about trans women who only interact with or present their womanhood sometimes? what about trans women who are content being seen as a man in society, but still identify as a woman inside? what about the trans women who don't ever want to tell another soul but are still women despite that?

this behavior hurts genderfluid and butch transfems a lot. this behavior harms masculine trans women so badly. there are transfeminine butches that want to present butch and i don't care if you read them as a "Cishet man" that's a trans butch and they're not obligated to be less masculine for anyone to accept them. trans butches face so much bullshit for how they dress, appear and act. i'm sorry not everyone's womanhood is feminine, but transfeminine butches deserve to present however the hell they want to and not have anyone call their identity into question.

it really affects trans women who don't pass, don't try to or don't want to.

it really affects trans women of color.

this behavior hurts so many people and i really want everyone to understand a lot of those people... are trans women. please be more considerate of those around you. thanks for taking the time to send this anon, i really appreciate it. you can let your friend know that was deeply insightful & exactly a point i've been trying to make for months. thank you both. have a great week, stay safe

[once-upon-an-animation]

I’m still working my way through Wrath, but I think one thing that continues to irritate me about the way Rick writes Percabeth is that it’s always being re-iterated to us that Percy feels insecure/inadequate regarding his role in this relationship, but we don’t usually see Annabeth worry this much about whether she’s ‘good enough’ for Percy.

On the one hand, you could probably say that it’s her pride that prevents her from worrying…….but I also don’t buy that because Annabeth has been demonstrated to ruminate over her relationships with others and whether they’re going to last. But we’ve never seen her worry about whether she is doing enough to ‘serve’ the relationship; it’s always about what the other person is doing.

I think why this annoys me in particular is because it feels like more missed opportunities for Annabeth to finally tackle her fatal flaw (hubris/pride), learn what it means to actually do some meaningful introspection/self-reflection (a very important part of being a truly wise individual), and make more meaningful demonstrations of humility. I’m not saying she needs to hate herself or anything, but if I can be honest, self-hatred is NOT the definition of humility and it’s disingenuous to treat it as such (for all you people who are inevitably going to complain about “omg11!1!!1 Suggesting that a female character should show humility!!?!?? How sexist!!!1!!1!).

Humility and introspection are important parts of being wise because despite your unwillingness to admit this, sometimes your problems are not always caused by others and/or external factors. Sometimes, your problems are in fact your own fault, or at the very least, some of your behaviors are exacerbating the problem. Sometimes, you’re not doing the best that you could be doing in a relationship, or there are some behaviors that learning/unlearning would benefit the relationship a lot. And it demonstrates a lot of courage and maturity to be able to admit that about yourself.

I bring this up in relation to Percabeth, because I’m a little tired of reading about how Percy always worries about his inadequacies in the relationship, but we never see Annabeth question herself about whether she’s being the best girlfriend she could possibly be. We don’t see any examples of Percy making a new friend who seemingly acts like/questions whether Annabeth is a good match for him. It makes the dynamics of the relationship feel unbalanced, like the responsibility is solely on Percy to service the relationship; Percy does most of the giving, and Annabeth does most of the taking.

When was the last time Annabeth sacrificed something that she wanted to do/say to make Percy happy, the way he often does for her sake? When was the last time that Percy’s traumas and emotional struggles were given front and center spotlight in a conversation of theirs? When was the last time that Annabeth realized that there was something she was doing wrong that was maybe hurtful to Percy, and maybe she should change that behavior? Why is the onus always on Percy to pull it together for the relationship, when his girlfriend has ways in which she could grow too? Why does it often feel like Percy is expected to do most of the emotional legwork?

[rsventhesecondd]

GENSHIN MEN WHO ,

featuring . scaramouche and kazuha ! part 1

warnings . kind of cliché, heavily rushed — so sorry!

note . yes, this was edited incase some of you notice :3

kaedehara kazuha ! interviewing— now..

kazuha. who always watches your favorites show(s) , series, with you. Despite being tired from work, when he comes home— that smile of yours is enough to soothe him.

what's something that you haven't told your lover?      

" One of [name]'s favorite thing to do while watching is munching on something with me, specially sour punch bites. They always takes all the red ones because I don't like them.  They always say how lucky it is that it turned out that way since it was their favorite, and it reminded them of me. " kazuha says in a soft tone. 

" The red ones are also my favorite, but they can have them. " he said with a genuine smile.

I think he's the type of person that would genuinely look like this ' :) ' because he can't help himself from smiling too much when he talks about you.

— 🍁

raiden kunikuzushi ! interviewing— refused?

scaramouche. who always curses at you over small things and acts like he hates you, but he doesn't actually mean it. He just genuinely has a sharp tongue as effect from all the trauma and abandonment he has experienced. 

But at the end of the day, he is there when you need him the most. Even though it might seem like the opposite, he just hasn't felt this type of affection from anyone at all in a long time, so he feels confused as on what to do with genuine love.

what's something you haven't told your lover?

" Who are you to ask me such questions? " — " Um, your interviewer?"

" Whatever! I'm leaving, this show isn't shit anyways" , well that's how the interview goes. cannon because I say so, but I'll tell you in his place for the sake of the show.

something he doesn't tell you .  despite acting all uninterested with what you feel or other opinions , he actually tends to be considerate. He just doesn't know how to show it the usual way, so he shows it in his own. You don't like ' —— ' ? Okay, he'll keep that in mind. You like ' ——— ' ? Okay, he'll keep that in mind aswell.

he's like your grandpa that when you say something like for example " This bread tastes good. " then the next day, you literally have a whole box of them. And when you question him why there's so much, he reasons 'he bought it along the way'. 

—👾

[blood-smiles]

I saw the anon who asked about the yans getting pregnant and being possible parents and I wanted to see this trope with Alejandro and yan angel‼️ :3

HI NONNIE!!! YES!! Anything for you 🩷

Okay so here’s the thing, Alejandro would have a CRAZY pregnancy glow, like are you kidding me?? Like bitch. How are you prettier than me??

LUCIEN is actually jaw dropping my gorgeous either way so he’d probably actually glowing.

well, information about them being parents under the cuut!!

Let’s start with Alejandro, well first and foremost, he would be such a DILF?? Like come awn beb. You know it, he wouldn’t be the best parent but also wouldn’t be the worst pos.

I’ll discuss this in deeper detail in another post later but he has a lot of trauma involving his parents, and sadly the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Not as neglectful as Yuuto, but would leave his child home alone just to go to a trip to Italy with you. Like I kid you not he will just leave an envelope with money and LEAVE.

He is only happy if you are happy, when you get in an argument with your child and they turn to Alejandro istg he will give them the DIRTIEST look, like the ones he gives criminals in court and hang on your side, whispering punishments for them in your ear, taking advantage that you’re upset.

You will never argue with Alejandro about anything because he is always doing what you want, he won’t put on an act like Yuuto but will reluctantly hug his child if YOU ask him to. Otherwise he won’t do shit.

He will never say “I love you.” To his kid, he thinks that would hurt his child more if he lied to him, so he stays truthful because who would love a parasite latching onto him and his darling?

Lucien is definitely up there being a father, right next to Marcelle but um. May i remind you that it’s not the best spectrum we are even on, you know?

Lucien doesn’t have regular pregnancies, he lays eggs like I have said in different posts. So normally his children are going to be really strange looking until they can actually learn how to disguise themselves to look more human like.

To him, children are very disposable. Like I can have another one so what’s the problem??? 

Are his children even going to look human? Hell naw. You will be horrified when they come out of the womb, like what tf is that? No way that has my DNA in it? When it pops out of him you will just smile and nod because you are going to have nightmares. 

They don’t even behave like babies, they are like eerily quiet. Follow you with their head as you walk about. It’s like high key creepy.

Children for angels are more like.. side kicks/familiars I suppose. They do not look for love from their progenitor since they normally go off and do their own thing.

But for the sake of the ask let’s say they are human. Lucien thinks majority of humans are disgusting and unforgivable, you being one and probably only exception.

He will actually be an alright father, but it’s more like he doesn’t know how to show affection because he doesn’t really feel it towards anyone that isn’t you so.. the love he shows is kinda really fake.

His children will see how he treats you in comparison to them and will be extremely confused and probably jealous.

Lucien dgaf in all honesty, he doesn’t think children are worth wasting both his and your time and energy on.

Husk of a parent, like is present but like.. his heart and mind aren’t there with the kid. 

Wouldn’t get rid of them because he doesn’t find them a threat. Yet.

in conclusion…

Do not have children with any of them unless you want your child to hate both of you for the whole of their life 🩷