#starting with a new therapist which is always so annoying

[gatorbites-imagines]

hiiiii!

may i request a poly ghost face x male reader who has anger issues(but he's such a bottom its sickening) and like his anger issues make people think he's all tough and he's been to like psychiatric hospitals for seriously hurting people and its times to renew his medicine but the doctor is out or they don't have his medicine in stock, so for the next week he has to go without medication and he gets into multiple physical fights and by the end of the week he like breaks down and is like "i don't wanna be angry all the time" which leads to a sweet cuddle session nd praise from billy and stu as reader cries and soon falls asleep

thank you sm!

Billy Loomis x Male reader X Stu Macher

Headcanons

Reader is on the more muscular side in this.

You had a reputation around Woodsboro, as a no fucks, dangerous and angry meathead. It mainly stemmed from the fact that you got into a lot of fights when you were younger, and was sent away to a psychiatric hospital for a while to find the right dose and medicine to give you.

It didn’t help that you lifted weights, worked out, and did different martial arts to help settle the anger that always simmered inside your body. As puberty hit, you shot up like a beanstalk, and you packed on muscle like no one’s business.

Your parents supported you, since having an outlet helped a lot with your anger issues, as long as you took your medicine, which they always made sure was available.

Because of your reputation, no one dares to say anything when you, Billy and Stu start openly dating. People are mostly confused by someone as popular and attractive as Billy and Stu would wanna go out with someone as rough and off-putting, in their eyes, as you.

Your boyfriends love you very much though, and they don’t mind your tendency to resort to anger quicker than most. Billy probably finds it hot to be honest, and Stu always likes to lay on your bed and watch as you lift weights in one of you tank tops.

I can honestly see Billy pushing your buttons just enough to make a vein pop and for you to pin him down, just for him to smirk and wrap his legs around your waist. Hes a little shit, and likes the thrill, what can I say.

Stu has definitely made comments about how if you need an outlet, he doesn’t mind help you out, if you know what I mean ;) ;)

You always just roll your eyes and go for a run to cool off, or do some other hobby your therapist and psychologist recommended, like gardening, journaling or coloring.

Your week starts of shitty, when you run out of your meds. Your parents take you to your doctor to get a new dose, but they’re all out and don’t know what they’ll get their next shipment.

They promise to get in contact with you as soon as they have it, and you get sent on your way, arriving at school later in the day than normal.

The first day or two is fine, since your last dose is still in your system, but when that runs out you start getting agitated. You grind your teeth and crack your fingers, feeling fidgety and so annoyed and angry by everything.

Literally everything pisses you off, from the way people chew gum, to how loudly people close their lockers, or how people cut in front of you in line in the cafeteria.

Billy is the first to notice how tense and agitated you are, as you prowl around like a caged tiger, glaring at everyone and everything. Stu notices not long after when you just grumble and mutter when he tries to play flirt with you or wrap his arm around you.

You get into multiple fights that week, from someone calling Stu and Billy a slur because you three are openly in a relationship, to a guy who bumper checked you on the way to school.

Normally Billy and Stu would enjoy the show of strength and how hot you look, but they can both see how miserable it makes you feel, especially when you are sent home and suspended for an entire week.

When you return home, you stomp upstairs into your room and throw off your jacket and shirt and just get to work lifting weights until everything hurts, and even then, you don’t stop.

Normally lifting weights help at least take the edge off, but nothing is working, only frustrating you more and making you even more angry. It reaches the point where you just wanna cry from how angry you are.

You don’t even notice how you’ve been at it for hours until Billy and Stu arrive and see you hunched over with a dumbbell, arms shaking from how far you’ve pushed yourself.

You are just scowling though, barring your teeth as you push yourself harder and harder, eyes shiny from unshed tears and very dehydrated from working yourself so hard.

Billy goes off to get you something to drink, some clean clothes and a wet washcloth, as Stu goes about getting the weight out of your hand and making sure you are at least okay. When he asks if you are okay, it just all spills over.

You start sobbing and shaking with anger and misery, crying into Stus shoulder as Billy returns. He puts the things he brought aside, and they just hold you as you cry, choking out how you just don’t wanna be so angry anymore, how everything hurts and nothing helps.

Your two lovers just hold you through it, letting you get out as much as you need, before they sit you up and Billy wipes you down with the wet cloth, and Stu gets you to drink the entire water bottle Billy brought to get you hydrated.

Stu holds you again as Billy gets the bed ready, and they pull you under the sheets as they cuddle up on either side of you, keeping you between them as they hold you close.

Because sure, they find your anger hot, but they hate how much pain it causes you. Cue lots of sweet cuddles and kisses from both, but the kisses are mostly from Stu as Billy mumbles all kinds of praise and compliments into your ear from behind.

I could imagine them also massaging your arms because of how hard you strained them, and their combined love and attention makes the anger lessen. It doesn’t go away, it never does, but it’s enough to knock you out.

The hours of working out, a week full of stress, and dehydration quickly knocks you out, putting you to sleep between Billy and Stu as they just hold you.

They know they cant make your problems go away, even though they wish they could, but they will stay by your side the entire way, and will never let you struggle alone.

[rukia-writes]

So, eh, not sure if requests are open (if not feel free to ignore this!) but after reading that Hades and Poseidon bicep worship Reader...well, you know, Zeus has nice biceps too, you can't blame a nymph!Reader for appreciating them a little, right...? *springs away from an annoyed Hera*

Nymph! Reader x young! Zeus

Zeus has terrific biceps actually ✨🎀

Zeus.

The new ruler of the heavens after his recent victory in the Titanomachy Tournament and took his father's position as Chief God.

Before the Gigantomachy, Zeus had a time of peace and quiet.

More precise, Zeus had a nymph in his castle that was personal massage therapist. The two met before Zeus became ruler of the heavens, saving her from a lustful serpent.

Punching the serpent miles and miles away, all while smiling and flexing his muscles in a heroic way of course.

The flexing of his biceps didn’t go unnoticed by the nymph and now for many years since then she serves as Zeus personal massage therapist.

Ruling the heavens is a stressful job, after all.

The nymph could always tell when Zeus was on the way, as the place would always shake when he was on the way. Hopping on one foot then the other with a smile on his face.

Busting through the doors Zeus made his presence known.

“Hi, (Y/N)! I’m here!”

Smiling a big smile while posing in victory while flexing with right arm in the air and left arm on his hips.

Almost as if he knew his massage therapist had a crush on his muscles.

“Welcome, lord Zeus-“

“You can just call me Zeus. We’ve been over this, many times.”

Laying down the massage table on his table with his face on his hand while his other hand was on his hip, all the giving her a kissy face and his tone was his usual flirty voice.

All this made the nymph’s heart a skip beat and her face felt a bit hot.

“Well, Zeus. Just lay down like you always do-“

“And you’ll give me the best rub down in all of Valhalla! Well, go ahead my sweet (Y/N)! Rub away until your hearts content!”

As always, Zeus laid down on his stomach and took the sash part of his clothing off and happily awaited (Y/N)’s fingers touching back, shoulders and biceps.

Smiling, (Y/N) began massaging Zeus’ back with massage oil, kneading the oil into his skin and making sure all the tension was expelled. (Y/N) started with gentle, circular motions and gradually increased the pressure making Zeus moan as he felt amazing.

This was the norm for Zeus and (Y/N) would always ask questions on how he felt which was always a short “Yes” or “Absolutely love.” Whatever he replied with it was always Zeus enjoying himself. Finally, (Y/N) managed to massage Zeus biceps, her favorite part on Zeus’ body.

Zeus biceps were well toned and definitely lived up to the standard of the king of the heavens. The more (Y/N) felt of Zeus’ bicep the more her heart began to pound. Of course, there were others who had well toned muscles and biceps, such as Poseidon, Hades, and maybe Adamas. But to (Y/N), Zeus’ biceps and muscles were perfect.

As the nymph’s hands glided across Zeus’ bicep she felt her face get hotter and hotter. Zeus had was half asleep and half awake, and Zeus was somewhat aware (Y/N) liked his biceps.

Well, of course she did! Zeus was the strongest after all.

If one was to ask Zeus he had better muscles than his brothers combined.

To Zeus, however. That didn’t matter as long as his nymph was okay, so was he.

Twenty minutes later, Zeus was awakened by (Y/N) waking him up to let him it was time for him to bathe.

“Already?!”

“Well, you did fall asleep.”

While stretching Zeus had an idea.

“You take a bathe with me.”

Before (Name) could protest Zeus made it an order that they were to bathe together in the hot spring. Adding in, that he wanted her to rub his arm some more.

Well, that was all Zeus had to say the nymph as she gladly wrapped her arm around his toned bicep and the two walked into the hot spring together with (Name) getting to hold and rub Zeus’ biceps to her hearts content.

While Zeus had (Y/N) all to himself.

🎃 Rukia-Writes 🎃

[zombiecowboy65]

2) An issue I have with Nora's writing is that she seems to think that what's good for one character MUST be good for every character? Abby was good for the Foxes? Let's make Jean live with her and let’s give her a Badass Moment/Iconic Line (which anyone who cares for Jean should absolutely HATE). It was the same with Neil, he dislikes any type of caretaker figure but we're supposed to read between the lines and think “Abby is different”. Betsy was good for Andrew? Let's have her talk to Jean (and Neil and again THEY are the fools for not accepting her help)

And then let's have all these strangers try to act like therapists too. Because that's what textbook "healing" entails, right? Being psychoanalyzed and pushed out of your comfort zone

But she had promised us a Jean with the Trojans so instead of keeping him in Palmetto she put him in a house... with Abby-like characters. And that’s how we got the initial super pushy versions of Cat and Laila

Another example is in TGR, the lunch with Cody, Pat and Ananya. Jean has an ED so he predictably doesn't want to eat. He's a relative stranger so the NORMAL reaction from the other three should be "ok man, eat later if you want, no big deal". But no, the others just make it worse. They are Trojans and Know Better. Jean is an ex Raven and being unreasonable.

They're not used to Jean's type of trauma so THEY are the ones that actually freak out. Ironically Jean is the one with more control over his emotions so he removes himself before he can lash out and hurt someone. But the Trojans always make a scene, always draw attention to Jean’s “failings” and how very not normal his behavior is

Someone said that all the Trojans come off as very self righteous towards Jean rather than rightfully angry on Jean's behalf and I haven't stopped thinking about it. It definitely wasn’t Nora’s intention but unfortunately that’s how it reads

It’s like they constantly put their own righteous feelings above Jean’s wellbeing in the moment. They always push and challenge Jean when he’s panicking rather than give him space. The Trojans aren’t malicious, but they are completely ignorant in this sense. But if you point it out you're the bad guy lol

Oh trust me I get that haha. I said I didn’t understand why the girls didn’t ask for consent ever with him and was told that I shouldn’t expect consent to explicitly be a part of Jean’s story 💀. Which, again, it’s like the bare minimum. When u meet a new person u don’t just start invading and crossing personal boundaries because you know they’ve been hurt in the past , and the fact that cat and Laila immediately started coming at him with hands and mouths is still unfathomable to me lol . And ok sure his trauma is with men, but again, they’re strangers. Never in my life would I have just started kissing my new roommates forehead or reaching for them without permission

I agree so much with that “they’re self righteous towards Jean rather than angry on his behalf”. Like Jeremy constantly says that he doesn’t expect Jean to let them get away with things and he’s surprised when Jean does, but he also was told “Jean will submit if you tell him to”. And while I don’t think Jean is submissive by nature at all, to have these random methods of healing be shoved at him by everyone but himself is kinda grating. (Ex: the bandaids on his hands. I’ve seen ppl think it was sweet, and it would have been if they literally deigned to ask him if it was something he wanted ever, but they never do. In this case it was simply: pick a hand to start with. Not , do u want to try it?)

They’re always making a scene, you’re so correct. Pat with the food, cat screaming about his scars in the middle of the locker room, which was insane. Even coach lisinski. Why on earth would u shove a kid toward a pool who u don’t know can swim? It’s a constant theme with Jean and it’s really annoying because with Neil ,Andrew’s pushing was almost understandable. There was an active threat and Andrew knew it and we knew it, even if the threats we were aware of were two different things. Here, with Jean, the threat is dead. And granted , the three of them didn’t know that, but they also didn’t know there was a threat at all.

And this is kinda where that “one size fits all” thing comes in, because honestly I’m still not convinced we aren’t getting Neil 2.0 with the way this series is set up. TFC and TSC were nearly identical in plot points and pacing, and TGR AND TRK too if I’m honest. Less so now, but now with the threat of whatever this baiting thing is , TKM and TSC 3 could very well go the same way. And I still don’t think Jean and Neil are similar, despite what Nora says. But her saying this is also why I’m not unconvinced this series won’t go the same route.

But back to the Trojans—it’s kinda like, oh well Kevin asked us to take him so now we’re entitled to everything he does. How he plays and acts, his trauma, etc etc. Also I understand they’re college kids and they won’t handle this correctly and I’m not saying I know what’s best or would handle it perfectly, either, but the whole team?? The whole team just presses and pushes and wants to therapize the guy?? Honestly they should be staying away from him, no? Especially after Jeremy said the freshmen didn’t trust him when he seemed a bit off?

Imo a lot of this series reads like why can’t u just be normal? And I agree. I definitely don’t think that’s Nora’s intention, but it’s how it reads.

(Also the Betsy and Abby thing —HOW Betsy is seeing him in CA is crazy, and HIPAA exists nowhere with this woman lmao. Abby frustrates me because she like cannot handle this job imo. “My foxes chose to fight back” after he was beat to hell and back. What is wrong with u)

[witchesroad]

hi!! idk if you've said it before but, do u have any jossam hcs?? i love them sm, hope u are doing okay!!

hi, thanks for the ask!! here are 5 of my favorite josh & sam headcanons <3

they had their first kiss at sam’s halloween party in 2013. they had been plenty flirty before then, but once josh saw her in that lara croft costume, all self-restraint went out the window. he dragged her into the backyard when all the others were distracted by some party game and pushed her up against the wall and finally kissed her like he might die if he didn’t. that’s why josh kept the invitation for so many years and even shared it in his sessions with dr. hill. it reminds him of that night and of sam.

josh fell in love with sam way before she fell in love with him, but she was the first to say it out loud. there’s nothing josh hates more than the idea of dragging sam into his shit. she’s too smart, too warm, too out of his league; it’s not fair that she should have to take care of him. he avoids and denies his true feelings in some self-righteous attempt to spare her from his misery. of course, sam loves him anyway and he’s helpless to deny her when she finally tells him all the things he’s wanted to say to her since they were thirteen and fourteen.

hannah and beth were painfully aware of how they felt about each other, by the way. hannah secretly thought it would be romantic if they got married someday and sam became her sister-in-law. beth just hoped that sam’s good influence would make josh marginally less annoying. both were happy to see him smile so much more than he had in recent years.

sam teaches josh how to climb and josh teaches sam how to play guitar. he’s naturally athletic so he doesn’t struggle (that much) to keep up with her. she brings him back out into the world and reminds him of why it’s nice to be alive.

epilogue to the new endings: more than a year after that night, josh is out of the psychiatric facility and he’s relatively stable. he’s taking the right medications now and they put a stop to his delusions. he and his new therapist put together an 8-step plan to make amends with everyone he terrorized at the lodge. they started off with the one that frightened him most: sam. it took him an entire year to build up the nerve to reach out to her. he half expected her to send him straight to voicemail and he forgot what little mastery he had over the english language when she actually answered, josh? a lot can change in a year. he knew that well. sam was hardened now after surviving what they did on that mountain. but the version of her in his memory had done her no justice; she was so much more beautiful than he remembered. he was shocked at just how little his feelings changed even though everything else about him had. they talked for hours, which quickly turned into days, and he explained and answered and apologized until his throat was hoarse. she knew it wasn’t his fault and that his illness was beyond his control. he still wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life making it up to her. there was always a connection. he just lost sight of it for a while.

[thehelltingvilleclub]

May Osewai - Crippling Case of the Cringe

you better hope to god she isn't actually sadako, because she will judge you on your search history on her way through your browser--

Mayumi “May” Osewai [09/09/81] Secretary of Manga AOL / Online Users : [sadako_chan] Theme Songs: Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie | She’s Out of Her Mind - blink-182 | FUNERAL GREY - Waterparks

Favorite Shit: Anime Adaptations, Visual novels, Horror / Gore, Battle Royale(s), Monster Movies, Slasher Flicks, Acrylic Stands, Hard Covers, Asian horror, Foreign Films, Evangelion : Neon Genesis, Ghost in the Shell, Corpse Party, Torrent Sites, The X-Men, Spawn, Teen Titans, Accurate Translations, Uncensored Doujins, Silent Hill, Serial Experiments : Lain

Dude get this girl a therapist and someone other than a rabid werewolf for a brain-worm weird fluttery thought friend GUEHAKL. please. please. With literally no other friends and no longer in an environment surrounded by.. "peers", she kind of has no choice but to keep putting up with Bill despite how much of a creep he gets sometimes. They're like a family.. A horrifically disfunctional family that should maybe only meet every other christmas, and yet they're glued together despite it all. It has to be karma punishing them, right?

We are the weirdos, Mister.

This poor girl has a really bad anxiety problem and is also horrifically oblivious to a lot of things which is not a good combo. She hates the thought of missing something or making someone upset by having to make them explain, but good god she cannot read a room sometimes--

She also maybe most definitely has autism. that might have something to do with it..

She masks well enough that she genuinely just thought she was "weird" and just kinda accepted it when she moved to the states. She didn't even start to think about it until Jerry started bringing up the shit he learned in therapy.

She honestly is just kinda.. Blunt? good or bad, though she does have enough forethought to keep the bad thoughts to herself most of the time. It's more in a quiet "wait, what did she just say?" kind of way.

She struggles to express actual internal monologue, her actual emotions and thoughts on the boys, but she shows it in.. other ways.

She genuinely cares about the boys, yes even bill, though he's like.. Like if Jane and Bill were closer in age and Bill actually wouldn't leave her the FUCK alone.

Though it's not like Pete's any better-- he always so weirdly macho and it's... kinda funny? Weirdly endearing? Like a little terrier going going absolutely ballistic on the screen door. Heh. cute.

May has designed entire pokemon decks and trainer teams for the boys. They'll get posted eventually I promise vuv

She absolutely tries to play card games with Jerry and Matt, though she really only likes the play Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh, but she'll happily watch the two smears duke it out.

its kinda funny seeing Matt lose every once in a while.

May and Josh argue about Evangelion ALL THE TIME and it's honestly annoying but it's also very funny to see Josh get flashbacks about asuka--

She is also one of the first people Josh goes to to hang out with, even if it's just over a phone call.. well, at least for a while. He likes to talk, so she just kinda doodled mindlessly or painted her figures while listening.

... she could tell he needed it.

ALso girls omg she is still the clumsiest woman I have ever seen. She might need a new prescription like seriously.

May got a job at the local family video, so you bet your ASS Pete harasses her at work whenever he can sneak out of his own work duties. He's lucky he's cute...

She may be oblivious to some emotions, but she's not stupid.

She collects stuffed animals, but mostly pokemon plushies and assorted horror mascots. She is still really embarrassed about having them, but literally can't sleep if she doesn't have at least one like it's a problem--

She is also like icy cold. All the time. like she just pulled her hands out of the freezer. Pete uses this as an excuse to hold her hands because he's a fucking smear I swear to god he needs to grow some BALLS

ALSO HI CAN I TALK ABOUT HER SHIRT FOR LIKE 10 SECONDS ITs an indie japanese-canadian band called "Rotten Cherries" and it does rock covers of japanese pop music and even some remakes of songs by The Cranberries and Boa

THanks guYs

Also I enjoy the reference pic for her pajama shorts LMAO

GUYH Have May.

Also sorry for repeat info at the top, it's to keep with the formatting fhdsjkafinfdsajhfkdlsfhl

[zeondraws]

Weh I slept badly, I think the negative memories I have towards the swtd server owner trigger me somehow. Or like my therapist put it when I talked about my toxic coworker "it re-traumatises me". So I struggled to fall asleep at all. I think I'll talk about these memories one more time before I shall move on. It makes no sense to keep myself stressed thinking about it.

But I find it very important to say that, don't harass anyone mentioned here.

If internet drama triggers you, please don't continue reading this post.

When I first joined the server it was still kinda new. I think the only recent discovery we've had was where Muir and Innes would lay near the end of the game. I still remember seeing the server owner talk about it with people.

I had a lot of fun staying there and learned a ton of new things. Which I'll try to apply for future stuff.

But the main thing was that me, the server owner and their friend would talk a bunch about recent discoveries. At one point I would start learning fmodel because I really wanted to gain access to the voicelines and other things. It was when I worked on my Muir video.

They would kinda help me with fmodel but like.. their help on some problems I faced with the program weren't too helpful because often I got answers I already knew. We found complex ways to manually extract the raw files and convert those into wem and then into wav. But that process took too long so I kept tinkering. I think I even said at the end if their friend used fmodel besides me, we would've find solutions quicker.

I still remember the server owner said how they can look through the soundfiles very quickly and apparently looked through 15000 of them. However I had the slight suspicion they won't share the converted files afterwards. I think their friend wanted to show me something but the owner stopped them?

I did figure out how to convert files with fmodel and was finally able to listen to all the soundfiles. I discovered sooo many interesting things, unused lines from Muir, scenes and other unused bits hidden in other folders. I shared my findings on the server. I still remember compiling the soundfiles of the infected crewmates back in October. Discussing the findings and all.

So I would continue to share my findings, I'd ask devs a bunch of questions that I shared on here as well. Even at gamescom I tried asking questions people had on the discord. It was a stressful day because I accidentally got out of the business area and ran around for half an hour to be let back in.

Eventually I would notice weird things the server owner would do, they said they knew where Muir transformed, where the Derrick phone is or some other info of Muir they wouldn't share. Mainly because it's from their projects that they want to keep secret. I tried to be understanding but after a while I got annoyed because I would always share my findings with the community, specifically helped them a ton to figure out Muir's lore for their projects. So them not telling me what they found was weird.

Also because they had asked me a bunch of times to show them something ingame, like we'd hop in vc because they wanted to have screenshots and everything from the Muir level. Afterwards they started saying "I knew where he transformed!" and wouldn't tell. And I pretty much felt used afterwards.

It took me ages to realise they don't own the game at all, even in the last confrontation I did they talked about having other PCs and even after my apology they wouldn't mention what PCs they meant (Do they really own multiple PCs? Or do they mean PCs from friends, Im still confused). I still don't understand if they ever played the game or only watched playthroughs or streams in vc to get their info they needed. And I was their tool to get said info. My main suspicion comes because I swear I saw them talk about seeing the "Davros bug" in their playthrough. Which confused me since that Davros thing only occurs in a game version that isn't public. And they said how they played the game in the first week it was out, often finding it important to mention that they were one of the first people who knew about the game.

They once said how they wanted to work on the swtd wiki, or at least their friend did tiny edits to add some of my discoveries. But only recently I'd learn they won't work on the wiki because they apparently have better projects to work on. I think they wanted to make a new wiki with their friend (their friend knows how to code) because people ranted how bad the info is on the current wiki. (Which is something I'm currently trying to fix)

They didn't even stop people who started vandalising said wiki, they laughed and said how they aren't responsible for what people are doing. And folks shared what edits they made. I am not really mad at the others, tho people on the wiki were very pissed. However I find it bad that the server owner doesn't take responsibility to tell people to stop. Instead it felt more encouraging to vandalise. I think I didn't say much either, an error on my part..

One of the people who edits the wiki got banned from the server. Like what I saw was them saying "ayo" then getting jumped by everyone before being thrown out of the server. I was extremely confused because I didn't think the word would be that sexual? People apparently thought it was. I know I frequently used that word with friends but the server I moderate doesn't ban people for THIS word...

A second person that got banned didn't even have enough space to talk before the owner would open a private thread with me and others talking about if said person should stay. I tried to talk with the person before they got banned put people started cursing at them too quickly, so ofc the person who was affected would curse back.

The owners friend is the most conflicting part because they seemed helpful and kind but I slowly started to get a feeling they were hiding something. Stating their dislike for a certain bigger community for X and Y reasons. But I found what they said hypocritical since I saw similar things in the swtd community. And I don't want to judge another community that I barely know.

But I still felt confused how they wanted to help me but the owner would try to stop them from doing so at times? I don't fully remember anymore.

The final straw before I left was when they shared their dislike towards datamining. Me and another dataminer felt very annoyed about it and tried to say something. They didn't reply back initially. Which made me so angry that I wrote a longer message in one of the chats stating my anger. I felt attacked that they thought us sharing our findings wasn't good, since they said we're handling copyrighted materials. They thought the files had "securements in place" which made them believe the devs didn't want us to datamine. But the securements they mentioned were simply our inability to understand how to use fmodel. Or rather my inability to use the program at the start. The gamefiles are not encrypted and don't need a key to access. It just showed me they didn't have much clue of what they were trying to say.

I think it would make sense if I show screenshots I took, I felt hesitant to keep the screenshots because I really do not want people to harass the server owner. But after seeing a post yesterday regarding the server I feel courage to show my experience. Because I have realised the server owner causes people to leave the fandom... And it makes me feel down to witness this. Community members deserve better and if many people start to feel ignored or start to think they're the enemy it would make sense to properly highlight what's happening. I often feel worried of younger community members who are in the server, but feel intimidated because owner and their friend don't fully know how to make everyone feel at home. Instead, they prefer some people over others, as hollow as that sounds.

This is my initial response after they expressed their view on datamining

Their response was very long as well. I would like to be clear I avoided mentioning their anxiety because I had the suspicion they'd use it as an argument. It's also why I struggled to voice concerns early on, what if they'd use their anxiety to avoid confrontation?

I wanted to talk about it with them in dms to avoid clogging up the public chat, however they told me their dms are closed (they usually didn't have their dms closed towards me, I had talked about random stuff with them in the past) and made a private thread inside the help desk instead.

Even after my apology and even after asking the devs if datamining is OK the server owner still wanted real evidence. I don't understand? They can reach out to the devs if they have concerns about something in the community, or their friend can reach out if they're too anxious. I don't understand how I should gather "real evidence"

The trusted admin was their friend whom I mentioned already. So I felt extra weird. This screenshot is from when they opened the thread.

I didn't take a screenshot of my apology but I kept the message saved somewhere else:

"Hi Owner!

First of all I am very sorry for the way I spoke to you yesterday. I have a big issue with sounding very cold or brutal when I'm emotional/upset, which I didn't realise here and will be working on it to avoid this in the future.

I still need to learn how to sound more neutral, because the way I do it right now makes people feel attacked (like you said) rather than open to discuss. But having made this mistake helps me to improve myself.

I wasn't the only one who was upset by your messages yesterday, so I felt a bit conflicted with how I felt, but probably should have properly reread my messages, before sending.

I would reiterate that the X and Y can see what I do, if they'd dislike it, they would intervene asap and not beat around the bush.

None of them say anything to the 3D models being shared privately on reddit either. Even if people openly ask for those models on reddit posts.

To solve this, I simply asked one of the people what their stance is on Datamining and if I am allowed to do it. Or if I should take something down.

I will get some further info next week, but they said it's a grey area and something that happens on every game. As long as I don't sell or release stuff early they see no problem.

X and Y said they are okay with it. But they'll wait for Z's opinion to see if there is something specific I can't post. Aside from common sense stuff like lines of codes, they don't think there is any issue.

Yes She has helped a bunch and offered their help numerous times.

However we went through a way more complicated process to convert these files. If someone like Her used Fmodel alongside me, we could've avoided spending countless hours doing it manually.

In the end I had to sit down and figure the solution out on my own. I may have terribly worded myself but that doesn't devalue the work I did within this group project. (?)

You have indeed, however I was referring to an earlier conversation, where I wanted to show you Fmodel. There you didn't mention that you didn't own the game or asked if it was incompatible. All you said that you were busy and my mind went to assume something else. So after the second attempt to go over it with you, I thought it would make no sense to ask again.

I don't know what you mean with other ways to play. Do you own multiple PCs? I'm confused, sorry.

I too am a very busy person. I have my own projects I work on, this didn't stop me to learn Fmodel, blender, UE5, OBS and Davinci resolve. You telling me that your device can't handle it is more than enough.

I think it's just important for me that my efforts to find all of this stuff isn't forgotten.

I am not trying to use your anxiety against you and didn't even think about it.

And again I am sorry for attacking you, it's my issue of sounding very brutal or cold when I'm upset, as I've said above. I will work on it, but issues like these reappear, so bear with me. I genuinely want to improve, but I can't do it if I don't tackle the issues head on."

I waited over a day their their response, while I waited they laughed and chatted in the public chat like nothing had happened. As if all issues dissappeared. It wasn't until I said I felt ignored, inside the private thread, that they'd reply to me at 5AM with their long reply:

The main thing is, we both had truths in our message, I wasn't entirely wrong nor were they. But this message showed me they weren't interested in a proper conversation. I asked my friends for guidance in this and they told me it's not worth it.

I don't know what my conclusion should be.. I avoid call out posts like a plague because it brings back bad memories from when I was extremely immature. But, seeing people I enjoy hanging out with leaving the community or stopping communication saddens me. I think it's my responsibility to speak out about issues even if many want to avoid conflict.

My therapist said it's important to face conflict if something arises. If you have a weird feeling in your gut, it's always best to talk it out in a normal manner. Otherwise issues pile up.

I spend almost 10 years to fight for my hobbiest, my family disliked what I find interesting. Told me I'll hate my hobbies and saying they want to throw everything out that I collected. But I stayed stubborn. These two people will not stain my love I have for this game. I fought years with family until I was finally able to get my dream job after enduring a toxic work environment for over a year. I made sure that I will not hate my hobby because of a toxic person.

Do not let negative people stain your love for any passions you might have. Protect them at all costs and establish boundaries where they are needed. These people have their own battles to deal with and I feel sorry that they struggle to manage the server. I still remember when people thought I'd be a good mod (I found that very cute, thank you all) but I found it very funny how the server owner avoided to agree with that at all costs. They tried to change the topic by saying another person would be a good mod, but people still sided with me.

Maybe it's a mistake to make this drama surface on tumblr, but I just want everyone to be informed. You all can draw your own conclusions and tell me your honest opinions, I'll read through them. But please do not harass anyone. If you struggle feeling accepted in the server and already left/rejoined it a bunch of times, it's best to listen to the gut feeling and leave.

Find people who appreciate you for whom you are. I know finding the right people takes ages, but I know there are people who will appreciate you. My dms are always open to everyone, my discord is ikarues if anyone wants to chat there. I know I am not perfect and I am a flawed person!!! But I try to see what mistakes I did and try to learn from them.

After all it's important to make mistakes, it will help with personal growth.

I'll leave the post at that, showcasing my raw emotions.

[filmmarvel]

Sex Education Season 4 Review

Unfortunately it wasn’t as good as the others. It’s less that it was bad or that I didn’t enjoy it, and more that it sort of failed in its duties as a finale. I really liked the finale, it wasn’t until I finished it that I was left like… that’s it?

Starting with the Pros: I’m glad they had the sense to end it here. This season has gotten hated on pretty hard so far, which makes sense, but isn’t quite deserved. Even though it wasn’t as good as it COULD’VE been, it was still good! In particular, Aimee, Eric, and Adam had wonderful and satisfying arcs which I found quite compelling and felt like a lovely send off to each of their characters. Maeve’s ending, despite being a point of controversy, was fitting. She had a difficult but moving season, and her destiny was always to be a writer. As disappointing as it is that she doesn’t end up with Otis, I thought the writers justified it quite well. It would’ve simply felt wrong for her to stay back in Moordale just for Otis. She was always going to get out.

This brings me to the Cons. I have to say, my biggest disappointment with this season has to be Otis himself. Being the lead character, I really wish they would’ve chosen a more personal storyline with more depth to it to send off his character. Instead, they had him acting like a child the whole season. He’s the primary character and yet he has the least interesting, least sympathetic, least moving storyline. It was all about his relationships with Maeve, Ruby, and Eric, and his competition with O. Nothing really about him. They didn’t give enough closure as to how his future looks- he’s no longer the school sex therapist, which is disappointing. He agreed to think about working with O, but that’s all, and that isn’t the most satisfying conclusion. They left him in a very nondescript place. Additionally, many former cast members weren’t in this season. As a result, I felt that there were a number of missed opportunities. My other big complaint is, predictably, the change in setting and new cast of characters. I really didn’t love the new school. I don’t think I need to elaborate on that too much, it was just kind of over the top in a way that felt misplaced and unrealistic. As for the new characters, most of them weren’t bad, they were just unnecessary. The one character I did have an issue with was O, who was a rather grating presence. Which I don’t think was something all that good for a finale. I didn’t find her character at all interesting or sympathetic. She was really annoying, and didn’t grow on me at all over the course of the season.

To sum things up, I wish the writers had just focused on the characters they had already. The new characters weren’t as interesting (naturally), and I thought the season could’ve benefitted from more of a personal journey for the characters we already know and love- such as Otis, Jackson, Ruby, or Viv. When a show ends, I always really like to have some closure on where each of the characters are headed in the future, such as new passions, future relationships, careers, etc. While again, they did a lovely job with this with a few characters, there were a lot of characters who just left me unsatisfied (namely the aforementioned 4). I enjoyed the ending, but it left me feeling like a lot of precious time was wasted with new characters and misplaced storylines. It didn’t feel as though the writers quite understood how important this season was, and failed to treat certain characters with the care they deserved.

[ornii]

You’re Overthinking, Kate

Clint Needs to get Kate a good teacher, Luckily he knows a guy.. You.

Christmas was rousing around, closing in more and more during the winter. While this was a time of celebration for many, for two in particular they weren’t so lucky. Kate Bishop has put herself in a pickle and Clint, being her hero and a stand up guy, threw his arrow into the quiver to help her. The Tracksuit Mafia wasn’t one to let vendetta’s go, and unfortunately, Kate made the list. With her life on the line, Clint made a decision to help her by making a bold decision.

Standing in an Elevator the two silently stood there as it ascended.

“So… this guy..” Kate started, slowly trailing on not really able to form a coherent idea.

“Is he an Avenger?” She said with a gleam to potentially meet another, Clint coldly shook his head. “No, Shield Agent.”

“That’s.. cool too.” She said, a bit disappointed but still somewhat excited. The elevator halts with a swoosh and the door opens after a song ding. They step out to a wood tile floor and exquisite hallways. Clint heads left as Kate looks around at everything. “This is, awesome! They even have those little dove soaps!”

“Hey, focus, please?” Clint says, getting her attention. “Your life literally depends on it..” he mutters. They head to the hall and specifically to door number 195. Clint calmly knocks on the door.

“So, what’s the agent like? Is she like a Spy or a Double agent?”

“No, well something like that..”

“Something?”

“Former Shield Agent, now hired Mercenary.”

“You took me to a hired assassin?!” Kate yells and Clint glares at her to lower her voice. “Mercenary, it’s different.. plus he’s like you.”

“An archer?”

“Annoying.”

The door casually opens to a man in his twenties, dressed in causal wear. His eyes undress Kate up and down and he smiles.

“What can I… do for you?” He asks, his eyes look over and sees Clint, his demeanor changes and he sighs. “Oh, hey Clint.”

“(Y/n), we need your help.”

“Therapists are on the 14th Floor.” (Y/n) replies and prepares to close the door, Clint puts his foot in to keep it from closing.

“I’m serious..”

“So am I.. I doubt Shield wants you talking to me, plus I don’t want to put the girl in any trouble. So will you please take your foot and—“

“We need the Taskmaster.” Clint huffs, (Y/n) halted in his steps and slowly opens the door. He didn’t say much to Clint and simply let them in. Clint follows him and he motions for Kate to follow. They enter a modest studio apartment. One part seemed normal, bedding, Kitchen, small living room, the other half had what seemed to be a training ground, flat surfaces, mats, weights, weapons, all wood. (Y/n) stopped in the middle of the training Ground and turned around to face them.

“So, what do you want?” He said pretty bluntly.

“Tracksuit Mafia. What do you know?” Clint asks first.

“Them? Small town Gang running in New York, went big after the snap. last time I checked Ronin put the sword to them. Why ask?” (Y/n) said.

“They’re the issue.”

“Ah, okay.. but what does she have to do with this?” (Y/n) asked, his eyes turned to Kate, she didn’t really know what to say, until she just blurts something out.

“Is that a Keurig?” She points to his kitchen. Specifically at his Keurig coffee maker. Pristine condition, a Keurig K elite Maker.

“Uh, yeah? has Hazenut, Dark roast, French Vanil—“ (Y/n) trails off and stops talking. “Are you about to ask for some? Absolutely not I’ve known you for 2 minutes.” He said, and Kate puts on a puppy dog eyes bit. “Please?” She asks, Clint watches (Y/n)’s face contort, he was always known to be a stone cold merc. But now his face looks. Conflicted.

Kate sits sipping her coffee, relishing the rich flavor. (Y/n) was staring at her, arms folded.

“Okay so let me get this straight, you’re the one who broke Stane tower shooting an arrow at it?” (Y/n) reiterated the information he’s been told, “Which is why my credit cards are Maxed out.” Kate adds in.

“I didn’t ask— whatever. Point is the Track suits think you’re ronin. Why? You don’t look that threatening.” (Y/n) was confident in his analysis. Kate her coffee down, “I can show you.” She replies, (Y/n) eyes Clint, who waved them off as if to say “Go for it.”

The trio stand on the roof of the Apartment and (Y/n), Kate and Clint were standing in the pure snow, five targets stood across them and he motioned Kate to go first.

“Watch and be amazed.” Kate let five arrows loose and hit bullseyes on each one, Clint gives (Y/n) a look, and he nods in approval. Kate turns to (Y/n).

“Pretty good, not gonna lie. My turn i suppose.” He says and she hands him the arrow and he takes a deep breath.

“So, when did you learn how to shoot?” She asks.

“Just now.” He responds, Kate was obviously confused by the reply. “What did you just—“ (Y/n) with Zero hesitation let loose 5 arrows as well, each one splitting hers as they also hit perfectly dead on. Kate was obviously confused by this.

“How did you just—“

“Photographic Reflexes.” Clint says, “Kid can duplicate any physical move he sees moments later, even copy fighting styles. Basically.” Clint says and (Y/n) finishes for him

“Anything you can do, I can do better~” he says in a sing song voice, mockingly.

“Your archery skills are impressive, I might keep them.” He said. “You’ve got potential though.” He adds in, turning to Clint.

“So, this is why you came to me, to train her.”

“You’re someone I trust…” Clint admits, and (Y/n) turns to Kate.

“Alright, one last test, hand to hand combat.”

Back in the Apartment, Clint stood in the middle of them as (Y/n) didn’t seem particularly worried about fighting her, Kate on the other hand was pretty worried that she’ll get her butt kicked, and she was pretty right.

“Alright.” Clint steps back and (Y/n) looked so aloof and relaxed. Kate moves in with a few martial arts, swift jabs and strong kicks, (Y/n) was playing mostly Defence, dodging or blocking her hits. Simply gathering information until his body calculates hers. He gets all the information he needs, he counters by slamming his foot down, ducking a punch and using her momentum to toss her across the room as she goes sliding across the room, getting up frustrated she moves back in, (Y/n) this time implements the Black Widow style, acrobatic dodges and well placed strikes to the body to weaken her. And with another judo throw she winds up on the ground.

“Fighting someone who keeps changing seems impossible, I know. But you’ll be fine”

(Y/n) says, but Kate was dead silent.

“Uh, you okay?” He asks, she nods.

“You sure? You look, pale.”

“Nah. I’m good.” She replies, he helps her up as Kate tries to play off how much pain she’s in.

“I just need to sit down for a sec that’s all.” Kate tries to walk to the couch like she’s fine but the small limp says a lot. (Y/n) turned to Clint.

“She’s definitely better than most… a little green but who isn’t at her age.”

“You’re only three years older.” Clint flatly points out.

“Hey.. I’m trying to look cool here.” (Y/n) says. “I’ll teach her what I know, after that we’re square, okay?”

“Promise.”

Day 2

Kate this time came on her Own, no Clint around, this time the two can spar without any trouble. (Y/n) kept his eyes locked on her, he didn’t have much trouble doing that. Kate went in with a flurry of stuff kicks, a few land on the body but (Y/n) blocks most and retaliates with a heavy strike to the body, the impact almost sent her flying back. (Y/n) was moreso the aggressor this time, trying to go for an overhead strike, Kate rolls out of the way and back up, each deflecting an attack.

“I know it’s hard! Trying to fight someone who knows your every move!” (Y/n) says mid battle, trying to help her. “Try something else, you gotta have something else.” He said, with a palm strike Kate was stunned, (Y/n) prepares for another judo throw, but as he tosses her, she locks her leg with his, halting his throw, she breaks her arm free and wraps around his waist for a stunningly beautiful German Suplex. (Y/n) hit the ground hard, Kate sits up breathing hard, but proud of her win.

“Did you see that? I—“ Kate turned to (Y/n) who slowly stood up, wobbly.

“Shit are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay?” She grabs his wrist. Keeping him from wobbling, (Y/n) looks at her, his daze and confused expression slowly faded as he looked at the worry in her eyes. Kate sighs with relief.

“I’m good, that just caught me off guard, you’re getting better Bishop.” He said, she smiles, proud of herself. It was silence in the room, until Kate realized they’re holding hands, she pulls them back embarrassed.

“I am so sorry!”

“Nah it’s cool, it’s cool.” (Y/n) says, “So.. uh, good workout.. maybe you wanna.. go get a smoothie?” (Y/n) asked, Kate tilts her head a bit.

“Like.. a date smoothie?” Kate ask, almost sounding hopeful.

“N-no like a, post-workout-after-getting-a-German-suplex smoothie.”

“They make those?” She asks.

“They would if I asked, I mean I’m paying for it, you got your cards taken.”

“You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“Yeah but, I like to.” He replies. And this got an honest laugh out of Kate, seeing her smile did something to (Y/n). He couldn’t put his finger on it but.. he wanted to see it so much more.

(Hey, so like.. I’ve never watched a single episode of Hawkeye, I just did this from general information and memory so i apologize for the lack of consistency to the MCU but let’s say the Black Widow Taskmaster was Task Manager. Besides that I hope I did justice and more Nat and Wanda coming. I promise I’m working on shit.)

[forjustice]

Hiatus/Update 04/27/2025

Hey all! Just wanted to pop in here and say I'm alive, I've been hit with a majorly depressive slump that's basically plagued me since COVID which I only recently got out of. I haven't been able to even remotely do many of the things I was so optimistic about doing on my semester off from school (cries in having no time or headspace to write fanfiction) and I am immensely frustrated with that, but I am happy to say one thing: I finally have a therapist again! He's helping me work on emotional regulation and executive function. My mom is also surprisingly compliant in working with me to help me achieve independence. Sometimes it's still like pulling teeth, but holy shit she actually listens to the therapist when he tells her she's being harmful to me and it's actually made things better! I am still kind of annoyed that once afuckinggain I had Plans™ for cool shit I wanted to do with my life once my misfortunes were over and once afuckinggain a new misfortune left me in the same sorry state that I had been trying to recover from. But at least I actually have tangible fucking good things going on in my real life to report instead of just one depressing update after another!

I apologize for the fact I don't see myself returning here to RP within a short timeframe, but my Pokémon muses are not forgotten and I don't think I'll be away forever. You can find me on my Discord, anarchocosmology, or on my Ne Zha verse RP blog @redbluedestiny!

Two things I will say though, for both my current blog and when I return to this one--

One, I am drastically shortening the length of my character bios. The original longer versions will still exist, but in the future I will try to keep longer bios to 1-3 pages. I was advised by a friend that my character bios were long to the point of being inaccessible, and honestly...They've gotten inaccessible to me too. I have a whole ass X-Men blog centered around Magneto and his family that I started setting up and literally never got around to because the bios took so long to write that I lost most of my muse for those characters before I even launched the blog. Hell, most of my current bios even have places where I had to stop rambling and just sum the rest up with a TL;DR, or that are still labeled as "WIP" and I've never gotten around to finishing them. Which means my long ass character bios have far passed the point of diminishing returns, and if they exhaust me to write, I can't imagine how others feel having to read them!

To tell you all the truth, I always felt a need to cram every little bit of information about a muse into a bio, thinking people would want to have every single piece of information that I considered important, but I finally internalized that people are okay with broader brushstrokes of a character and in fact prefer it. Character info is much shorter and neater on @redbluedestiny than it is in some of the bios here and I'm going to keep it that way. When I finally get back here I will be changing my character bios to make them shorter and sweeter as well.

Two, I will be changing some aspects of my Pokémon lore to be more accurate to IRL. I was advised to incorporate more aspects of Ainu and Ryukyuan culture, history and mythology into my Hoenn and Sinnoh timelines, which I will be doing as soon as I have the headspace to work on Pokémon things again. The Yumean lore will also remain, but it will be getting an overhaul so that I can make much of the population of Hoenn and Sinnoh more tied in with actual Indigenous Japanese groups. Discord RP with my Pokémon muses will continue, but I will not do RPs that touch on any aspect of my lore that I want to rework until I get around to do the reworking. This means I will try to keep most of my Discord RPs more lighthearted in nature, and not dive super deep into my characters' backstories and trauma since the exact nature of it is subject to change.

Thank you all for reading!

月

[oceanofsinners]

Yan mental hospital patient x their sweet, oblivious therapist<3

[mdni, or do, i really couldn’t care less i’m not your parents. uhhh tw/cw for: violence, attempted murder i guess?? one small suggestive comment i had to add lmao, manipulation, general yandere stuff y'know? lmk if i should add anything else. also first post omg??]

Dakota was tired of the plain white walls, the doors with locks from the outside only, and the constant surveillance and prying eyes of the place he grew to see as his “home” because of his very frequent visits.

He constantly went to the mental institution, leaving for only a few days before coming back.

Younger kids and visitors looked up to him, and he enjoyed their company, despite not understanding why they did. He let them touch his scars and braid his hair. He was an excellent role model, despite it all.

Dakota found the schedule of getting up, getting vitals checked, going to breakfast, doing group therapy and so on annoying, as anyone would.

Some days, he lays in bed — till a security guard comes and drags him out — wondering, “how the hell is this boring, horrible, stuffy place supposed to fix people?”

He never understood. And he doubted that he ever would. Till you came. Then, it seemed, like all his old problems solved themselves and fresh problems arose. [including the one in his pants.]

He's been through multiple therapists, older and younger, brand new and those who've been here for years. None can help him. Instead, he just lies till he's released. And then comes back within days. [always having to be restrained by multiple cops, coming back kicking and screaming that he's going to kill himself and everyone else.]

However, as soon as he saw you, his day brightened immediately. Other staff members were reasonably shocked that the gloomy, mean, depressed, easily upset, violent Dakota seemed...happy for once.

Except, you're not his therapist. He's pissed. Of course he is, you're the first person he's ever liked in this stupid fucking place! [don't mention the fact the two of you haven't even met.]

With a little asking [blackmailing.] around, he learns who's your patient. His name being Quinn, it's around 3 pm, around the time where everyone's free to do whatever, and just before therapy starts. Perfect!

He walks up to the guy who's your patient, swiping a pencil off the kids' table. [none of which protest, knowing by now that it's best they don't.]

Dakota taps Quinn on the shoulder, making the shorter guy turn around, his mouth open to say something, before a sharp scream escapes instead.

Dakota has a crooked grin on his face as he forces the pencil further into the guys eye socket, yanking it out as Quinn drops to the floor, and he stabs the — now broken — pencil into his throat, just a couple inches from his artery.

Quinn chokes on his own blood, while security guards force Dakota off the smaller boy, forcing him to solitary confinement. Dakota laughs as they pull him away, while nurses do their best to keep Quinn alive.

“Stupid fucking homicidal maniac.” One guard growls as they shove Dakota into his cell, while Dakota grins the entire time, uncaring of what the others say.

A couple hours pass, and Dakota once again grows bored and weary of the bleak walls, the uncomfortable bed, and the never-ending silence.

Eventually, the door opens. He's laying on his bed, looking up at the plain white, boring ceiling. He doesn't cast a look at the intruder, and couldn't care less who they are.

“Your name's Dakota, right?” Dakota flinches at the sound of your voice. His head snaps over towards you, where you stand in the doorway, and he can see one of the guards watching carefully.

You step further into the room, accessing the room with a frown. You seem to be just as upset as Dakota with the way the room looks.

“I saw what you did to Quinn — my patient —, and I asked if I could become your therapist instead. They agreed, of course. Which is why I’m here.” Dakota’s distracted by just how sweet you sound, and the kind smile on your face despite it all.

He has a hard time wrapping his head around it. You saw him attempt to kill someone, and yet, you're being kind to him? It doesn't make sense. You don't make sense.

You sit down opposite of him on the bed, and begin asking the normal questions. Instead of lying like he normally would, he actually tells the truth. It shocks both you and him.

“What do you go by?” “He/him.”

“Why are you here currently?” “I tried to kill myself and a friend.”

“Do you feel regret for what you did?” “No.”

The questioning goes on for hours, and the two of you talk for hours, far longer then your supposed to. Therapy ended a long time ago.

No, now it's more like a chat between you two, the way you two connect is like two pieces of a puzzle.

You glance up at the clock, eyes widening when you notice the time. You apologize for having to leave so abruptly, and Dakota frowns in response.

[silly, silly you, thinking you could leave him so easily? as if.]

Dakota grabs your hand, tearing up as you glance down at him. “Ple-Please, don't leave, I—I...I’m afraid of being alone...pl-please...” He closes his eyes, swallowing thickly.

You pause, taking pity on him as you sigh, nodding as you sit down on the creaky bed once again.

He lays his head on your chest, making you tense up as you slowly put your arm around his shoulders.

“Y’know, we really shouldn't be doing this. Isn't this going against some law?” You mumble against his ear, and he shrugs.

“I—I don't know...Y-You don't have to stay.” Dakota’s voice trembles, tears sliding down his cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You bite your lip, glancing at the door, he was right. You could leave. But your job is to make him better, leaving him would only make it worse...right? You shake your head.

“No, it's fine, I’ll stay. But I have to leave early in the morning, kay, Dakota?” You glance down at him, your eyes meeting bright green ones. He nods, smiling against your skin.

“That’s okay! Just, don't leave yet, please?” You nod once again, and the two of you talk while you slowly nod off. Eventually you lay down, him still laying against your chest.

You fall asleep with the red haired boy laying on your chest, a sick, crooked grin on his face. He moves out of your grip, straddling your hips.

He plays with your hair as he watches you sleep, oh so peacefully, by the side of an attempted murderer. It's almost insane how you fell asleep, knowing he was by your side and you two were alone.

He leans down, his chapped and bloody lips meeting yours, it's delicate, barely even a kiss.

He giggles giddily, pulling out your phone and rolling to your side, head on your chest and phone in hand as he goes through it.

He deletes anyone in your contacts who may threaten your relationship, takes photos of you two, amongst other things.

Slowly, his eyes grow heavy, and he stuffs your phone back into your pocket, closing his eyes as he curls around you possessively.

The two of you sleep like that til someone comes in the morning, and sees you and him curled up, the thin blanket thrown on the floor by Dakota so when it got cold you'd curl around him.

Dakota’s eyes are already open by the time the nurse walks in, giving her the middle finger and that crooked grin on his face while her eyes widen, and she slowly walks out, closing the door.

You're completely unaware of the monster you're supporting, and it's going to stay that way, whether you like it or not.

[my-castles-crumbling]

i think i might be neurodivergent?

okay so um today nothing was going right for me like i wasn't able to shower in the morning like i usually do so i was irritated and shit because i like, always do it in the mornings and i had a project to do but the formatting wasn't working and it was cold af and i was basically just irritated a lot and then my mom called me for lunch but i was trying to fix something so she called me a few times and that irritated both of us and my dad was well, he's the type to keep asking if i'm okay and if something happened when my mood seems off and while for some people that would be helpful it just pisses me off even more and he just kept smiling and joking and i find his jokes infuriating most of the time but when i'm mad it just frustrated me more and then i was distracted while eating, some food fell on my clothes so i went to wash it off and i had forgotten to refill my soap dispenser so i got even more annoyed because like what was i supposed to use and i basically snapped at my parents and i was just all around irritated and mad and then i had to sit in my room and calm myself down

it's not the first time this type of stuff happened. it's a frequent thing and um there are certain things i can't stand like when my nails accidentally scratch something rough i kinda just try to like get rid of that weird feeling in them by scratching other stuff and loud sounds are jarring (this was a new development which happened a couple of years ago) and there's like um food which i can't stand sometimes it's just because of the colour but a lot of times it's because of the texture as well. i remember a couple of months ago i was on an international flight and they gave us food like it was my country's but like it was all the stuff i didn't like and i hated it and stuff fell and i felt like crying out of sheer frustration at the situation because my mom kept insisting on it and there was just too much for the table thing and it was just overwhelming af. i've kinda suspected since then that i might be neurodivergent but i can't really get an official diagnosis because while my parents care more about mental health than like, most people in our country, they're still going to think that i'm connecting stuff which aren't related and i can't get a diagnosis from school or anything either because there's like a huge lack of privacy and it would get back to my parents also i don't really want it on my record and idk if they'll put it or not. um other stuff which people have pointed out is that a lot of times my right leg doesn't stay still like it's shaking especially when i'm nervous but that's normal and i also have problems studying without music and sitting at a table while studying (i have no idea if any of this is even relevant but apparently at least according to my parents i'm the only person they know who actually finds it helpful and therefore i'm doing it wrong) and i hyperfixate a lot and i get distracted very easily. i find pressure very soothing like um i've shd a few times like just scratching and sometimes even absentmindedly i kinda just apply pressure on it either with my fingertip or my nail and it weirdly kinda calms me and this isn't even when i'm stressed or anything.

i took an online autism test which isn't an official diagnosis i know and self diagnosis doesn't count either but i don't really have other options and i just need to sort of be able to explain all of this to myself at least

Hi <3

First of all, self-diagnosis can count...it's complicated because like...obviously there are people who self-diagnose EVERYTHING and that's frustrating. But there are also people who only have self diagnosis and that's valid.

Do you have a supportive adult you can talk to about this? Like a teacher, doctor, therapist? They might be able to help you start in the right direction of being evaluated, you know?

[intrepidacious]

time after time [6]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.8k

chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying

a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

six: butterfly effect

Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.

At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.

Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.

So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.

It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.

It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.

"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.

"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"

"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."

He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.

"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."

The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.

You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.

“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”

"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."

Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.

In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.

That was none of his business, though.

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.

"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."

"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"

"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."

You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."

"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."

He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.

Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"

"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."

"Is that what they told you?"

"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."

Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.

"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.

You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."

Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.

What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.

It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.

It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.

A reason to get up in the morning.

*****

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.

The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.

For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?

But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.

You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.

But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.

And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.

Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.

"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.

Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.

You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.

"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.

"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"

You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.

Because you’ve pissed him off now.

"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"

It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.

So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.

His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."

Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"

You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.

"No. How did you get stuck?"

"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.

How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.

"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.

There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"

"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.

He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.

Right. He doesn’t normally do that.

Except he has.

He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.

"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"

You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.

When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.

"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"

His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.

"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.

Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.

Seeing it now, though?

It makes your fingers twitch.

"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."

"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."

The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.

"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.

There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …

"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.

You swallow heavily. "Being noble."

Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."

He’s beautiful.

It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?

But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?

So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.

The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …

And yet.

His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.

Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?"

You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.

"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.

"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."

There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"

And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.

You have to do this alone.

Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.

"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."

"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.

Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.

"Promise."

He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.

That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.

***

There’s been a change in the weather.

Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.

But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.

"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.

"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"

Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.

"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.

The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.

You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.

But this …

It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.

"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.

"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"

"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.

"You know what I mean."

"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.

Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"

Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.

"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."

And just like that, you’re back on track.

Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."

It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.

You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.

The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.

So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.

It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.

Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.

You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.

"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."

"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.

"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."

"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.

"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."

Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."

"Aren’t I?"

You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"

The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.

Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.

If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.

You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"

"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"

"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"

Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.

"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."

Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.

Useless.

You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.

"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.

"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.

Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.

"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.

Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."

"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.

"Try that again, less convincing?"

"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"

Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"

You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."

You don’t, though.

It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.

***

Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.

You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.

"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.

"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"

He shrugs. "For a walk."

You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"

"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"

Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."

Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.

The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"

Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"

"So? I like coffee."

"Really. I never knew."

"Screw you."

You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.

You miss his eyes.

Why won’t you look at me?

When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.

"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"

"Early." You blink.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."

You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.

"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."

"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"

His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.

When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.

It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.

Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.

"Are you off or on break?" you call over.

She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."

"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."

Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."

Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.

You blink. "My shadow."

"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"

"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.

"Not that old."

"No," you agree, "not that old."

For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.

Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.

Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."

You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.

The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."

"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.

So is hers.

"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.

You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."

"You feel like or you know?"

"Isn’t that the same thing?"

"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.

"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.

"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."

"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."

"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."

Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.

She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.

***

Time passes while it’s standing still.

The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.

It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.

Which you’re getting better at.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Rinse and repeat.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

"You look like shit."

Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.

"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

You almost smile. "Like what?"

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"

Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.

"Did I?"

"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."

Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?

It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.

"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.

"Doing what?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."

Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."

Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."

So you do.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.

You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.

Or maybe it’s dread.

"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.

You blink, sitting upright. "What?"

"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."

Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.

"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.

Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."

You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.

"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."

"Stop it!"

An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.

Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.

"You cannot keep this up."

"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"

"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."

Do as I tell you.

"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."

"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"

You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"

"And there it is."

You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.

The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."

"I didn’t—"

"Answer the question."

"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.

"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"

He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."

You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.

"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."

"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."

"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."

"That’s not true."

"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."

You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."

"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."

"And what’s seeing him going to do?"

You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.

"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.

Then, you walk through the closed door.

You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.

With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.

You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.

Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.

Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.

"Changed your mind?"

You glance into the room.

At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.

Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.

Try the floor.

You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.

"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.

"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."

"Would he remember if I did?"

"I don’t know."

You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."

You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.

Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.

"You feel better?" Strange asks.

"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."

"What was?"

"Just …"

Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.

Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.

How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.

And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.

You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.

"Did I do something?" you say quietly.

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."

You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.

When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.

He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.

The door clicks shut.

"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.

"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.

***

Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.

You can cling to that.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.

"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."

"Fair point," you concede.

It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.

"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."

It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."

She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."

"You used to have bangs?"

"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."

You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."

"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."

"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"

You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

It is.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."

"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.

"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."

"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."

"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."

"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."

"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."

You know.

Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.

It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.

So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"

"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.

Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.

"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.

"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.

"There you are."

You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.

He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.

"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.

You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.

You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."

You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"

He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.

So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.

"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"

He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."

And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.

Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."

"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."

"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.

"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."

"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."

"I don’t trust her," you mutter.

"And yet the cat’s the weird one."

"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."

"There’s pie?" Bucky says.

"Not for you!"

You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.

That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.

Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.

Again and again and again and a—

"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"

You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.

Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.

You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.

"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.

Liar, liar, liar.

***

At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.

You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …

"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.

Not yet.

He got shot again yesterday.

A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."

You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"

"Today is Friday, July 4th."

You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.

What did you expect?

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"

"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.

He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."

That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.

"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.

"You wish."

Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.

"You look like shit."

Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.

"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"

"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"

Not this again.

"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"

"Alright," he says.

And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.

But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.

There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.

I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.

That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.

In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.

"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.

"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."

"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."

"But if I could prevent it—"

"It already happened."

"I can make it not happen."

"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."

"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.

Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."

He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.

Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"

"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"

"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."

"No one ever feels ready until they try."

And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.

The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.

When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.

"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.

Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.

You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.

The band around your wrist does the same.

"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.

Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.

The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.

You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.

There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.

I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.

You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.

"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"

Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.

You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.

You’re all alone.

***

Three, two, one—

"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"

You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."

He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.

You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.

The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.

"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"

Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.

Strange still hasn’t returned.

The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.

It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.

"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.

The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.

Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.

"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."

But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.

Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.

Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.

Bucky still mumbles in his.

You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.

You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.

Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.

And she’s staring right at you.

You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.

A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.

"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.

The cat meows in disappointment.

Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.

She rubs against your palm.

You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."

Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.

This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.

So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.

And then you wait until he gets up.

It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.

It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.

Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.

In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.

You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.

Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.

But what else can you do?

You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.

That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.

Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.

Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.

That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.

The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.

Nothing else will.

There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.

"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.

"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.

If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—

"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"

You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.

You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.

Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."

You smile. "Good for you."

"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"

And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"

You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.

The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.

"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

*****

"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.

"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.

"Not at all."

Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.

You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.

"Are you gonna move any time soon?"

Well. Mostly.

At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.

With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.

You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.

It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers’ previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.

While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.

Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.

"You almost done in here?"

"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"

Bucky pointed over his shoulder.

"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.

Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"

"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"

"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.

"Time’s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.

You didn’t even make it to the staircase.

"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"

No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.

You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.

"What?" Bucky said.

"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.

"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.

Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.

You should’ve eaten more.

As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.

You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.

Not good enough.

Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.

A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.

It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.

Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.

"—d’you—see that—"

"—could’ve—sworn there—”

And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.

chapter seven

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[deepestblizzardcomputer]

°•°•°•°Back 'Home'°•°•°•°

Part 3

Parts: 1 /2 / 3 / 4 / 5 /. . .

Synopsis: a flashback of Miles G. Morales facing his heavy grief of the loss of his father and how he became what he was in his universe and of course his first meeting with you.

Warnings: none

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

THE FAMOUS COP, Jefferson Davis, had died during fulfilling his mission of justice to his city. his death had left a deep scar on his 11 years old son, Miles Morales, who didn't know how to react after knowing those news at the time.

Miles has always been a good boy, he was known for being polite and kind to who around him, sometimes he had a bad temper but it never went too far. That until the event of the funereal, after that everything of him changed.

The boy was closer to his father, looked up for him, even when he was sticking those stickers around and had an option to be working as an artist since he loved expressing himself through his drawings, he had considered working as a cop or as one of the secret police agency when growing up, dangerous was his middle name and he had no fear interfering with such thing.

he wanted to help create a place where everyone felt safe.

so, to witness his father's coffin being buried six feet underground, didn't encourage his dream at all. in his world there was no 'powerful' hero to save the day, just regular cops who did their job as best as they could, against thieves and 'villains' it was so unfair how they the ones who were over powered while the good people weren't.

Miles had sketched fictional heroes, imaging how life would have been if there was someone who had enough power to kick those villains' asses. he drowned himself in sketches to distract himself from the cruel world, he became more quiet in school and more distant around his classmate and everyone one, even his own mother.

His uncle knew a way to reach him though it was difficult at first, his nephew would avoid being honest to his questions, lock himself in his room more than usual, ignore talking out with his friends or mother when she asked him to open up and keep it all to himself.

this unhealthy reaction was starting to be a habit, taking tool of his health and his weight. He couldn't focus on class or finish his homeworks. Would go for a 'walk with his friends' and be back late.

Rio's concerns toward her son had started to grow to the point she was considering to have him visit a therapist without his knowledge to which Aaron's declined this idea, saying that the kid needed some 'time' and this would make him close off even more.

The best they could do was to wait and to show him, how they were always there for him. The man wasn't really the best at handling this kind of situation, he had thought of taking Miles himself to a therapist but knew better. in a way, the kid resembled him in his worst days, how he would react to certain things.

They had stayed low till the day Miles lost it to a classmate and beat him with all his might, his classmate had been sent to treatment, it wasn't nothing much serious though it still brought out his family's concerns.

That's when Aaron started to become more firm when they got home, he kept cornering Miles with sensitive questions and annoying comments (ignoring Rio's warning whispers and annoyed gestures toward this) till finally his nephew broke out of his shell, crying down on floor.

Rio watched shocked and ran to her only son with open arms (glaring at the guy) while Aaron frowned watching him, before he joined them on floor (apologizing to Rio of course, saying it was the only way) they had to make him open up and break from his own hold.

He didn't want to hurt his nephew, he would kill anyone who dare lay a finger on him, that's for sure. Aaron didn't like to push Miles to this limit, since he, in the end of the day, was just a kid facing a heavy grief but he feared that they would lose him the longer he kept his distance.

it was how he got himself lost as well, with no-one being able to reach him, not even his brother

He knew Miles wouldn't want to have anything with crimes since he was a good person who looked up to his father, but if anything Aaron learned was true was life could push you to many places, even to the rarest ones you least expect.

Miles refused to meet a therapist, agreeing only on opening up with his family to decrease his temper outbursts and avoid any recent meetings. It was starting okay with him, the wound was still there but he was putting his whole focus on school work to ignore the pain.

He had started to raise in his grades once again, not stopping in his track. for a 12 years old boy he was handling it maturely, he still kept some struggles to himself to not to add worries to his exhausted mother. seeing she had applied for more shifts to manage a better life for her and her son.

his uncle would send some cash for them in a way of taking care of them, despite countless declines from Rio, he had always sent them some of his cash to which she helplessly took it in the end.

days were going in an alright direction for Davis family, handling loss of their dearest  member in their best way possible or so Miles thought, as he once sneaked into his uncle's room at evening, it wasn't really that bizarre for him since he did that recently and Aaron had allowed him to.

well, in the daylight at least and with a message to notify his uncle he was coming.

It was one of those days with Miles telling his mother he was 'staying' with his uncle after school when it really wasn't, Miles had a fight with one of his classmates which left him with bruises all over his face and body.

They had outnumbered him by 3 to 1, and he miraculously managed to take two of them out, while the last one who was in a bigger size took some good punishes on him.

Obviously, he didn't go back home for this reason, his mother had enough to worry about. and so, as he was making his way to grab some ice to cool down his bruises when someone burst into the living room all of the sudden.

Causing the boy to jump, upon seeing the familiar purple and black costume, Miles quickly ran to grab a knife and act bold Infront that 'Intruder' only to be shocked when the guy took of his mask, coughing loudly.

" Uncle Aaron. . . ?" He mumbled eyes wide as his uncle turned at him, clutching his metallic clawed glove, he flinched dropping the knife and assured it was just him.

his uncle's sharp gaze turned to surprise before they soften with worry. " the hell happened to your face?"

Instead of answering him, he stayed gawking at his costume approaching him slowly. " You. . You were the Prowler all that time?"

after explaing his situation to his nephew and that he once was working with the 'bad guys' before he quit and started to ruin their plans instead, it had brought a deeper interest to his nephew more than he thought.

Miles promised he wouldn't tell a soul of what he saw if his uncle did the same about his burises and also, teached him his ways.

When his uncle refused, saying how it was extremely dangerous and he was still young, Miles kept persuading him, revealing how he still didn't feel any better since no-one seemed to do something about his father's death. the crimes were still high, people still got hurt and no powerful man stopped all that since it was all going downhills.

He wanted to help the people and to  give those assholes a piece of his mind, he wanted to do anything to calm down this fire inside him, that kept him awake at night. Miles promised he would do his best and would stop picking fights since this training would keep him focused and put his whole energy on it.

At first, Aaron still refused and sent him home although he didn't mention to Rio about his burises, but after days, Miles's mood grew worse and he kept nagging his uncle, seeing how his nephew seemed true to his words and desperate to do something Aaron agreed in the end.

Training him himself. Their bond started to grow the more time they spent with eachother. His uncle had took notice of many potentials his nephew had, Miles was a fast learner and a hard worker and as promised he stopped picking fights.

there was new target in his life that filled him with determination. it wasn't until he turned 14 that he did his first mission as a prowler besides his uncle.

Stopping burglars from robbing a bank, it might have seemed simple but for Miles it was an important step toward a better future for himself and his city.

It was also at the time which his mother transfered him into a new highschool, Vision Acedmey.

He tried to convince his mother he was alright in his pervious one, since he was surrounded to his people and was closer to his uncle's apartment.

to no vain, she refused, explaining how this school was way better and it had excellent degrees in teaching Spanish. despite Miles assuring her he never missed a Spanish class in his old school, she still refused.

telling him how she heard there were excellent teachers for each subject and they teached with deep care unlike the previous ones.

So her son just gave out a long sigh, agreeing in the end if that what would make her glad.

Upon entering the new school with his luggage, he noticed how much 'elite' it was (to his disliking), the place was bigger and cleaner than his old one, also more crowded with students who were packed in different groups.

Miles was having a headache from his lack of sleep due to his mission last night, so he plugged in his earphones to block out those noises.

he kept dragging his stuff behind, his focus was on ground as he was in  deep thought, not noticing the small group Infront him, he bumped into someone.

The boy blinked taking off one of his earphones, hearing a gasp and a groan. he turned his head up at who he walked into, seeing three girls Infront of him, one of them was wiping off the red salsa and some food remainings off her skirt and blouse with one of her friend's napkin. the girl besides helping her.

While the third one whose burrito was on the ground, was glaring at him.

" Can't you watch where you are  going?? You ruined my friend's uniform! " she said.

Miles blinked, his eyes trailing from the glaring girl to your uniform. his expression was blank as you both stared at eachother before he turned to your angered friend.

"Didn't mean to. . " He was walking his way when the girl grabbed his shoulder.

" You won't even apologize?? That shit is hard to clean!"

a sigh was heard behind him as a soft voice spoke " Pacifica it alright. . It isn't that bad?" Your voice didn't sound sure however. Pacifica turned to you annoyed.

" No it is!! Everyone one is going to see it!" Miles turned frowning at the girl lifting a brow.

" Let go of me. . ." his voice was calm although uneasy.  Your friend frowned back, unmoved.

"Not until you give an honest apology to my friend, asshole" her eyes narrowed more, causing her thick dark eyelashes to almost touch eachother.

tense was starting to build up in the air till you moved to break Pacifica's grip off Miles, putting a friendly smile on your face. That smile that he would later fall for.

" He said he didn't mean to and it's okay! am sure I have spare of other uniforms in my dorm. " You put your friend's hand away, trying to calm her down.

Miles who was watching you, had his frown ease a bit, it was kind of surpsing how you seemed barely annoyed than your friend even when your clothes was the one that got ruined. He started to feel kind of guitly.

" sorry. . ." It was soft from him that you almost didn't catch it, his gaze was to your uniform once again. man, your friend wasn't wrong, it did seem hard to clean off.

You blinked at him for a moment then smiled.

" No harms done! It's alright." you squinted your eyes at his face as you titled your head, your hand was still on his shoulder.

". . . Somthin is wrong?" He asked lifting his eyebrow again.

"Ah sorry it just, you. . .seem new here. what's your name? " The annoyed gaze returned to Miles, knowing you meant no harm with a simple question, still he wasn't really into the mood.

" Yah am a new student. . . have to go now." he brushed your hand off as he made a subtle nod and turned on his heels away from you three.

You were left dumbfounded as you watched him leave, took you a while to look beside you and see your friend unimpressed gaze. She had her arms crossed.

" Seriously, [Name] ? You gonna flirt with this one, After what he did?"

You blinked as you let a confused chuckle. " I wasn't flirting with him?? Was just asking for his name to see if I recognized him somewhere."

"Ah yeah, as if you know EVERYONE here, sure!" She rolled her eyes as she used her tissues to clean her hand and her sleeves from the reamnings of her food. she mumbled under her breathe " What an idiot flirt."

" was not flirting?!"

" You kept staring at him tho" Your other friend added giggling. Making you roll your eyes.

as you made your ways to the bathroom, to help wash off your skirt. while your friends were chatting, you couldn't help but think of that strange boy who bumped into you three earlier, for some reason he seemed familiar.

like you recognized him somewhere, you thought maybe knowing his name would help?

a sigh escaped you 'he seemed really annoyed. . and sad?' you weren't sure if what you saw was right though and judging from how he looked around your age, you felt it wasn't going to be the last time you meet him.

and boy were you right?

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

So, since our Miles was closer to his uncle before he died, why not make this Miles closer to his father before his death? Cause parallels! Why not :D

Anyway,Hope you enjoyed! next part is going to be more exciting I promise ya!

Taglist:

@catherinekisser @ueexj

@cvqidd @akira-ri00

@axeoverblade (ps. am a fan of your work!)

Don't forget to leave a comment.

till next time!

[kennysboxergf]

niko x reader with a stutter?

Lemonade? ~ Niko Omilana

You had always been quiet. In primary school you had noticed the kids around you talking with each other and playing, sometimes you wanted to join in but there were many times you found the sound annoying.

As you grew up, the loneliness overtook the need to be alone and you started trying to talk to people. It was always difficult for you, you were different, sometimes your tongue just got stuck on a sound. You had tried to stretch the sound out so your wouldn’t repeat it and that seemed to work but sometimes people would be annoyed of that too, they said it was too slow.

You had no explanation for it, neither did your parents and the doctors always repeated the same things, “it’s a stutter”, “it’s untreatable”, “maybe try speech therapy?”

You had gone to the speech therapist, she was kind and always treated you with respect. But she couldn’t help you either.

You entered high school knowing you were different from the other kids. That you couldn’t speak as fast, that you wouldn’t ever be able to match the speed at which they spouted insults at you. You retreated into yourself, to avoid speaking.

There was only ever one person that never made you feel like you couldn’t speak. Niko. You had met him through Sharky, your TikTok friend. The first time you had met him you had kept your head down and barely spoken to him, thankful for all the other men in the room to keep everyone’s attention away from you.

You had gotten used to interacting with Sharky, well basically everyone, online, that was a place you could type as fast as you wanted without having to slow down and work over the sound or repeat it over and over before moving on to the next syllable. You were nervous to meet his friends, if they were anything like they were on camera you knew that a joke could be made and gone in a flash and you couldn’t even reply.

That’s why you sat a little ways away from them. They ate and joked, you followed along, laughing at the right moments. You saw Sharky give you a few looks as you refused to speak but brushed them off.

You had left that meet up early to go home. 

The second time you had met Niko things changed. It was another day when they were all there, talking. They had started planning ideas for a new video and you were thankful for the topic as you didn’t have to contribute much.

You saw Niko spare you a glance or two as they talked around the table and thought nothing of it. Having excused yourself away from the group you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, reading old messages wondering why you had come here in the first place.

You saw a message from Sharky pop up, a simple, ‘r u ok?’ from 12 minutes ago. You replied with a ‘👍’ before turning your phone off and putting it aside. That’s when you saw him. 

He had approached you and between your thoughts and the messages on your phone you hadn’t even noticed. 

“Hey. Can I sit down?” He asked simply, you fought to keep the confusion off your face as you nodded in answer.

“Sharky didn’t even tell us your name.” He said turning his head to face you. 

“Y/n” you said, thanking the gods of stuttering that you hadn’t stumbled over that.

“That’s beautiful,” he smiled, a smile that took your breath away, just what you needed when you were already trying not to stutter. “I’m Niko.” He extended a hand.

You shook his hand and nodded back, trying to keep you answers to a minimum. 

“So, what would be your ideal date?” He asked, suddenly turning his entire body to face you. 

You were surprised at his question, but kind of charmed. It wasn’t a question you were asked very often so you took your time answering it. He didn’t seem to mind, watching your face with the same attention through the time you took to think.

“Pic… nics” you stretched out the c in your word to avoid repeating it, finding that people responded better to that, “in the park” you finished, hoping and praying he didn’t mention the elongated consonant as you flashed him your best smile.

He smiled again and nodded along, “what would you eat at a picnic?” He asked again, the look on his face was simple and innocent otherwise you might have thought he was doing this to show your stutter to the other boys.

“Cake? And maybe s-s-some” your voice trailed off after the stuttering and you dropped your head. Fuck everything, the man sitting in front of you was already making you nervous so it was bound to happen eventually but fuck it all. Why’d this always happen to you?

His smile didn’t even falter, “some what?” He asked. 

You head snapped up. This was the first person other than you family that was barely fazed by your stutter. 

“Lemonade?” You asked in an unintentional question.

“That’s sounds great. How about I take you out to a picnic with cake and lemonade? Would you say yes?” He answered with ease. His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want the other boys to hear him but you saw a certain nervousness on his stance, his hands were fumbling with each other and his eyebrows were turned up in question.

You nodded back at him with enthusiasm. Relief flooded his body, he relaxed his stance and his face fell into a natural smile.

“I talk a lot tho, hope that’s alright with you?” He asked in a genuine question. You almost laughed at him, like he didn’t know that was absolutely perfect.

“I don’t talk mu…ch, so it’s cool” you answer, for some reason this man brought you comfort. You stretched out a sound and didn’t feel like you had to watch his face to see his reaction, you somehow knew he would be ok with it.

—

GIRL IM SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK 😭 also my apologies to anyone with a stutter if this ain’t entirely accurate, I would love feedback on how to make this more accurate, I don’t have a stutter myself but I did go to a speech therapist 🫶🫶

as always requests are open and please come by and say hi <3

[utilitycaster]

What’s wild to me is when the purple and black hearts stans start lying about how a lot of beaujes shippers reacted to beauyahsa. Like they were out here calling beauyasha a ship for straight people and accusing the cast of queerbaiting because one wlw ship was canon instead of another one. I’ll never forget when someone said that Beau was a problematic predatory lesbian stereotype because they were mad she never confessed her feelings for Jester.

It goes to what you’ve been saying that very little has happened between Laudna and Imogen romantically so a lot of people have resorted to yelling about other things and accusing people who don’t like the ship of being homophobic. As a lesbian I wanted to love the ship so much but it doesn’t interest in and it’s so disheartening to be accused of hating wlw relationship or be told that I’m not watching the show right.

Hey anon,

I feel like I keep using the word "ahistoric" but god does it fit like...the ugly truth is that, at least on Tumblr, the main detractors from Beauyasha by the end of the campaign were people who shipped Beau and Jester; again, there will always be some misogyny and homophobia and bigotry in the fandom so long as these exist in the real world, but like, it was not homophobes saying Beauyasha was For The Straights.

(also...how is it problematic and predatory to...not confess your feelings for someone if you have no intention of acting on them because you and they are both in other relationships. This is besides the point of this ask but I swear the people who were mad at the C2 canon ships were on a new level of dipshittery; they kept asking for Closure (TM) and it's like most normal people, if they have an unrequited crush and then enter into a relationship with someone else, never tell the person about the crush because it's awkward and there's literally nothing to do or say about it. Like, the typical path forward for closure is like, telling your therapist or journalling or making an angsty playlist, not Confessing Your Love while you're both in relationships with someone else.)

I do think this history is relevant though because in many ways...the behavior of people who shipped Beau and Jester paved the way for the open dislike of Imogen and Laudna we see today. Why should I listen to someone who calls me homophobic for not liking a lesbian ship when they called me homophobic and straight last campaign for liking a lesbian ship they didn't like? Why would I ever listen to a random person who does not know me through anything but our shared interest in the same Actual Play show's assessment of my feminist credentials based on the fact that I don't want the same two characters to kiss as they do? Why would I ever bother to try hit their ever moving target instead of saying "ok" and moving on?

Which isn't to say it doesn't suck. I've gotten questions about how to not be bothered or disheartened before from others, and I don't have great advice because I happen to just, through a combination of personal experience and natural tendencies not be much of a people pleaser, but like...I mean, you're the only person who can know if you're a lesbian. That's really it. Not particularly caring about a specific F/F ship very obviously does not disqualify you from being a lesbian, which we know because otherwise we could just as easily say that not shipping Beauyasha would disqualify you from being a lesbian. They can say whatever they want; it's annoying, but it's bullshit and I think even they know it. (the alternative of course is that they're very, very stupid and do not know it.)