#some people liked it a lot i don't knoooow

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Ok so here's my thoughts.

Arguments for why he would be sheikah:

He's the gravekeeper, has a strong connection to the dead, lives and thrives among the graves, does keep to himself. Becomes a ghost himself. Lives in Kakariko, and then haunts Kakariko.

This is more questionable, but I feel like "Dampé" and "Impa" have similar phonetic sounds and underpinning logic, the inflexion is in the exact same place, and I think he's also the only OoT Zelda character with an accent in its name in the English translation? Impa doesn't, but the "é" does seem to fall sliightly outside of hylian naming conventions, unless I'm forgetting someone and if that's the case I look stupid now.

There's literally a sheikah symbol in his house I think? In his diary?

Arguments for why he wouldn't be sheikah (so hylian):

Impa being among the last sheikahs and sheikahs being gone (and potentially dead) is a huge part of her characterization, and it would be weird for people not to mention Dampé is there also.

He doesn't seem to have red eyes. To me that's kind of the biggest tell.

He seems to be pretty much kept apart, and if Impa is technically the head of the village, I feel like there should be bigger connexions between them? (unless. Look I have bigger headcanons about Kakariko's history but these are my mad ramblings and nothing canon so let's ignore that)

He doesn't seem to have any involvement with the more spiritual tasks that Impa seem to be responsible for, aka sealing angry spectres or touching anything related to the Shadow Temple, and seems to be mostly focusing on more mundane tasks (and digging holes into the graveyard for money, which seem... pretty disrepectful if we're being quite honest here? So unless he's the kind of guy who turns his people's own resting/sacred grounds into tourist traps, which, not discounting tbh, it seems to me he lacks some of the depth of the relationship Impa has with the dead)

Which leads me to my personal headcanon that he has sheikah ancestry, and might have been raised here, but might be half-hylian, and so his relationship to gravekeeping is not as strict and ceremonial as Impa's. But it would still explain his name, his job, and maybe his distance with the rest of the village (beyond casual ableism too).

Literally WHO wanted to hear me ramble about my headcanons re: Dampé OoT, I'm not quite sure!! Either way, here they are!!

Ok, weird question.

[foptbw]

Timmy: Disclaimer I knoooow my notes have mispellings. I wrote it when I was frustrated and upset and mad! And sometimes words get all messed up when I'm scribbling down it too fast if that makes sense. Please don't make too much fun of me! I'm just so frustrated by this whole Odd Neighbors situation! Why do they like her more than me? Why? Why? Why? Anyway I know the Odd Neighbors are SOOOOOO weird. Even someone else mentioned even if Chester was right and they were on vacation for 10 thousands of days that would mean it would be 28 YEARS! Trust me guys the Odd neighbors do NOT look like they could be old enough to have gone on vacation for 28 years not unless they were like 5 to 10 when they went on vacation and is that even going on vacation? As for them never saying anything about hair dye, they have actually never even spoken to me! Even though I KNOW they had introduced themselves to The Wells! Thats not fair! They talk to the Wells but not me! And Mr and Mrs Wells don't even find their hair weird. Like its normal for people to just have pink and green hair even though they made comments bout my hair. Its just like how no one never ever notices how its weird for Blue lady and man to be blue! I've tried cornering the Odd Neighbors so many times but they always disappear like magic! Like as if they can turn invisible or into some item to hide from me! The only time it doesn't happen is when they are with that girl. But, I can't try to talk to them when they are with her. I'm positive they are fairies or possibly connected to my fairy parents. Fairies have a lot of connections with humans in different lore. The only time they ever let down their guard is with that girl! But I don't wannnnna try to talk to them when SHES around! I can't, I can't, I just can't do it. I'd be like Crocker. I'll never ever be like Crocker. Never ever. I don't care about fairies magic. I just… I just wanna find my family. I just want to know why I never fit in with humans. In stories fairies sometimes leave their children with humans. And changelings are often misunderstood and don't fit in with humans because they aren't humans. If I'm a changeling it would explain why my human parents thought they were going to have a daughter but had a son. Maybe THEIR real child was a daughter? It would explain why they never loved me. Why they never cared. It wouldn't be their fault. How can you blame humans for being unable to love a changeling? In stories changelings are often unable to be loved by their human parents. If I was a changeling than that means it wouldn't be my fault my fairy parents left. Maybe they had to leave. Maybe it wasn't safe for me and they thought making me a changeling would be better. But… if they ARE fairies and they ARE my fairy parents maybe they are avoiding me because I did something wrong. Maybe I did something and now they hate me? Or maybe when they came to check on my progress they were disappointed by me? If they are my fairy parents why do they like that girl but avoid me? What makes her better than me? Is it because she's a girl? Is it because she's cuter than me? Is it because she's normal? Or maybe I'm just unlovable? Too much trouble than I'm worth? Not good enough?

[mitochondriencocktail]

i absolutely love your fic with older bojere! we don't really have many fics like that, and it's so refreshing and sweet. could you name your top ten favorite bojere fics?

AHHHH thank you!! I'm honestly such a sucker for them being middle aged and would love to write a proper fic about them one day... even if it's just a one-shot. Something about the beauty of a love that has matured and settled into its foundation... but also the joy of rediscovering love later in life after you think your prime has passed.

As for my top 10, this took some brainpower... There are SO many talented writers in this fandom and it goes without saying that a lot of the notable ones (private landing, camboy AU, 24k bojere space AU, others that my sieve of a brain cannot recall right now) are definitely on there, so I wanted to try and showcase some others that are less talked about :)

So, in no particular order:

hukun täällä lakanoihin by @sepetajmikolikomehoces (banger after banger from her)

Tarkotin sua by @frikatilhi (this take on the soulmate trope was DELIGHTFUL)

The perfect date by @dreaminofu (The pacing in this was DELICIOUS and the tension built so beautifully)

A Stolen Heart by robohippie on AO3 (I looove the world building in this and the commitment to the style of writing)

5+1 Times Bojan Kissed A Boy by @electron-road-suspect (I'm an absolute sucker for the 5+1 trope and also just any story about Bojan coming to terms with his sexuality, so this was a delight)

here, there and everywhere by @oneshotdepresso (well first of all this fic brought us together... but also I am OBSESSED with this concept and how CD put it together)

non-disclosure agreement by @alien-girl-21 (I'm really a sucker for an AU that builds out the world, and this one also crafted the build-up between Jere and Bojan so well!)

I'm barely breathin' (trying to stay afloat) by anonymous on AO3 (Again, the pacing and build-up in this one delight me)

and my road took you from me by anonymous on AO3 (Short and sweet and poignant. I really enjoy the tone of voice in this one)

Fanfiction of Käärijä and the Bojan by anonymous on AO3 (I knoooow this one looks like I'm adding it as a joke, but I'm actually not HAHA. Humor is so hard to write honestly, and OP committed to the fucking bit which I respect the hell out of. It's short but plays with the meta-textual knowledge we all have of BoJere, Jere's speech patterns, habits etc and it does it SO well HAHA.)

This is by no means an exhaustive list and if I had all the time in the world, I'd probably keep adding more. As you can see, I (personally, which is not the end all be all of writing!!!) really love a fleshed out world, thoughtful pacing, and strong writing style.

I also didn't include PWPs because man I'd have a whole separate list for those, but I hope people can check out some of these if they haven't already :) MWAH <3

[misculenica]

Expressions + Mannerisms (part 2)

By semi-popular demand, another analysis of Solas and his expressions :)

For all you fanfiction writers and solavellans!

I would like to state, for the record, a lot of what I say/have said is purely my own personal interpretations and understandings, and by no means should you take my word as gospel here. This is just some fun :)

I stated in a previous post (I shall call 'Part 1' for simplicity) how Solas has 2 expressions; his 'in the moment' expressions, in which his true feelings are on display, and his 'in character' expressions, in which he's very much putting on a persona.

If you're in solavellan hell, have some hyperfixation-tendencies and/or unresolved feelings towards a specific fictional character (like myself), you'll probably be able to tell the difference between these 2 expressive states of his.

Allow me to elaborate ;)

Solas, In the Moment "when he's honest/caught off-guard/not 'in character'"

Solas clearly has trouble with lying; he's rather terrible at it. I would go so far as to say he only ever lies to you once in the entire game (lying outright, I mean); and it is after the Winter Palace;

"You miss court intrigue... When were you at court?"

"Oh. Well, never... Directly, of course." <- big stuttering liar.

He can't lie worth a damn, but he's by no means honest; he's manipulative, deceptive and sly. I believe I heard someone describe him once as having a 'malicious compliance with/towards the truth'.

I believe his expressions, as well as mannerisms, follow this mentality.

I'll show you several images/scenes in which I believe Solas is being honest/showing himself without his guard up. (And in 2. Solas, In Character, I will show you the contrast).

This one will be hard to show without gifs (which I'm clueless on how to create, forgive me);

A. He blinks a lot, very a-rhythmic.

B. He gets this look about him, and I don't know how to describe it, beyond "'scuse me?" (the long face gets longer, shrug)

Genuinely surprised:

C. He looks very deep in thought/far away - and sad (this man needs some therapy) this is the face he makes when he knows no-one can see him (I'll make a part 3 going into these comparatives of 'you can see me'/'you can't see me');

No ones looking, it's okay (it's not, but whatever) face :

D. He just looks sad when he's being quiet/honest/not putting on some bravado/persona. (You know how 'resting bitch face' is a thing? This man has a resting depressed face, and i think it has to do with the tragedy - he practically embodies philosophical pessimism)

Acceptance/I don't see a way forward/I need a break face:

E. He has the softest look about him when he's touched/shown affection (yes these are all from the dream-kiss scene) (bless my poor solavellan heart)

Yes, I like to be held, please kiss me on my face face:

F. Smug face... He has a smug face (to be fair, this is literally him revealing he has complete control over when you're awake/asleep... and much more, given the context of Tevinter Nights - idk this face always creeped me out actually XD like i knoooow this guy could fuck me up if he wanted)

"It's my world, you're all just living in it" face:

G. He fidgets a lot when it's just him, or he's talking to you honestly. Like he always has to be doing something with his hands. (I noticed he doesn't do it when he's in groups, or with others) - not a facial expression but I thought it was interesting behaviour. In fact, his movements in general increase a lot - he fidgeted, he sways, he wobbles, he gestures, moves his head a lot. (Just watch all of his personal quest, you'll see what I mean). (He also does this when you first meet him, but I chalk it up to he's just super excited that you're not dead and finally you can fix his mess - since he was 100% sure you'd be dead and he was ready to bolt with his 'i didn't say it was a good plan' plan)

At the risk of just listing typically behaviour in people with certain emotions, I'll move on to his 'in character' part.

2. Solas, In Character.

A. He blinks rhythmically, every like... 5/6 seconds?? (yeah, I know... I do have a hobby besides this stuff i swear XD i just like this egg). It's soothing, like a heartbeat. The blinking just always stood out to me with his character, idk.

B. He smiles a lot, but I can't tell if I know who he is and what he's doing, and that's clouding my vision, but it feels very much like a job interview kind of smile. Like, every split second it falters just a bit.

This man just doesn't want to smile (though, I suppose this is early in game when he's very much 'these aren't people' 'oh i have to pretend really hard rn'

C. He stands pretty damn still and stiff - if he's doing this i'm 99% sure he's being manipulative with you, sometimes the only movements he has in a scene is him blinking, perhaps glancing sideways. - think just before the journey to skyhold when he gives you a talk about the orb and how you need to prove yourself - he's in 110% manipulative mode

The trouble with Solas is, he doesn't have many tells - but the ones he does have are big. And, without delving into scenes as they stand, I'd have a hard time expressing this.

But I will leave you with my favourite expression-transition in the entire game.

How he goes from optimism/pride when standing beside Inky, to when the figure passes him, his expression becomes so serious/foreboding. I love it so much.

And I once again want to mention how much I just adore the little details of animation, from eye movement, skin twitches, or full on bodily movement. - especially for a character I adore. It's beautiful to look at, especially as someone who studied animation (absolutely wasted degree on me, I swear) and gets very attached to fictional characters (particularly ones as complicated as the dread egg).

In future parts, provided I get flycam to work on my pc - I'll be able to go through scenes of the egg to give him a bit more of an in-depth view (with gifs and whatnot, can you imagine?).

[monsterlikerr]

i have things to be doing but i'm thinking about my sexuality instead. i'm putting this under a readmore because i feel insane i just need to get it out somewhere

okay so i'm definitely some kind of aro/ace but i genuinely don't know what at this point. i was in a relationship for 3 years and i mean i enjoyed it! we broke up for unrelated reasons. i would say i was attracted to him romantically at least but my memory of my life is fuzzy because i have issues but like. i was romantically attracted to him. sexually is different because most of our relationship was when we were minors and i didn't really think about it because i felt weird + anytime i did it was mostly a "this is how i feel like i should feel" thing. i'm looking at stuff and aegosexual is probably what i connect to most but the thing is i don't... knoooow. and i know i don't have to figure all of that out right now or even ever but my brain will just not let it go. but it really does fit for the most part. i don't imagine myself having sex when i think about it, it's always someone(s) else.

i also genuinely don't know what people find hot or attractive on a person because it just doesn't... work in my mind? like i can look at someone and appreciate they look nice but i don't know if it's a "shame of feeling overbearing and admitting that someone is hot" or "i literally just don't know what makes someone hot because i don't feel it". could i imagine myself having sex? yeah in theory. i think i would give it a try. could i imagine a specific person/people or what we'd even be doing? no not really other than general "sex!". it's not a self-image thing either, because i've thought about it and if it weren't for obvious privacy concerns, i wouldn't care about posting nude/partially nude images of myself/sending them to friends (who'd be comfortable/want that)

like i joke sometimes that i don't really like boobs/ass/etc outside of general aesthetic appreciation. i just don't get the appeal from a sexual standpoint at least not in My Eyes/reality a lot of the art i reblog isn't even "i'm sexually attracted to this" it's a lot of "i like this character and this art is fun/pretty/nice" tbh. which isn't to say "i don't like having this blog" i do! very much i do. if i disliked it or was uncomfortable then i wouldn't be here. but i feel like sometimes it's weird because like... i don'tttt feeelll sexually attracted to a lot of these characters. or any of them. if i'm imagining sexual stuff about them it's not "i want to do X to them" it's "i want to imagine someone else doing X to them". sometimes i'm literally just reblogging art because i know one of my followers would like it and/or i think the art is good and op should know it.

there's probably also something in here about my brain blurring the lines of "where does it cross the line of having romantic feelings for someone VS platonic VS some secret third thing". like i don't knowwww. heart emojiiiiii. i'm probably not aegoromantic i'm just 'i have a job and school rn so i don't want to think about romance' mode (+ the fact that i really truly do NOT get dating apps/talking to someone with the express intent to date. i never have. i really never have). so when people ask me about dating i'm just likke ^_^ ummmmm. hmmm. idk! (<- the struggler). because i really don't know! i don't have a type. i don't have a specific subset of person i'm attracted to. in terms of fiction i tend to LIKE female characters more but it's not like.. an actual attraction thing as said earlier. like alice tmp i call her my Wife and say i Love Her but i'm not thinking about dating her. i just like her a lot and she makes me happy! alice just as an example but there are plenty of other characters. i think sometimes i talk about things in the way i Think i should but sometimes i'm just saying words i do not mean <3. ok this is word salad soup but i have emails to write and i've been here for like 10 minutes. thank you for reading muwah

[year2000electronics]

DIMENTIO CONFESSION ANON HERE!! Omg thank you so much for pointing me towards Garson and Carson because it turns out I wasn’t misremembering things!!! The story of the pixl uprising was what I was thinking about!

So my theory is that the son of the magician who made his dead wife into the pixl queen revived his son in the same way. This is because he mentions that the son might have survived and that him or his bloodline were still around. This is strange since this points towards no-one in particular and doesn’t relate to anything.

SO! My theory was that dimentio was the magician’s son, revived in the same way the pixl queen was and immediately being taken by the same despair that caused her to lash out and attempt to destroy the Ancients. After she was defeated he decided to lie in wait and design a better plan, and that’s why it took him several millennia to strike because he was much more careful and calculating than she was with her uprising. So I guess that would make dimentio a pixl-lich thing, which explains why he always wears the mask and an outfit that covers him completely since pixls are really distinct in appearance.

YES YES YES PERFECT. that's the one!! a lot of people theorize some sort of connection between the magician's son and dimentio- him being a pixl-esque creature would certainly explain why hes been kickin it for so long! at the end of the day though... we just never knoooow

the son and daughter do just seem to stick out SO much though, don't they? like sure, the daughter is the pixl queen, who is part of the lore origin of the pixls, but shadoo, the flopside pit boss, having the same "robot" text bubble that characters like fracktail do... hmmmmm... shadoo wanting revenge on the ancients... hmmmmm... the story lore-dropping that the magician had a son for no real reason because it's not relevant to the pixl queen story that much... HMMMMM...

[cononeillbreastingboobily]

I heard a phrase once that goes something like "growth lies outside the comfort zone".

And holy shit my dudes. It's right.

In just 9 days I've spent at a hospital, I changed. I can't say "completely", but... Wait, no, I can!

I came out of the hospital a different person than the one who entered it, and I genuinely mean it. I described it in many ways. "As if somebody broke me out of my shell", "like I don't have a layer I used to have" or simply "I'm back". It feels... So good, yet so unfamiliar.

Everyone I talked to since I came home who knew me before then, is shocked. They say I smile more, I have a completely different energy, they say I got my spark back that I used to have when I was a child.

I think what happened was the result of many, many things, but mainly:

• Being forced to confront my trauma head on

Hospitals. I had some very painful surgeries, as well as painful and humiliating testing done when I was a child. It screwed me up in so many ways that I can't even articulate to this day. I experienced A Lot of physical and emotional pain during this recent hospital stay. I didn't run from it, couldn't. And I do have to say it contributed to my experience, can't describe in what way exactly just yet.

• Having no privacy and thus, no space to suffer in silence. And thus, having no choice but to let people in

Sharing a room with 4 people, I hardly had any space for myself, except for my bed and nightstand. I tend to cry all by myself when I'm going through something. At the hospital I was going through A Lot, and yet I couldn't hide from curious eyes.

• Having people do many uncomfortable things to my body, and having to just go with it

Well, it's not like I didn't have a say in whether certain things happened to me. I could potentially protest if I didn't want to have some testing done or didn't want someone to wipe me down etc. But my desire to reach a diagnosis was so strong that my limitations in that regard dissolved rapidly. Plus, like. These people are at work. I'm not gonna let my embarrassment keep them from getting their jobs done. Otherwise we would be here all day.

• Being taken seriously, but gently

I was faced with so much kindness during my hospital stay. It helped me remember that somewhere out there the world can be really kind and that there are good people out there. I think I completely forgot about that.

• Being given hope

I didn't realise just how much I had given up on myself and just life in general, over the past few months. And yet I had people gently hold my hands on 3 separate occasions and tell me "It's gonna be okay". How does one not start to believe it even just a little bit after that?

• Being reminded of my passions

I had a very intense talk with the head of the department that took me in. He asked me about my gifts and abilities, and pointed out other ones I missed. I kept finding myself thinking of more I could've mentioned days later.

• Being shown a way forward

This ties in with the point I made two paragraphs before, but I do think it deserves it's separate section. Along with the hope that I might get a full diagnosis, and that what I'm suffering from right now is reversible, I had a spark lit up in me, one that I lost a long, long time ago. I was reminded that I love to learn new things, and that I want to go and study new topics. I'm going back to uni! This time a post-graduate program tho, I'm not pursuing a degree (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

So, there you have it. I knoooow that these are highly personal and subjective, but I'd regret if I didn't share my experiences and observations even a little bit. If by sharing this I inspire just one person to do and change something, or to look at things differently, I would consider it as a job well done.

[namorslutfanfiction]

girl I'm down bad for tenoch, like i havent been in a long time for a male celebrity. i am obsessed!! his birthday is tomorrow!

i have so much curiosity about him (as a person, you know), like does he believe in astrology? hes such an aquarius! and because of that, the answer could be yes or no hahah

I have been practicing my spanish more nowadays; i have read almost every single tweet this man has tweeted. im currently reading his book (which is amazing!! must read for people who want to know more about mexicos power dynamics, racism, colorism! very enlightening; as a latina myself, i could swap mexico to my countrys name and it would fit perfectly) (also he is very articulated, intelligent and funny! such an easy-going read besides the theme).

whats his favorite book? what kind of songs he listens to? share your spotify account with me tenoch!!

whats his comfort food? whats his WhatsApp profile picture? is it from a professional shoot or a selfie he took on his phone? did he cave in and bought an iphone? did he have pets growing up? whos taking care of his plants back home?

does he have a nickname? maybe 'Té', or 'Noche'? or is it something that has nothing in common with his name (my family nickname is completely different from my given name)?

and so on so on!! i need ANSWERS!! necesito tomarme un trago con el!! necesito pachequearme y hablar de la vida con este hombre!!!

Same. Like I literally found myself back on this godforsaken site after years because I needed to be able to vent about my love and obsession for this man.

Oh I would love to know his random opinions and his belief systems. I think he would find it amusing that we have looked up his astrological chart to the best of our abilities. Like he would definitely think "wow thats extensive" but he wouldn't make fun of it like some guys do.

So I know like very rudimentary Spanish that I learned because of my job. I got so often mistaken as some type of latin or hispanic person that it was easier to learn enough Spanish to get by and guests were always so understanding. "Oh she can understand us but it's hard for her to reply." I want to learn more Spanish but I don't have the time right now. I wish I could read his book but a translation isn't out yet.

As a filipino I feel like there will be a lot for me to relate to in the book considering the rampant colorism in all parts of Asia. Filipinos are often referred to as the 'Mexicans' of Asia. Which is weird but also fitting. What snippets of translation I've seen have been so interesting though.

I know he hates reggaeton with so much passion its kind of hysterical. I think I remember him mentioning one of his favorite books in an interview but I can't remember off the top of my head. I knoooow this man has all kinds of proud Latin music on his playlist. Also unabashed bangers like Selena.

He apparently has a screenshot from his whatsapp on his twitter somewhere and I think it's like a normal pic not anything professional.

DOES TENOCH HAVE PLANTS? THAT IS THE QUESTION I NEED ANSWERED BECAUSE I AM A PLANT MOM!

Did you see that interview where he was mad hungry and eating the food the interviewer bought him? I wonder if he's one of those mexican dads who is willing to try a bunch of stuff or if he's the type to always choose latin food over anything else.

I've seen some of his activist friends call him 'Noch' or 'Nochie' I also know that Diego Luna specifically calls him 'chiquitin'. And that makes me giggle because I think he smiles his stupid cute smile every time Diego calls him that.

LOL I have two first names and depending on who you are decides which one you call me. So I don't have any nicknames. Everyone would just get even more confused.

I wanna talk to him about everything, life, love, politics, bull shit, the things that make us happy, the things that make us sad. I wanna talk about our pasts, our futures, our dreams.

I want his advice. Like I bet he gives the best life advice.

thank you for the ask,

[erigold13261]

>:3 more headcanons

1. Mayday and Purl Hew start purring if pet for long periods of time ( You bet thier partners take advantage of that)

2. Tatiana tried licking a curling iron when she was younger, it didn't go well

3. West and DJ love depressing county music and give each other recommendations on songs the other might like

4. Kliff has a big collection of 50's rock movies

5. Mama bit a guy in 8th grade who wouldn't stop touching her hair, he got better luckily but she hasn't told anyone since

6. Sofa chills at a cat Cafe when the crew have a day off of course Sayu merself joins in

7. Zimelu is a huge Gundam nerd and has several models, that no one is allowed to touch

8. 1010 found the old advertisements J shot for NSR and have never laughed harder, J was just embarrassed the whole time and made sure this would never be found again

1). I LOVE the headcanon that Purl makes weird or animalistic noises so much, and I can totally see May also doing that! May doesn't mind purring for her partners, Purl does and if pushed they will just leave for the night all pouty.

2). You know what? I'm pretty sure NO ONE in Tatiana's family or friend group would have a curling iron. So that literally means that Tatiana either went to a mall, hair salon, or some random person with a hair iron and licked it lol!

Also, I see her as not being hurt, so that isn't the "didn't go well part." What was though was either Joust or Quida thinking it was not hot because of Tatiana's lack of reaction and so one of them licked it, which is when things went down hill and chaos ensues!

3). Honestly, I don't see DJSS as liking country music until they hear West and Purl listening to depressing country music and he fell in love with it. Before all he heard was like the stereotypical "bad" country music that a lot of people seem to hate, so hearing a "good" country song was something else for them.

I also don't know if this counts as "depressing country" music, but I can see them all really liking Poor Man's Poison (which is Folk genre but kinda close to Country, maybe. Let me know if I'm wrong lol). I love that band so much and some of their songs are on the darker side! Purl would love "Stronger than the Whiskey" while DJSS I can see liking maybe "Pressure Cracks" or "Black Sheep" and West would really love "Georgia Law Man" and " Hell's Coming With Me."

4). I don't knoooow... Kliff doesn't seem like a rock fan to me. /j

No, but he totally would! I can see Kliff having all the major songs, vinyls, CDs, cassettes, and whatever else of all the most popular rock bands of each year/decade. Then he'd have smaller artists that he liked and then just a HUGE digital collection of all kinds of rock music too! This guy lives, laughs, loves rock!

5). I can honestly just see her punching a guy touching her hair. She knows not to bite people unless really in danger or something because she could potentially kill someone with her venom.

That being said, she WOULD bite someone to protect Papa when they were younger. It only happened once, but that kid (and other kids) never bothers Rubato after that incident ever again. It finally put a stop to all the bullying he was going through at the time, since none of the other adults would ever stop it.

And again, thankfully he got better. She doesn't like to tell that story, and Papa knows this, so it never gets told to people around her. Though I'm sure her mom would let it slip one day during a visit with Yinu probably lol.

6). Sofa, Sayu, Haym, and Yua all have weekly cat cafe meetings. Many fans await the many photos of foam cat coffee or cute deserts that the 4 put out after the outing lol.

7). The only one who would be allowed would be Eloni and that's only because he would have helped Zimelu build them lol! Other than that they are never touched and put inside a beautiful display case (I know nothing about Gundam other than it is a mecha anime lol)

8). I honestly don't see Neon making advertisements without 1010 as I see him and 1010 as starting NSR together and not like Neon started as some guard or something and then made 1010. So 1010 would definitely already know all the advertisements Neon would have made.

However! I can see them looking back to the first ever 1010 advertisements and laughing at how bad they were for the time. Neon is obviously embarrassed at how messy and awful they are, but is happy with how much he has improved.

If anything, I can see 1010 doing embarrassing advertisements at first before they finally told Neon "We don't want to do this commercial" or whatever. Now 1010 and Neon make sure they communicate if they want to do a ad, collab, promotion, etc.

[firespirited]

A lot has happened and I got the selective mutism again so here's a sleep meds dump.

Effie the cat abandoned by lady two doors down who's having a mental health crisis is currently living in our garden. We were going to rehome her but neighbour complexities mean that she'll be eating at the neighbours house and possibly slowly moving into their garage as their territorial cat adapts. She is a bird killer which annoys M, J who's very allergic has decided to mediate the whole cat business. I still think Effie would have no problem finding a new home but J's vetoed that. So there's a cat outside the window and I might need to build some sort of rainproof shelter soon. Papaye the cat is also back living in the building and two orange young cats moved opposite. Thankfully no fights yet.

I hurt my wrist doing some small crafts and barely any writing. RSIs are horrid. It's been a year. Very annoyed.

On the other hand uh so to speak, four people decide to shop for my dolls this week. Months of nada then 4 at once. I have parted with my preciouses, the baldies (and kept more than enough projects) to a fellow customizer and fully don't care if they get trashed, flipped into $200 customs or sit in a drawer. They're blank canvases that I can't paint. The ideas for the paintings can wait for another time, another scale, maybe even another medium.

I sent my first parcel to the states in ages!!! Will let you know how that goes!

Aaand the money earned on deglued catty noir and a couple of partial/yarn reroots went... straight back into 38 doll heads. I know. I knoooow.

So I had a rough series of days then I struck up conversation with a lady at the phonebox library to ask if she knows who runs it. She didn't know but volunteers at the red cross store in town. It was the kind of conversation that starts out friendly and I knew within a few minutes that if I didn't find a bunch of things to say that she was going to tell me her life story and probably trauma dump (which could be anything from getting older and adapting to empty nest to seriously awful), not sure why I have this effect on people but I do. I filled a awkward lull in conversation about people throwing away items that are still useful by stating that I repair fashion dolls and the enjoyment in making something old new again and learning about various crafts and she really wanted to either commission me for her 18y/o daughter's dolls or hand me the pile she's been keeping from throwing away at the red cross at which point I remembered my neck is borked (!) , i tried to repeatedly back pedal and explain that I'm currently not doing any commissions but ended up mumbling while staring at my feet oddly choked up that 'health has been a serious issue' lately and pretending Lily had pulled on her lead to change the subject. We ended the convo with thanks for her volunteer work and putting books at the phonebox, for the lovely chat, have a nice day etc.

It stuck like a piece of grit in the cogs for a few hours and then I heard we might someday get a vaccine for autoimmune diseases but that's the 15th 'promising' cure in 25 years, they really bum me out. We've been this close so many times before. I want the cure, i want the disabled to have value. I want hope. I want to not feel in debt and at society's mercy 24/7.

Later I was doing my normal ebay check just in case that rare doll drops and made a bid thinking that I probably wouldn't get it. What was in my mind was "dolls are my hobby and expertise - you can't use your shoulders so you don't have a hobby or expertise - i do it's a hiatus - it's been a year and no progress when does it end?" on a sort of quiet background loop of brain nonsense. As you do.

26euro shipped. 38 heads, 30 bodies (2heads and the bodies not pictured), terrible photos but I spied GG Nichelle, anime 90s skipper, Miko, vintage Steffie, Midge and Tutti.

It's an excellent investment if even 2 or 3 end up in decent condition.

It's also 38 steps backwards in the 'destash and stop messing with the shoulders' efforts, right at a point where I'm getting somewhere. You can't be like 'que sera que sera' when you're actively making choices.

IDK I was really hoping for a sign or a way forward and my dr and physio are super passive which is both great because they don't put me in positions where I have to face post exertional malaise by their hands only my own choices but I also do all of my own medical research and bring it to them for approval. I've run out of clues or ideas for my swollen tongue and damaged vertebrae. It makes me feel trapped then stupid happens. No, feeling trapped leads me to choose a thing that will make me feel mastery of crafts and skills and it also comes with a price tag of massive pain.

***Seriously it's small potatoes, some hobby supplies from a hobby I'm crippled at.***

... But it's symptomatic. It's part of a large scale pattern of reclaiming some sense of personal, well not control and probably not usefulness/productivity but something close to usefulness/skills? It's not quite dignity either but there's a little bit of pride in there. I'm not going to ruminate on a year of bad decisions or whether they were the least bad decisions to balance sanity and health. But there's something broken since the pandemic for sure and probably long before that I'm running from. It could even be being raised in the 'purposeful' life mindset (if you know you know)

ok i keep deleting paragraphs and paragraphs of unpacking stuff from my twenties so I'll leave it at that so my brain will allow this. The teal dear of it is that it's awfully hard to just exist without 'contributing' or generating money or cosmic goals I guess. Allowing yourself to be a mote and a blip in the universe sure is difficult.

I wouldn't allow this kind of talk from friends who have innate value to me. Hmm.

It sure was a nice few years getting to make things and I'm finding it hard to imagine a different life despite living it for a year.

__________

Well happy 21st everyone. Feed your skeleton and ear snails some funk today. Don't let the existential bedbugs bite (especially if they're ticks). Wear a mask when around gen pop and take the painkillers, things shouldn't hurt. 💚💚💚

I have a package of heads to look forward to. And a cat outside the window. And some introspection to avoid. 😅

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

—

warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion

song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰

its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰

—

October 3rd, 2015

Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 

Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.

It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.

There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.

Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.

It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.

The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.

“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.

“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.

“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”

Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”

“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.

Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—

Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”

Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”

Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”

“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”

Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”

He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”

“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.

There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.

“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”

“James.”

Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.

“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”

“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”

Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”

“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.

—

Bucky’s up at 0500. 

He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 

It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.

So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.

His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.

While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 

Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.

He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.

That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.

He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.

It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 

He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 

The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.

Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 

The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 

There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 

He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 

Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 

The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 

Almost. 

There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.

This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 

Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 

She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 

He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”

“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”

“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”

This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 

He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 

By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 

“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 

Thank god. “Play it.”

“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”

His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”

“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”

“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 

“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”

“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 

“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 

The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 

He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 

Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 

He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 

That’s what Ma would have wanted.

—

Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 

This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 

“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 

She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 

“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 

She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”

“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”

Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”

“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 

“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”

Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”

“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”

“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”

“Mhmm.”

“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”

“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”

“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”

Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”

“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”

Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”

“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”

“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”

“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”

Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”

“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.

She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.

“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”

“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”

“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”

“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”

The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”

“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”

“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”

“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”

“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.

“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”

“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.

His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”

“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Does gross puss leak out of it?”

She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”

“And is it attached to your brain?”

“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.

She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”

His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”

“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”

“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”

“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”

He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”

Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”

“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”

It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”

Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”

Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 

“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”

It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”

—

She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 

It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.

It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.

So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.

There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.

Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.

May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.

It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.

She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 

He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.

Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”

The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”

“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.

He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.

Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—

He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.

At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.

Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 

His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.

Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.

Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.

He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.

None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.

He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 

“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”

The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”

“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”

“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”

“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”

“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”

Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—

His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.

That’s just how their brand of family works.

“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”

—

“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”

It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”

Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”

She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”

“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”

“And he made it your problem?”

“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”

“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.

“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”

“Report his ass.”

Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”

Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”

“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”

“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”

“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”

The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”

Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”

“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”

She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”

Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”

“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”

The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”

Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”

“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”

“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”

Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.

“The blush or the huffing?”

“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”

“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”

“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”

“Take-out picnic, got it.”

“And Italian donuts.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”

“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”

The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 

“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”

Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”

“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”

“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”

“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”

“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.

In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 

Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 

“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”

“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”

“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”

“He’s admirin’ the—”

“He’s working up the nerve—”

“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”

“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”

Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”

“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”

“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 

Some.

“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”

“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”

His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”

Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”

“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”

“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”

“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.

“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.

Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.

After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”

Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”

“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 

The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”

“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 

Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 

“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.

“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 

“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”

“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.

There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”

It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.

“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”

“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”

“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 

Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”

“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”

Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.

—

September 20th, 2015

Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.

The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.

Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.

Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.

Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 

Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”

Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”

One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 

It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 

“Do I strike you as an invalid?”

“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”

“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”

Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”

“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 

Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”

“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.

“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”

—author end notes—

idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?

im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe

and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰

[dropthedemiurge]

Okay, so. I am too lazy to make screencaps but. Some of the things I noticed in Be My Favorite and I want to bet whether they are true or not (or discuss with people).

0: First of all, why I think we can safely theorize: JittyRain's story that was used for a cool mystic universe-travelling concept in ViceVersa but really failed imo in that part now wrote another story. But BMF is inspired by, not an adaptation of the novel. And the screenwriter & director P'Waa is someone who is known for his love of precise filming where every detail and movement has its meaning and goes with his vision. It's a director who made actors film one small movement like 100 times. And then ended up not using the cut because it didn't fit the picture. So I trust him to really do a good job with BMF storytelling, and as far as I know, just 2 eps already have hella lot of differences from the original novel.

But what do we have so far?

1. Pisaeng definitely already likes Kawi. Kawi is really an unreliable narrator, he never even moticed Pisaeng properly before but the guy was always on the background (literally, starting from the scene of Kawi pulling for secret buddy). The amount of gazing and openly saying he liked Kawi but it's all played as simple flirting that viewer (ehem in Kawics POV) doesn't really believe. But Pisaeng has been eyeing Kawi and wanting to get close with him for a long time, and finally he has a chance. And he lets so many things slide when it comes to Kawi xD

2. Pisaeng and Pear are childhood friends. He said they know each other since they were young. Pisaeng is clearly uncomfortable being shipped with Pear, and Pear is friendly with him > They do not have a romantic interest for each other but they don't mind spending time dining together or just hanging out.

3. Maybe, as it goes for BL typically, Pisaeng is interested in guys, Pear in girls but they both rich so the marriage came from their parents / business-like decision, and that's why Pisaeng is so distressed and drunk at his own wedding (in that one timeline change) because he never actually pursued Pear as his love interest. He even openly said in the beginning he doesn't have feelings for her. And it would be weird to make Pear in love with Pisaeng. (i kinda think she is confused why Pisaeng brought Kawi to their "date" or why Kawi is shy with her because she might know it's Pisaeng who wants to get close to Kawi)

4. Why the hell Kawi is reading foreign books (Sam Walton?) in Korean?? There are thai and english books in his room and only one fully written in Korean book and it's so obviously pointed out. I desperately need to know whether it's intentional or just a decoration. Or is Kawi really talented with languages (and he works as a subtitler!), is it a real part of his personality? I need to knoooow

I'm gonna add more thoughts if I remember them xD

[evilminji]

Do not apologize! Continue to ramble! I am loving this! Kicking up my feetsies and grinning! My plan is working and I am thrilled~

People are starting to GET my vision! I stand here, on my humble soapbox, trying to convince the good Fandom DpxDc do consider adopting this OTHER skrungly beast as well? And it's WORKING~☆

Tell me more of the Museum's "he don't bite" "YES HE DO!!!" Little Guy™! I bet the owners were like "you knoooow... he's technically cheaper then the security system." And like? If he doesn't use his QUIRK? Is it REALLY vigilantism? Technically he lives here! It's self defense! Protecting the home!

Someone break out a law book!

It's like the extreme version of having a guard goose.

Plus? He drives up return visits! Kids want to COME BACK. The last tour guide barely wanted to be here. This kid actually CONNECTS the subject to the kids, makes it seem interesting and relevant.

"How would my Quirk work on the MOON? On mars? Venus?" He can ANSWER that! Make serious or silly, depending on the kid! You can't BUY that sort of passion!

He's even done the slow, painful, "travel all over the country to copy down the ONLY remaining physical copies, type into the system, come back and print-out, then SET UP DISPLAYS" research of finding PRE-Quirk Space Exploration research papers and sciences. A LOT of which were lost in the War.

It takes TIME, effort, money, and a shit ton of false leads to find SCRAPS.

This guy never stops. Seems determined to find every single piece left in the whole of Japan. Get copies of what's in the surrounding countries. He'll be charming some American Museum Curator one moment?

Then he'll turn around and bite someone.

He's the mascot. Rolled up one day, like a trash covered Racoon, and they love him. They put that Racoon in a lil suit and called him BABY. Fed him grapes. Let them HAVE THIS, guys!

Okay but? We of the DPxDC? Are COMPLETELY Sleeping on DPXBNHA?

And not even for the Main Plot Shenanigans!

Just?? It has ALL of DC's super powers? But MORE OF THEM. And like 80% of the population has um! Danny can?? Finally achieve his DREAM of being???

JUST SOME DUDE™!

Yeah, he's in Japan. That's a bit of a learning curve. And YEAH, there was a cataclysmic war like a few centuries back that sorta... fucked everybody up. No one wants to talk about it. There may be mass graves and Never Forget memorials. But?

On the SURFACE!

This place seems utopian!

No ghost hunters! Advanced technology! Robust social services*!

Wait... what was that asterisk? What do you mean "corrupt shadowy government organizations"? What do you MEAN "Immortal Supervillians"? NO SPACE PROGRAM!?!? AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH?!?!? I'M IN HELL!!! This is ACTUALLY THE BAD PLACE, THIS IS HELL, OH GOD NOOOOOOO-!!!!!!

Cause see?

There are SO MANY REASONS he'd end up there?

Think about it! Wish that he lived somewhere his weird biology wouldn't exclude him from becoming an astronaut? In Quirks having Bnha Japan EVERYBODY has weird biology! Y'ain't special! You could TOTALLY be an astronaut!..... if we HAD those! We do not. Shut down that program during the Quirk Wars and never really started it again. (And somewhere, Desiree LAUGHS)

Or MAYBE? Things are getting a little hot on the ground? Bit TOO spicy. The Family Fenton and Friends have fallen back, behind the barely holding shields. Not even the Mansons considerable political maneuvering could stop the inevitably of human fear and blind unthinking hatred. Money can't buy everything, in the end. There is only ONE(1) way out.

Through the Zone.

Plan: Strangers In A Strange World is a go.

They're all Limnal enough to fake it. Sam with her plants. Tucker with his technology and persuasion. Jazz with her limited empathy. Their parents with their... well, weirdness. And with a touch of ghostly assisted meddling? Well, they've always BEEN there! Haven't they?

And that's not to MENTION the random 4 year olds with no control! JUST coming into their powers! With all those big emotions in tiny bodies? Startling events and tantrums? Villian attacks? What could THEY possibly hope to do to control or guide that fresh new power? It does what it does and the rest of us are just along for the ride!

If Danny happens to be minding his business and gets accidentally kidnapped by a VERY distraught 4 year old? Well, that's hardly the KIDS fault, now is it? They're FOUR! That is basically a toddler! Tiny child! They are upset, confused, and didn't mean to do ANYTHING. He's a hero. And Heros don't blame little kids from accidents, no matter HOW stressed it makes them.

No, the curse like a sailor INSIDE their head. Like an ADULT.

Just? Imagine~☆

The slow transition from *starry eyed shoujo sparkles* "This is SO COOL~!" to "huh, that's... kinda weird. And Sus. Weird Sus. Maybe nothing... oh! A distraction!" To "okay, this KEEPS happening, that was shady. You all saw that right? You realize that's not NORMAL, right? That that's fucked up? Not cool?" To "oh god, oh God, OH GOD! I'm in HELL! This is actually HELL! I'm trapped in HELL!!! WHAT THE FUC-"

Like? This kid LOVES space. LOVES the stars. And this is one of the few Superhero Cannon that SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS that IN CANNON? Thanks to Quirks? As in Superpowers? That VERY THING got fuckin SCRAPPED. Gutted. Consigned to be a relic of the past so they could all focus on punching each other Real Good.

He would weep BLOOD. Chew the WALLS. The LEVEL of unhinged this child would unleash? Not as Danny Phantom... but as DANNY J. FENTON? Beautiful. Vaguely psychotic. Definitely doing the Fenton Name proud. God, the NOISE HE WOULD MAKE would be inhuman and yet somehow? Come entirely from his human half.

They👏 Would👏 Hear👏 BOSS👏 MUSIC👏

I don't even know if he'd CARE about the main characters. They'd be tangential at best. The man would be in a one man war with I-Island over their lack of space program and hoarding of scientific progress. Probably living out of an abandoned building or forgotten subway station. Just? The MOST bedraggled, feral genius to ever haunt Japan.

As opposed to the REFINED feral genius. Who is Nedzu.

I bet Danny stands outside his school at one AM waving his scientific papers at a camera and YELLS. Like a deranged lunatic. Mismatched slippers and a "haven't slept in a week" crazed glint in his eyes.

He's Nedzu's new best friend. They GET each other.

And, yes, Nedzu COULD let him in... but it's faster to just let him yell and read the papers through the camera. Who CARES if they both seem insane! Let's shout about advanced physics and engineering at 1 am! Over the speakers!!! Oh? You need to physically SHOW me the notes? Well I COULD unlock the gates... OR just wait for you to finish scrambling up the walls like a feral Racoon, to then throw yourself OVER them.

Either, Or.

I'm just SAYING! We are SLEEPING on this! There is so, SO much fun to be had! Danny breaks rules and minds! His outrage over injustice and the complete lack of SPACE! His protection instincts going BUCK FUCKIN WILD. The INDESCRIBABLE hate boner he would have for Mr. "Lemme just rip parts of your soul out so I can collect your powers like pokemon cards" AfO.

There? Is SO MUCH, guys. SO MUCH!

@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation

[relax-and-read-on]

My top 18 primarch, in descending order.

Bcs I want yell about my boys and everyone has to accept that traitor primarch are just Build Different. Btw- if anyone wants me to drop my headcanons about... Anything primarch related, or just want me yelling about narrative and such, drop in my ask lmao.

18. - Lion el'Johnson: A bastard. A fucking bastard. I made an entire post on why his story is terrible. He make ne enraged. God. 0/10, you were not even in the running.

17. - Ferrus Manus: boy your so lucky fanon made you better, because you actually bore me to tears in canon. It's bad when your best attribute is that your bff with someone else. 1/10, at least you TRIED.

16. - Horus Lupercal: My dude. My bro. Why u so boring. Seriously, for the main big bad guy, your so bland... Another case of "his relationship to others are more interesting than his own story." 1/10, for fucking up big E.

15. - Jaghatai Khan: It's not you, it's me. I don't know enough about him and I just can't seem to FIND anything that really hook me to him. Also, his aesthetic don't work for me. 2/10, he seem nice at least.

14. - Alpharius Omegon: Listen you two. I want to like you. I want to enjoy your deal. But I would need to *figure out your fucking story first*. Bastards. Absolute gremlin. They would be out of the contest if they weren't low key funny. 3/10 for trolling potential.

13. - Rogal Dorn: I can ear my gf howling in anger at her fav being so low. But, for all his awkwardness and autistic coding, I just... Don't really vibe with the guy. Also, urg, his color scheme offend me. And I'm a Pert fan. 3/10, mostly so my gf don't yell at me.

12. - Leman Russ: I would like you my dude if your writing did not make me viscerally angry. Also, you fucked over my boy magnus *and for what hu????* No right. He's only this high because fandom save him, and he's stupidly sexy. 4/10 would have a drunk one night stand with.

11. - Mortarion: The deal is, I want to like Morty more. He's aesthetically pleasing and seem to have my type of personality. I just... Can't seem to "get" him, if that make sense? I want to know more about him. I want to like him more. 4/10, you intrigue me.

10. - Sanguinius: I knoooow, perfect angel baby, so low?!? But that's the thing, he's kinda... Too perfect. He's like good white bread. Sure, it's good, but it's still just freaking white bread. Fandom make him a lot more interesting tho. 5/10, I would marry him and divorce him a few ywars later, and it would 100% be me fault.

9. - Angron: Oh Angron. My sweet son. You writing goes from so my of the best to some of the worst. You legitimately had the most tragic story line. You never had a single chance. He has Karn at his side, wich is another 11/10 character. I like him, but he's a bit one note. 6/10, would attempt a one night stand and get murdered for it. Worth it.

8. - Fulgrim: ok we are REALLY hitting the fav bunch now. First of all, our man here is queer coded, wich make me legally obligated to stan him. Second... The DRAMA he being. Third, he's nice (?) to Konrad. Fourth, mf has the Most Dramatic primarch murder with Ferrus. He's larger than life. I'm a bit sad that his fall was not... Better written.... But I adore him, and his army, and his overly emotional queer ass. 7/10, also happen to be the best dressed primarch and I respect the FUCK outta that.

7. - Corvus Corax: It's CROW CROW AYEEE!! The entire concept of the character is too good ngl. Communist sciency sneaky baby white raven and Poe aesthetic?!? Excuse me did someone ask 14 years old me to come up with the concept???? And THEN he become a warp entity to bully Lorgar?!? Seriously, other character deserve cool shit too! 8/10, I kinda want to be him more than I want to sleep with him.

6. - Roboute Guilliman: listen. *Listen*. People are legit sleeping on Roboute. This man?? Is *funny*. It's just that no one realised that he has the best sarcastic humour this side of the eye of terror. He's funny, care about others, and just generally get so DONE about things, it's incredible. I love him in 40k. He's such a good character. 9/10, would make a excellent father to my kids.

5. - Magnus The Red: Magnus. Ohhhh Magnus. Canon and fanon love you so much. You are a wonderful, complete and uther prick. I say this with love. One of the best storyline, for one of the most well loved character. An absolute favorite. My only grip is that sometime he's a bit *too* much... But he still usually likable at the end of the day. 9.5/10, you just don't have that perfect ompf facter.

4. - Lorgar Aurelian: I was raised catholic so I have an excuse!!! Would he gaslight me?? Yes. Do I feel incredible sympathies for a man who wanted to be good and was thrown away by his literal god? Does he has probably what amount to the best narrative is 40k? Also yes to both. Do I think he's sexy? Most definitely. The only reasons he's not higher is that he become kinda stall once he won. 10/10, a story of biblical proportion.

3. - Vulkan: Listen. *Listen*. I'm sorry, but it's REALLY hard to not objectified his sexy himbo ass. God. He has the same energy as those sexy firemen calendar holding puppy's. Like, bro, you have to choose, you can't be a greek god AND the nicest. He's so good, he ascended past the shitty writing he was served. An icon. 11/10, would present him to my parents.

2. - Perturabo: you ever find a character that is like, all the toxic red flag you like and make you whisper "I can fix him"??. This is how I feel about Perturabo. I adore his story. I adore that he make his own misery. That he's a bastard. And that, under all that iron, all he ever wanted was recognitions, love and acceptance. He may bot have the best storyline of 40k, but he certainly has my favorite. I adore him. 1000/10, would marry that toxic man in a heartbeat.

1. - Konrad Curze: My son. My baby gremlin cannibal son. He eat people. He's awful. He doesn't bath. He enjoy suffering. But he's still one of the best written character in 40k. His books, and any Night Lords book for the matters, are wonderful tragedy. It's unreal. He's so wonderful. So tragic. I love him. I want to be his mom. Infinite/10, I don't even want to fuck him that's HOW MUCH I love him.

[gummyimagines]

hi ! can i get mikan, sonia and junko with a fem s/o who has really bad mood swings? like one moment she'll be happy and the next something minor happens and she's having an awful day. sorry, i have a mood disorder and just don't see a lot of posts like this. thank you :)

I really liked how this one turned out,I hope you like it too

Mikan, Sonia and Junko with a fem!S/O who has really bad mood changes

Mikan Tsumiki

She though it was her fault everytime :(

Though she quickly catched this mood swings weren't normal

She made you some tests and finally diagnosed you with a mood disorder

Like one time you were just chilling in the couch having a great time but suddenly you started weeping,Mikan freaked out

“S-S/O! O-oh no,p-please calm down,why are y-ou crying?” “life sucks! I-I'm just the worst, aren't I?” “N-no S/O you're the best person I know don't say that!”

She climbed into your lap and hugged you while you cried into her shoulder

And when you could finally started to calm down she asked if you were ok and did some breathing exercises with you

She knows how to calm you and she takes care of you,because she loves you a lot

Sonia nevermind

She doesn't know how to react at first

But when she got used to it,she's more a reassuring person,she knows how to comfort you

An example of this was when you were going on a plane trip to her country,you were both very excited and you were cheering all the time but when you passed the check in and got into the waiting room you started to get nervous,really nervous

“S/O are you alright?” “I-I'm not,I-I'm getting to meet your country,b-but what if your people don't like me? Even worse,what if your parents don't accept me? Or our relationship? What if I had to leave? What if-” “My princess,you don't have to get so nervous, it's all right, I'll make sure you're safe and sound”

She took your hand until you had to get on the plane

She always knows what to say or when to say it when it's about you

Junko Enoshima

This is a big frickin disaster

She doesn't know what to do or want to

This is technically what happened last time

You were really playful that day,you had been teasing her all day,saying a couple jokes here and there,peppering her face in kisses,just trying to get her attention and she found it funny and entertaining but you suddenly stopped an began shouting

“What are you laughing for!? Is it funny I want to get your attention? Huh?” “Puhuhuhu,oh S/O don't get mad,yeah it's funny,but I don't want to to get upset you knoooow”

She actually didn't know what to do so she just hugged you tight and didn't let go until you calmed down

[shadow-night]

Bounty Hunter in the Shadows Chapter 1

More chapters here on Ao3.

Story Tags: Erasermic, Friends to Lovers, young Aizawa Shouta, young Yamada Hizashi, Slow Burn, Slice of Life, Hurt/ Comfort, Angst and Feels, Comedy, Fluff, mental breakdown, PTSD, flashbacks, self-medication, drug use, homelessness, homeless Aizawa Shouta, unhealthy coping mechanisms, survivor guilt, cats, growing gp, character study, character development, recovery

Chapter 1: Aizawa and Yamada

Finally graduation day arrived. Aizawa held his UA high school diploma in his hands. This was a joyous occasion – or at least it should be. He should feel proud, which he did to an extent. Aizawa could not help but find the entire event nostalgic before it was even over.

He was a little proud he managed to pull through and finished school, graduating from the most famous hero school in Japan no less, but he also felt a deeply routed guilt. Yamada was joking and laughing with friends. Everyone was loud and happy, yet someone was missing.

Yamada tore Aizawa from his thoughts as he excitedly called out to him. Aizawa put on a teasing smile, silencing him with a quirk and vanished. It was meant as a joke but it also was great to escape his classmates.

Aizawa rolled his eyes at the endless amounts of texts Yamada sent him. He could practically hear the disappointed yelling while reading about how he had missed all the group photos. He didn't even bother to listen to the voice messages or pick his phone up when it rang. Aizawa went home and relaxed on his bed, knowing his foster parents wouldn't get home until later.  He wondered what would happen if he left right this moment without another word to anyone. His suitcase was already packed.

A new message lit up his phone's home screen. Aizawa reached for the device, only now bothering to look at the chat.

Yamada:

We're all going out to eat tonight. Will you come?

Aizawa:

No. I promised them dinner.

It was true. He had promised his foster parents a ‘goodbye dinner’ before moving out. It was the reason why he didn't leave right this afternoon. They were decent people and were kind enough to give him space and not pressure him into spending more time together, so when they asked if he would have dinner with them tonight he couldn't say no.

Yamada:

But you're leaving tomorrow morning, right?! When will we see each other again??

That was a good point. It still hadn't quite sunken in that they would not be back at school again soon. They wouldn't just leave school for a weekend or a holiday, but forever. Aizawa almost regretted not staying longer at school now, though he also knew that it wasn't his thing. Seeing everyone excited for the future and sad they would part would have been a little too much. He was happier alone in his bedroom.

Yamada:

Can I come over?

 Aizawa:

What about dinner?

 Yamada:

We meet later. I'll come over.

Well. Now that that was decided all there was left to do was to wait for the energetic blonde. Wherever Yamada had been, he couldn't have been too far from his home. He was out of breath when, ten minutes later, he rang the doorbell non stop until the door was opened for him.

"Come on in." Aizawa said and they headed over to the brunet's room, where they sat down on the bed. At least Aizawa sat down. Yamada flopped onto the mattress still trying to catch his breath.

"You could have walked here." Aizawa noted.

"Yeah, but I didn't want to miss any more time! Who knows when we'll see each other again!" Yamada said.

"You're the one who wanted to work in America." Aizawa reminded him.

"I knoooow." Yamada whined, but then a grin returned to his face. "But I'm sure it's gonna be awesome!" he said determinedly.

"Just don't start talking to me in English all the time." Aizawa said and realized that he really would miss Yamada.

During their first year at U.A. he did not get particularly close with anyone but Shirakumo and  Yamada. In their second year Aizawa had allowed himself to befriend Kayama a little. The cat Aizawa and Shirakumo found and gave to her had helped a lot in terms of befriending the girl who was a grade ahead of them.

After Shirakumo's death Aizawa made sure it stayed that way and distanced himself from others. He couldn't bear the thought of getting close to someone again only to loose them later. He looked at Yamada who lay on his back next to him on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Aizawa didn't want to think about how he would react if anything happened to the blonde.

"What train will you take tomorrow morning?" Yamada suddenly asked.

"Why? Don't tell me you want to meet me at the station." Aizawas tone was flat and seemingly uninterested.

"Ehhhh? Why not?!"

"You'll be hung-over." Aizawa stated.

"What? You really think us aspiring pro heroes will succumb to underage drinking?!" Yamada called out in mock surprise as if they hadn't- together in fact- gotten drunk before. Then he turned more serious. "I'd still come if you told me what time the train left." Yamada claimed.

"At 8:00 in the morning? Are you sure?" Aizawa said, a small smirk ghosting on his lips.

"Damn. That's early. Why are you torturing yourself like that?" Yamada asked, knowing how much Aizawa hated getting up early himself. Though, to be fair Aizawa seemed unhappy about getting up at any time. Insomnia was a real pain in the ass.

"I'll still come." Yamada said.

Aizawa just gave a low hum.

"You don't believe me! You'll see. I'll be there!" Yamada bumped his fist into Aizawa's shoulder.

"I didn't say anything." Aizawa said, raising his hands, showing his palms.

"Anyways." Yamada huffed. "You'll have to send me pictures of your apartment when you get there, alright."

"It's shitty. Nothing worth showing off." Aizawa protested.

"I don't care. I just want to see pictures."

"I'll send you pictures of the cockroaches I'll room with." Aizawa teased.

"Please don't!" Yamada looked horrified.

"You get those or nothing." Aizawa shrugged. This was nice. It was easy banter, just the two of them, nothing too overwhelming.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Yamada's eyes landing on Aizawa's packed suitcase.

Yamada had been surprised when Aizawa told him he would leave Musutafu the day after their graduation. He himself would travel to the US soon after the school year ended, but his flight went a week after graduation, giving him enough time to say goodbye to classmates and family. Well, Aizawa could count the friends he had on two fingers and he also did not have much family. Yamada did not know Aizawa’s host family particularly well but the few times he met them they seemed nice. Yamada could not help but wonder if Aizawa left so soon because he felt uncomfortable around them or if it had to do with Aizawa's general attitude and mood ever since their work study ended in their second year.

Yamada had a great support system at home but it was difficult mourning their dead friend himself and helping Aizawa at the same time. Shirakumo's death hit them both hard, though Aizawa definitely had a less healthy way of coping and far less support or people who didn't offer the support he needed which ended in him changing host families a month after their work study. It had been painful to watch Aizawa train in the Gym to the point he was so exhausted he fell asleep in their classes. Yamada had done his best to be there and watch Aizawa as often as he could, sometimes even training with him. It made them grow closer over time.

"You've got to take care of yourself." Yamada broke the silence.

Aizawa frowned, then looked away from the blonde. "You too."

"Hey, you missed out on all the pictures we took, let's take some now!" Yamada changed the subject. They wouldn't see each other in quite a while so they shouldn't just mop around. Aizawa was not impressed by the idea, but when Yamada sat up on the bed and sat right next to him he tilted his head towards the blonde as he held up his phone. Within minutes Yamada's camera roll filled up with new pictures of them both.

"You should leave soon, if you don't want to be late." Aizawa said eventually as he took notice of the time.

"I guess." Yamada said and sat up on the bed. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, alright?" He reminded Aizawa.

"Don't trouble yourself. It will be fine if you don't." He said.

The door fell shut and Aizawa stood alone in the quiet house. Dinner with his foster parents also was a quiet affair. He appreciated that. They did not try to get him to talk more than usual or try to talk him out of things last minute. They asked if he finished packing and if he still needed something, as if anything was worth the trouble of going out this late at night. There were plenty of stores with the same products where he moved. He let them know he had everything he needed and stayed seated at the table after dinner. They drank tea and let it sink in that things would be different from now on.

The night seemed to drag on forever and Aizawa barely slept. He got up early, even earlier than he had to, so he could make breakfast for everyone. He made his host parents favorite tea, put six slices of bread in the toaster oven and got out a pot to make miso soup. He didn't have to cook but even he could make something as simple as miso soup with tofu and seaweed. He set out the jam for the bread and got out some plates when his host parents came out.

Aizawa checked his phone when he got his suitcase after breakfast. No new messages showed up. The blonde sent him a few photos during the night, so Aizawa knew his classmates drank alcohol and stayed up until the early morning hours. He tried to ignore the slight pang in his chest. It was good Yamada had fun last night. He should rest now. They could talk over the phone later, he told himself pocketing his phone. He looked around the room one final time. It was clean and he already pulled the sheets off and put them into the washing machine.

"Remember you can call us anytime." His host mother told him as they stood in the entrance. Aizawa gave a slight nod to signal he heard her as he tied his shoes.

"Don't hesitate to ask for help." Her husband added.

"Thank you. For everything." Aizawa said, looking them in the eyes. He even gave both a hug before he stepped outside and pulled his suitcase to the station.

When Aizawa arrived at the nearest tram station, he realized he gave Yamada the time his other train would leave from the bigger train station. So even if the blonde intended to come he might have thought of the wrong place. He checked his phone but no new notifications showed up. Aizawa pocketed his phone as the tram came to a stop. The small tram was packed with people going to work and Aizawa shuffled to the door, pulling his suitcase as close as possible. He gave an apologetic nod to an older lady close to him. Aizawa focused his eyes outside the window looking at the familiar houses and stores passing by.

Finally the tram reached the central station. He arrived with some time to spare and checked his phone while he stood waiting at the platform. He felt a little forgotten but tried his best to push the feeling aside. He told Yamada not to worry about coming, so it wasn't fair to be mad at him for not showing up.

He could hear his train enter the station and then, even louder than the arriving train his name. "Aizawaaaaaaa!" He knew that voice.

Aizawa turned around to the direction the call had come from and saw Yamada running into the station. Several people held their ears and stared at the blond in irritation. He would have to get to this platform, but the train just arrived so there was enough time. Aizawa couldn't help but smile.

When Yamada finally came running down the stairs he looked like he would throw up any second. "The things I do for you." he huffed out of breath when he came to a stop in front of Aizawa.

"I told you, you didn't have to come." Aizawa said, but his smile gave him away.

"Please just tell me you are happy to see me so that it was worth coming." Yamada begged. He wore a t-shirt with an unidentifiable stain on it and one of his shoelaces was open. He was very pale and his unstyled hair hung in his face.

"Yeah. I'm happy." Aizawa gave in. "Thank's for coming." He said just as Yamada stepped away from him and threw up over the other side of the platform where no train was.

"Are you alright?" Aizawa asked, holding the other's hair back. Other people were stared more or less subtly.

"Ugh..." Yamada groaned. Aizawa glanced at the clock, "Wait here. I'll be right back." He said and jogged to a vending machine to get some water.

"Thank's." Yamada said after he washed his mouth out and took a sip. "Sorry about that." He said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Do you need money for a taxi back?" Aizawa asked.

"No, no! It's fine. Keep your money! I still have some." Yamada said. He pulled his walled out in demonstration. He knew Aizawa did not have much saved up and he doubted he suddenly accepted more from his host family.

"If you're sure." Aizawa said.

"Actually, let me pay you back for this." Yamada held up the bottle Aizawa just got him.

"It's just water." Aizawa shook his head.

"Alright. Thanks." Yamada put his wallet away again. They stood in silence for a moment after that.

"Well...-" Yamada tried to break the silence.

"I have to get on the train soon." Aizawa said at the same time.

"Ah...right. Well...I'll hear from you soon right? Send pictures!"

"Of roaches. Sure." Aizawa couldn't help but tease with a smirk.

"I got up and came all the way here and this is how you thank me?!" Yamada said so loud he winced himself. He hadn't even spoken that loud but with his head already pounding every decibel felt like too much.

"We'll see." Aizawa said and reached for his suitcase. Should he give Yamada a hug? His arms twitched, though he kept them at his side. "Get some rest." he said, taking a step back.

"You too!" Yamada nodded, wincing once more at his own volume.

"Thank's for coming." Aizawa said, standing in the train's doorway. "Bye."

"Bye." Yamada said a little quieter now, but with a smile on his face while he waved. The blonde was always so positive and energetic. It was nice. Aizawa waved as the door closed, then moved to look for his seat.

It was a window seat and he waved once more once he sat down. Yamada waved with two arms as the train began to move.

This was it.

Aizawa's chest felt tight as the train drove out of Musutafu. So many memories were connected to the city. Good, as well as bad. He gulped down the lump that formed in his throat and pressed his shirt's sleeve against his eyes. A new chapter of his life started with his move to Naruhata. There was no turning back now.

More chapters of Bounty Hunter in the Shadows on Ao3 :)