#sticky roller

[artemispt]

The ‘sticky roller’ day 🥺

a carlando pic per day till bahrain 30/92

[elderwisp]

side quest: theo's belated birthday bash

[spindle-and-nima]

Well spindles shedding AGAIN and really mad at me because I lint rolled him bc his fur was getting everywhere

He's now an upset long loaf but he's accepting pets 😔

[soft-cheek]

Is learning that some teacher decided to use up the laminate rolls on the poster laminator and not inform you beforehand grounds for curling up on the ground at work and crying or am I just being over dramatic

[hylianengineer]

Oh my god, you would not believe how many ticks I have removed from my body today. I'm talking SCORES of ticks. Possibly over one hundred. This is not an exaggeration.

How did this happen? There are some downsides to being a field ecologist.

[malasquid]

So. I've Cracked The Code On The Appearance Changes in Side Order.

Wall of photos and such incoming.

After a lot of testing, I've discovered there are 7 different little lights and doodads that are added to Agent 8 via upgrading certain chips, each with a basic 1st tier and and upgraded 2nd tier. The 1st tier of upgrades appear after picking up two of the same chips in that changes pool (ex: 2 Homing Shots chips), with the 2nd tier appearing after picking up five of them (ex: 5 Homing Shot chips). There is no further visual indicators added for maxing chips that go beyond 5, such as Splash Damage or Rush Attack.

Full disclaimer: This is the result of researching a LOT of my own runs, so I can say this is true with about 95% certainty. If I labeled an ability chip in the wrong visual pool, please let me know!

Let's start with the basics - our control group. No Teal upgrades provide any visible changes to Agent 8 (or Pearl-bot for that matter), so I ran an all-teal palette to demonstrate.

First is likely one of the more requested visual changes - the Headset. The 1st tier sports a basic metallic earpiece, with the 2nd adding an antenna and eyepiece that match your primary ink color.

Maxing Splash Damage, Sound Wave Damage, Splash Radius, Special Charge Up, Turf Lucky Chain, Rush Knockback, and Homing Shots all provide the headset!

Next up is Ink Bubbles. The 1st tier shows transparent, slower bubbles flowing in 8's ink tank, with the bubbles being faster and more opaque in the 2nd tier.

Nabbing Poison Ink, Splat Ink Recovery, Ink Saver Sub, Ink Recovery Rate, Sticky Ink, and Explosion Knockback all provide Ink Bubbles.

Following that is the Fins. The 1st tier shows the base shackles being added to 8's boots, with the fins themselves being added for the 2nd tier.

Picking up Run Speed, Swim Speed, Rush Attack, Mobile Ink Recovery, Mobile Special Charge, and Mobile Drone Gauge all provide the Fins.

Now, moving on to the weapon upgrades!

First we have the Muzzle Lights, which appear at the muzzle of most weapons, and the sides of the brush and roller nearest the base. The 1st tier shows a circle and squares circling around the muzzle, with the 2nd tier being more exaggerated, with alternating squares and rectangles forming a hexagon pattern in the center.

These are exclusive to the Ink Damage, Main Damage (Close), and Main Damage (Distant) chips.

Next up is likely the most common visual one can see on their run - the Arrows. The 1st tier shows a circle with three arrows pointing down the weapon, with the 2nd tier adding some blowback markers behind the circle.

These are on a whopping TEN upgrades, being Splatling Barrage, Main Firing Speed, Horizontal Slash Speed, Main Range, Main Piercing, Main Ink Coverage, Rush Ink Coverage, Quick Charge, Shot Spread Reduction, and Ink Saver Main.

Last of the weapon upgrades are the Dots. The 1st tier is 3 large dots and a circle spinning at the bottom of your weapon or around your wrist, with the 2nd tier adding another circle around the dots.

These can be found on the Hindrance Damage, Ink Attack Size, Charge Storage, Moving Ink Speed, Extra Dodge Roll, Brella Cooldown, and Knockback upgrades.

And finally, my favorite little knick-knack, the Shrimp Hook. This little guy appears on your ink tank after picking up 2 matching Luck upgrades (ex: Lucky Bomb Drop, Canned Special Drop, etc), and begins to glow after picking up 5. However, the glowing effect is not visible in the post-game screen. 😔 (I would totally buy one of these if someone made one, btw)

By the way, 7 visual upgrades * 5 chips needed to max each visual is 35 chips, which is just shy of the 36 total chips you can have on one palette, which means, in theory, you could. Have every maxed visual indicator on in one run.

Just a thought. : )

[sungstars]

bedrock | loser!jisung x fem!reader

i.e after jisung went down on you for the first time… he just can’t get enough!!!

authors note: PART TWO OF FALL OFF!! i hope it is up to everyone’s standards <3 I HAD SOOO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS LOLLLL i really hope you guys enjoy !! i feel a bit insecure abt postin it...

word count: 1.5k (not proof read)

content warning: unprotected sex, switch!jisung, unprotected sex, creampie, use of sex toys, lmk if i missed anything!!

jisung couldn’t get enough of you. ever since that night where he went down on your for the first time, he needed more.

whether it was laying between your thighs for hours, lapping at your cunt and making you finish over and over or fingering you on the couch during a movie.

countless nights passed where you've offered to return the favor, but jisung declines.

he always passes it off as he just wants to focus on pleasing you, but of course, you didn't buy it.

the real reason was because every time jisung got you off, he would always cum in his pants before you even finished once. it was so embarrassing that he would bust in his pants like a fucking virgin.

everything about you was just so intoxicating though. your scent, the way you tasted, your moans, and praises. how could he honestly not finish in minutes?

which led him to his dilemma right now. sweat matted his hair to his forehead, his entire body felt so fucking sticky and warm.

it was all your fault. you dragged him to the dumb skating rink in your stupidly short tennis skirt that left little to the imagination.

he couldn’t even focus on skating when he knew there were more than just his eyes on you, fuck, he couldn’t even take his eyes off of you.

his eyes almost popped out of his fucking skull when you bent down to fasten the buckles on your skates, the outline of your cunt peeking through the thin material of your underskirt.

said skirt flailed around when you moved on your inclines, showing jisung all of your cute tricks you learned from years of roller skating and also the bottom of your ass.

jisung had the most raging boner for the last hour and a half. cheeks flushed and ears a burning red that he blamed on the skating and his once again, awful attire of a hoodie and sweatpants.

you paid him no mind when he would basically whimper whenever the two of you came into contact on the floor.

if jisung could look past the part of how turned on he was, it was really endearing to watch you have so much fun.

after another hour of skating, you were tuckered out and wanted nothing more than go home and shower.

jisung was more than happy to comply. he needed a fucking shower and the chance to beat off one good time.

being the gentleman he was, he offered to let you shower first, but also for selfish reasons.

you took longer in the shower which gave him the opportunity to get some sort of release from this god awful erection.

when he was sure you were in the shower, he reached for the top shelf in your shaded closet and pulled down one of his shoe boxes.

it’s been so long since he had to use anything but his hand, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

thank you jeno for working at a sex store last christmas.

if jisung had any room to feel embarrassed for pulling out a pocket pussy that’s skin tone replicated yours, he definitely would’ve.

however, he needed to fuck something more than he needed to feel embarrassed. so he’ll worry about that later.

tripping over his own feet trying to get to the bed and his joggers down his hips, he let his cock hit his abdomen with a wet smack from the precum already dribbling down his tip.

he hurriedly grabbed the bottle of lube you guys kept in one of the nightstands, squeezing an unnecessary amount onto his hand and wrapping it around his dick.

small moans left his plush lips as he stroked himself, a chill running down his spine from the borderline ice cold lube.

his back arched slightly into the bed after a few strokes, feeling that knot already forming in his stomach.

“fuck,” he whimpered, moving his hand and sliding the toy down his cock, “fuck fuck fuck.”

the toy felt so tight and nice around his cock. you would be even better than this stupid toy, he knew it.

the way you clenched down on his fingers when they opened you up. . . jisung could only imagine how your cunt would spasm on his dick.

your pretty whimpers when he’d push into you, trying to fit all of his cock into you, how you’d probably try to run from it, oh he needs you so so badly.

another moan escaped his lip when he began to pick up his pace fucking the toy, thinking of all the nasty ways he would ruin you.

“mmfh,” jisung whimpered, his toes curling slightly at the thought of filling you up and fucking his cum back into you.

god. . . he doesn’t think he can go without—

“having fun without me?”

jisung’s eyes shot open, a flush immediately taking over his face as he saw you standing over him, one hand clutching your towel over your naked body.

he opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to form a sentence yet nothing came to mind.

you didn’t say anything either, opting to nudge his hand from the toy and putting your own on it, starting to slowly move it up and down his cock.

“thinkin’ of me?” you teased, “why use this when you coulda just fucked me instead, ji?”

he dug his fingers into his palms, whimpering for the nth time this night, “t-too nervous. don’t wanna cum too quick cause you’re s-so pretty.”

an endearing smile cascaded across your features, “you wanna fuck me ji?”

the raven haired boy nodded his head, lip caught between his teeth to stop his little noises as you used the pocket pussy on him. it was so hot, him using a pocket pussy to think of you.

why should he use this when he has the real thing right in front of him?

you stopped your movements, completely removing the toy from his cock and watching his body tense up from the cold air hitting his cock that looked red and angry.

placing the toy on the bed, you unwrapped your towel and adjusted yourself to sit on jisung’s lap.

the tip of his cock catching your clit, causing you to hiss and jisung groan. his whole body was still so tense, your poor boyfriend.

grabbing the base of his cock, you slowly pushed the tip into your cunt, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

“fuck,” the boy whined, “so so tight and warm.”

you sunk further down, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix and you placed your hands on his chest.

grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt, you bounced slowly on his cock, “you’re soo big jisung, fuck. i cant believe y-you’ve been holding out on fucking me.”

his hands grabbed your hips, forcing you up and slamming you back down on his cock harshly. you wanted to scream, his cock reaching all these spots in you that you didn’t know could be touched.

his pretty flushed face and hooded eyes looking up at you as he fucked you on his cock like you were his pocket pussy.

“you feel so good,” he said as he watched your tits bounce in his face, “look so good too. f-fuck, i cant believe i’ve been so nervous to fuck such a perfect girl.”

without waiting on a response, he flipped the two of you over and threw your legs over his shoulders causing you to yelp.

he pushed his hips into yours at a brutal pace, cock hitting your spongey spot over and over. one of his hands coming down to rub your clit roughly, lips raising ever so slightly into a smile at your wails.

tears welling up in your eyes at the pleasure, one of your hands wrapped around his forearm as you let out a string of moans. jisung was so interesting, one moment withering under your touch and the next, treating you like nothing but a fucking toy.

“j-ji,” you squealed, digging your nails into his skin, “i-i’m about to fuckin—”

your walls practically spasmed as you reached your peak, crying out jisung’s name which pushed him over the edge as well.

jisung thrusted shallowly into you, cum still spurting into your cunt and starting to spill out, kissing your neck gently as the two of you came down.

when you whined from over sensitivity, jisung pulled out and gave you a sweet kiss before collapsing next to you.

“can’t believe you held on fucking me within an inch of my life ‘cause you were scared of underperforming,” you whispered, tracing shapes on jisung’s chest, “and now i need to shower again.”

jisung hummed, turning over on his side to look at you, “i was thinking i should eat you out then fuck you ‘till i can make you squirt.”

“you fuck me once and suddenly you have all the confidence in the world?”

“i wanna fuck you ‘till we break the bed like bella and edward.”

you shook your head as you pulled your boyfriend down into another kiss.

it was going to be a long night.

END

[stvolanis]

oh nothinggg, just thinking about Spooky x Bimbo! Reader

god, Spooky can’t stand you. always wearing those shorts—the ones that your ass cheeks hang out in. running around with your flimsy tube tops, nipples peeking through. Somehow being mixed into his brothers friend group, but not being involved in their messes. You were kinda just the friend they kept around cause your daddy sells weed to the people in Brentwood, so they got major discounts! but of course they loved you.

god, the amount of times he’s gotten a flash of the thin little hot pink thong straps you wear—or when you bend over to pick up something right in front of him; he thinks you’re doing it on purpose at this point! So he’s puzzled when you stand back up and whip around with an oblivious smile and innocent look in your eyes. He always has to do the thinking for you cause your silly brain can’t really comprehend what’s going on with the freakin roller world money your friends keep blabbering about that spooky wasn’t supposed to know about! Too bad, you already told him when you were mindlessly yapping about your day!

he would totally say something like, “didn’t know I was gettin a free show, baby.” After he walked in on your trying to shimmy off your skin tight, mid thigh dress. You blushed and weakly tried to shove him out of the room, only in your panties and matching bra. But it was like pushing a brick wall, and the way your clothed breasts pressed against him had him going crazy! So he felt like his body acted on its own when he grabbed the flesh of your ass with one hand, and your throat with the other.

He inhaled your scent, muttering a string of profanities in his mother tongue as he kissed the side of your jaw. “Been tempting me too much lately, cariño. M’only a man at the end of the day.” He breathed against you, watching the way your shorter body trembled under his touch. “I have needs. N’ it’s your job to take care of them like I always take care of you, ma.”

so of course as soon as he said that, his hand harshly pulled your bra down, exposing your breasts to him. He pinched one of your nipples, pulling it a little before releasing. Soon, your knees collided with the hard wood beneath you’d, and his cock was slapping against your cheek, leaving a trail of his sticky pre-cum. “S’right, niña. Put that pretty mouth to better use.” He smirked—that fucking smirk. The one that made you week in the knees.

You knew you were done for.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!

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[racke7]

#i am throwing my hands up in the air and shouting “Are you kidding me?!”#this is the third post in a month where racke7 says an extremely transgender thing and goes “Not trans though.”#Alright i won't bring it up again.#i believe you#it's important to trust people when they say how they feel#honestly that dream might be my fault for bringing up the subject earlier this month (from: @premise29 )

To be fair to my statement of "that guy is insane". In that same dream, I was mountain-biking (horrible idea) and came across a puddle on the path, so I biked through it (second horrible idea), and immediately went underwater and was swept away by the current (#dream-problems).

Then I mountain-biked to that location again and did the same fucking thing. The guy clearly doesn't have any brain-cells at all.

As far as my gender is concerned, I've always considered gender to be a kind of graph:

And I'm pretty sure that I've gone on the record saying that my feelings are very much on the "no" end of this spectrum.

Is it swinging towards male or female? Who cares? I'm not invested enough in this to give a damn.

If I woke up tomorrow with boobs, I'd be annoyed at having to buy a bra. If I woke up tomorrow without a dick, I'd be annoyed at having to sit down to pee. If I woke up tomorrow looking like a disney-hercules, I'd be annoyed that none of my shirts fit. If I woke up tomorrow looking the same as I do today, I'd find some reason to be annoyed about that too.

I'm just a little hater, through and through.

Having said that, I understand that "blegh" is a very common emotion for pre-transition trans people to have when they see themselves in the mirror. And I definitely feel that, so sometimes I stare out towards the horizon and ask myself "do I want something?".

And obviously the horizon doesn't fucking answer me, because it's a bitch.

Unfortunately the state of "meh" means that I can't say that I really have a solid opinion. So, much like being an asexual means trying to prove the absence of sexual attraction, my gender-feelings aren't very helpful for giving a definite answer.

Thoughts of how to solve this without getting miraculously run over by a gender-changing truck (god I wish those were real, it'd be so fucking funny)?

One thought was to get a VR setup, load up a female model and then look in a bunch of mirrors to see if it gave me dysphoria or euphoria. But VR setups are a bit too expensive to buy on a whim like that, and there's nothing to say that I wouldn't look at the "me" in the mirror and go "that's a female avatar alright" with no emotions involved whatsoever.

But yeah, in the wonderfully nefarious land of "do something" - "do what?" - "something" - "how about-" - "not that"? My gender-feelings are... mostly that I'm kind of envious of everyone who says "I want that", even if I understand that the path they're facing is often a lot harder than it ought to be.

Would I like to have a definite answer? Sure. Would I be willing to try and go through all of the hoops to feminize myself to find out? No. Would I be willing to roll my eyes and take estrogen if someone else did the annoying parts in my stead? Sure, why the fuck not, clearly at least they have opinions about it.

Should I mayhaps talk to a therapist about this at some point? Probably, but that would require me to do a bunch of shit, pay money I don't want to lose, and add something extra to my schedule (which is already packed with shit I don't want to do). So that's probably not going to happen until I run face-first into an actual problem.

And like, before anybody asks, I was laughing to myself as I wrote basically all of this. So don't take this as me "shutting you down", keep smacking me with a crowbar and maybe I'll wake up one morning to realizing that I'm actually a crocodile.

(Get it? Because the egg cracked, just a different sort than the regular one. I'm so fucking funny.)

Had a dream where someone on here found out my address and used this doxx to send me estrogen in the mail.

My response was "well if you're going to go that far to insist" and then started taking it with a shrug.

[underatedwords]

the curl behind his ear 😍 the fluff on his jumper 😠

[prncessjaeger]

kiss it better ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

⋆୨୧˚ now, imagine coming home to your cute loft apartment from shopping as soft rock music playing from your’s and mikasa’s main bedroom tv and you bring home a big collection of lip glosses and other makeup products, “okay, so i went to sephora with sasha right, i mean you would know since you sent me money for it but! i got like 12 lipglosses and i wanted you to try them for me?”

she watched you changed into a cute pink shirt and short set, matching the same one mikasa had on (but her’s was black obvi) “try them on…? “yeah, like this,” you went and straddled the seemingly opened up spot on her lap and pulled out a random roller lip gloss and rubbed it on your lips, pulled her face towards yours and kissed her lips, “is it…grape?” “yes! now here’s some more gloss…i think it’s the sticky kind, but anyways c’mere,” she pushed her bangs from her face and puckered her lips once again, feeling the gloss more prominent on her lips, “try not to lick it this time,” smacking her teeth, she rubbed them together inhaling the very loud scent, “hmm blue raspberry?” mimicking the wrong sound, “wrong! it’s blueberry-”

“same thing and don’t go saying ‘well blue raspberry isn’t a fruit’ either, i know” she fixed your frames and still moved her bangs, “wait hold on-” you leaned over her, ignoring the rubs on your ass she was giving you and grabbed two hair clips, “here, lemme fix your hair, yeah?” you put the clips in her hair and giggled, seeing her look all adorable, “aww now let’s try this on and then i can give you a whole makeover shebang!” “oh boy.”

ღ an: this was so short wtf

[herecomesaspecialghoul]

🤣

[the-winter-spider]

Under Pressure | Part 4

Modern!Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Anxiety, depression, angst, su!c!de

A/N: Ive had this part done for a bit it just took me awhile to edit and proof read because ive been a little down in the dumps. Sorry! 🫶🏻

Masterpost

----

The air smelled like saltwater and funnel cakes, the sticky-sweet scent mixing with the cool ocean breeze rolling in from the shore. The laughter of children rang out from the boardwalk, blending seamlessly with the distant whoosh of roller coasters and the upbeat tunes blasting from the game booths. The sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in warm golden hues, making it feel like the whole world was dipped in honey.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Because you felt okay. Not great, not cured. But okay and for today, that felt like enough.

“Alright, who’s first?” Sam grinned, pointing at the towering wooden roller coaster ahead, its rickety frame swaying slightly with the wind.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Not me. I’d like to live past tonight, thanks.”

Natasha smirked, nudging you with her elbow. “Coward.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t trust things built before color TV,” you shot back, making Steve snort.

Bucky, standing next to you with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, leaned down slightly. “You’re just scared,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You turned to him with a deadpan expression. “No shit, Barnes.”

He laughed, warm and rich, and the sound made your chest feel lighter than it had in weeks. Maybe even months.

“Fine,” Sam said, clapping his hands together. “We’ll start easy…bumper cars.”

Natasha groaned. “Sam, you just wanna crash into Steve at full speed.”

“And?”

Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I knew bringing you here was a mistake.”

“Oh, come on, Stevie.” Sam threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders, grinning. “Live a little.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched up into a smile. “How about the ferris wheel?”

Sam scoffed “What are you a girl?”

“Hey!” Natasha scolded him, shoving Sam’s shoulder.

You shook your head, laughing as they bickered. A real laugh, it scared you as it slipped out. The day was perfect. And yet that made your chest feel tight.

It was too perfect.

It didn’t feel real.

Because happiness like this never lasted.

Because you were waiting for the moment the day turned, for the moment the weight you always carried would creep back in, whispering in your ear that you didn’t deserve this. That none of this was real. That the second you went home, everything would feel empty again.

The laughter of your friends started to sound distant.

The crowd felt too close.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, curling and uncurling into small fists. Your breathing was still even, controlled but it took effort now. You kept your eyes on the Ferris wheel, pretending like the anxious knot forming in your chest wasn’t there, like you weren’t already fighting to keep yourself here, to not float away into your thoughts.

But Bucky noticed.

Because of course he did.

Because he always noticed.

Without a word, without even looking at you, his fingers brushed against yours. It was barely a touch, but it grounded you. And then he took your hand.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t even intentional, really. It was just Bucky.

Quiet. Steady. Certain.

Like he was reminding you: Hey, I see you. You’re okay.

Like he was anchoring you back to the moment, back to him, back to the feeling of warm skin against yours, solid and real.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, like second nature, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. But you felt it everywhere.

You swallowed hard but didn’t say anything.

-

The Ferris wheel groaned as it carried you upward, the city skyline stretching endlessly in the distance, twinkling under the navy-blue sky. Below, the boardwalk was alive with color, bright flashing lights from carnival rides, the neon glow of game booths, the golden warmth of streetlamps casting long shadows across the sand.

It was the kind of night that felt like a memory even as it was happening.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you admitted softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind.

Bucky, seated next to you, turned his head. “Yeah?”

You nodded, staring out at the ocean, watching as the waves reflected the moonlight. “It’s just… quiet there. Empty. Feels like the second I step inside, when I’m alone, all of this will disappear.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then, he nudged your knee with his. “Then don’t.”

You turned to look at him, confused.

His blue eyes, soft under the glow of the Ferris wheel lights, held onto something steady, something certain. “Stay over at my place,” he said. “Or I’ll stay at yours. Whatever you want.”

Your throat tightened, an unexpected warmth flooding your chest. “You don’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“I know I don’t,” Bucky said simply. “But I want to.”

And the way he said it, like it wasn’t even a question, like it was just fact, made your eyes sting more than they should have. You blinked quickly, turning back to the view, trying to shake off the sudden swell of emotion.

But Bucky wasn’t looking at the skyline.

He was looking at you. He was always looking at you.

And he was about to say something, something important, something that sat heavy on his tongue..

But then Sam’s voice rang out from below. “Hey, lovebirds! Get your asses down here! Rides done! Photo time!”

Bucky scoffed, leaning his head back against the seat. “Jesus Christ.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. “We should probably go before he starts yelling at strangers to take it for us.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh but stood up when the Ferris wheel came to a stop. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, offering you his hand again.

“Alright, everybody squeeze in!”

Sam held the phone out in front of him, grinning as the five of you huddled together near the neon lights of the boardwalk.

Steve had his arm wrapped around Natasha’s waist, and she gave him bunny ears behind his head with a sly smirk. Sam was front and center, making sure to get the best angle.

And then there was Bucky.

One arm slung over Sam’s shoulders, his other wrapped tightly around you.

You had both arms wrapped around his middle, your head resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of him grounding you.

“You guys ready?” Sam grinned.

“Just take the damn picture, Wilson,” Bucky muttered.

You giggled against his chest, and his hold on you tightened slightly.

The camera flashed.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.

Everything was whole.

Because you had them.

And they had you.

----

The hospital room was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that made every small sound feel magnified. The rhythmic beeping of the machines filled the air, steady but fragile, like a heartbeat trying desperately to hold on. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a pale, artificial glow, washing out the already colorless walls. It made everything feel colder. Made you look colder.

Natasha sat at your bedside, her fingers resting lightly over yours, careful, as if too much pressure might break you. Your hand was small, limp, frighteningly cold. She rubbed her thumb absently over your knuckles, trying to warm you up, trying to remind herself that you were still here.

She’d never seen you like this. Never this still, never this pale. Your lips still carried the faintest tinge of blue, your skin almost translucent under the hospital lights. Your hair lay limp against the pillow, a stark contrast to the way it usually framed your face when you laughed, when you lived. But right now, you looked like a shadow of yourself.

She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering between your face and the monitors tracking your vitals. As if watching the numbers would somehow make them stronger, more stable. As if sheer willpower could undo what had happened, could pull you back from the place you’d nearly disappeared into.

The boys had gone back to your apartment, to get your phone, to reach your family, to make sure things weren’t a disaster when you came home. Because they were all so sure you would be. But really, she had sent them away because she needed to be alone. Not for herself, but for you.

She needed to sit here with you and let the guilt sink in. Needed to feel it, to let it settle in her bones, because God knows she deserved it.

For weeks, months, she had been angry with you.

She had stood outside your door, yelling through the wood, demanding to know why you couldn’t just show up for her, why you were always absent when it mattered.

But now, sitting here, she felt sick at the memory.

She had no right to be angry. Not when she had missed it. She had missed everything.

Her eyes burned as she looked at your frail hand in hers, her grip tightening instinctively. How had she not seen it?

Your sweaters, always oversized, always hanging loosely off your frame. She had thought it was just a style choice, something trendy. Not a way to hide how much weight you’d lost.

The way you never ordered a full meal anymore, just picked at appetizers or claimed you had already eaten. She had laughed about it, teasing you for being picky, never once questioning it.

Your texts, getting shorter, your responses more delayed, your excuses for missing plans more frequent. She had chalked it up to you being “busy.”

Busy.

You hadn’t been busy. You had been slipping. Drowning.

And she…so wrapped up in her own happiness, her own life, her own future, had never once pushed past the surface.

Her throat tightened as the memories came flooding back, each one sharper, more damning than the last.

Your smile, never quite reaching your eyes. Your sudden need to leave early when the group hung out, claiming exhaustion or an early morning.

The way your clothes seemed to hang off your frame. She had looked at you a thousand times and never seen you. “I’m such an idiot,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she squeezed your hand.

Her fingers curled around yours, as if anchoring you to her, as if holding on could somehow undo the damage already done.

“I thought I was a good friend,” she continued, her voice cracking. “I thought I was helping by giving you space, by letting you come to me when you were ready. But… you weren’t okay. You weren’t okay, and I didn’t see it.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, falling onto the stark white hospital sheet covering you. She didn’t bother wiping it away. She should’ve known. She should’ve asked.

But she had been too caught up in herself, in her promotion, in Steve, in the wedding she was already planning in her head. She had talked so much about herself. About her future, about the bright things ahead. And you had listened. Smiled. Nodded. Encouraged.

Never once saying how much you were hurting. Never once asking for help. She let out a shaky breath, guilt weighing heavy on her chest, suffocating her.

It wasn’t you.

It had never been you.

It was her.

She had blamed you for not being a good friend, when all along, she had been the one failing you. Her grip on your hand tightened, her forehead lowering until it nearly touched your arm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking completely now. “I should’ve been better. I should’ve seen you, why didn’t I see you? You were there!”

Another tear fell. Then another. And another. She had accused you of not being there for her brightest moments. But now, sitting here, staring at what almost became your darkest one, she realized how selfish she had been.

How cruel.

“You’re not the shitty friend, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice shaking as the words barely made it past her lips.

“I was.” Her vision blurred, her shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked her body. “It was never you.”

Her fingers brushed against your wrist, against the IV taped to your skin, her voice barely audible. “It was always me.”

The rhythmic beeping of the monitors continued, indifferent to the devastation sitting beside you.

And Natasha, lost in the weight of her own guilt, could do nothing but hold onto you.

And hope…pray…that when you woke up, she could somehow make it up to you.

---

Bucky didn’t want to leave. Every part of him screamed to stay, to plant himself in that hospital chair by your bedside until you opened your eyes, until you looked at him, until he could make sure, really, truly make sure, that you were still here.

But he wasn’t the only one hurting.

Everyone was.

Even if you didn’t think so, even if you believed the lie that you didn’t matter, that your absence wouldn’t leave a hole so gaping it felt impossible to fill, you were wrong. You were so wrong.

So, he left. He left because Natasha needed her time with you, because Steve, Sam, and himself had work to do, because there were things that needed to be done before you woke up. Before you came home.

Your apartment felt off.

Not just empty…abandoned.

The second they stepped inside, the stillness pressed against their chests like a weight. It wasn’t just quiet. It was stagnant. Like the air itself had given up, like time had stopped the moment you collapsed.

Steve flipped on the light, casting everything in a soft glow. The space was cluttered but not in an intentional way like you had been existing here, but not living. Dishes sat in the sink, forgotten. A crumpled blanket rested on the couch, untouched since the last time you curled up beneath it. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the air, but it was stale now, faded.

Bucky’s breath caught when his eyes landed on the coffee table.

The pill bottle.

It sat there like a cruel reminder, a silent weight pressing down on the room.

His stomach turned violently, his throat tightening as he stared at it, his body rigid. He didn’t move, didn’t blink.

Steve followed Bucky’s gaze, his own body going unnervingly still when he registered what he was looking at.

This made it real.

Steve hadn’t been there. Not at your apartment, not in that room with the flashing lights and the pounding on the door. He had met them at the hospital, blindsided and panicked. But this…this solidified it in a way that made his stomach lurch.

He had been holding onto something… hope, that maybe it had been an accident. A mistake. A moment of carelessness, not a moment of decision.

But the bottle was empty.

Steve swallowed thickly, pressing his lips together as he exhaled through his nose. He moved first, his movements deliberate but gentle. He didn’t say anything as he picked up the bottle and turned toward the kitchen, tucking it out of sight.

Because when you came home, you weren’t coming home to this.

Sam, trying to refocus, spotted your phone on the kitchen counter, the screen black, battery drained. He grabbed it, searching for a charger before finally plugging it in.

“Alright, we’ll wait for it to power up,” he muttered, leaning against the counter, his eyes scanning the apartment like he was waiting for something to jump out at him.

Steve glanced around at the mess the small but telling signs of struggle, of isolation, of a person barely holding themselves together. It made his chest ache.

He sighed. “Let’s tidy up a bit,” he said. “When she comes home… she shouldn’t come back to this.”

Bucky should’ve helped.

But he stayed by the door, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest it almost hurt, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket like he was bracing for something. His face was pale, his jaw locked, his eyes heavy with something unreadable.

Sam caught the way he was standing there, unmoving, staring at the wall like he wasn’t even here.

“Hey,” Sam called cautiously, nodding toward the bathroom. “Why’s the mirror like that?”

The mirror was covered with an old towel, tucked haphazardly over the glass. It hadn’t been that way the last time Bucky had been over.

Bucky’s voice was monotone. “She broke it,” he said simply. “Punched it during a breakdown.”

Sam’s stomach twisted.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before glancing back at Bucky.

“I saw it months ago,” Bucky murmured, barely above a whisper, his gaze fixated on your record player across the room. His jaw clenched. “I should’ve known then. Should’ve tried harder.”

Sam’s face tightened. “Buck, we said we weren’t gonna do that.”

Bucky ignored him, his eyes locked on the record player like it held some kind of answer, some kind of reason why he had missed everything.

“Instead, I just put our stupid song on. Like that would make everything better.”

Sam swallowed, his gaze flickering toward Steve, then back to Bucky.

“Buck,” he said gently.

But Bucky just shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it, rolling his shoulders back, his face hardening.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping further into the room. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

But Sam didn’t call him out on it. Not yet.

Because no one in this room was fine.

“We should figure out what her PIN is,” he said after a while, glancing at the phone. “Once it’s on, we can check if her parents or anyone’s been trying to reach her.”

Silence.

Steve looked up.

Bucky was gone.

His stomach turned. He scanned the apartment before spotting the hallway light spilling into the darkened space. The door to your spare room was cracked open.

Steve and Sam exchanged a glance before Sam headed towards it.

The room was chaos. Not in the way the rest of the apartment was. No, this was different. This wasn’t life abandoned mid-motion.

This was a storm.

Papers were everywhere. Some scattered across the floor, others stacked haphazardly on your desk, mixed with unfinished drawings and torn sketches. There were notes too, some crumpled, others carefully folded. The bed was unmade, the blankets tangled and spilling onto the floor, like you hadn’t bothered fixing them in weeks.

But that wasn’t what made Bucky freeze.

It was the letters.

Neatly arranged in a row.

Each one labeled.

Steve. Natasha. Sam.

And then..

His name.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribs, an unrelenting force that made his head swim.

“Bucky?” Steve called from the kitchen. “The phone’s on. What’s her PIN?”

No answer.

“Buck?” Sam’s voice was quieter, hesitant.

He stepped into the room and followed Bucky’s gaze.

His breath hitched. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve, still in the kitchen, frowned. “What?”

Sam didn’t answer.

His eyes flickered to Bucky, who hadn’t moved. His hand hovered over the letter with his name on it, fingers trembling slightly.

“What do we do?” Sam asked quietly. His voice was unsteady, uncertain. “We’re not gonna read them. Right? We can’t. She’s alive. She’s gonna live.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

He reached down, fingers brushing against the envelope. It felt heavier than it should have, as if every unspoken word inside had weight to it.

Then, without a word, he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Sam swallowed. “Bucky—”

But Bucky turned on his heel, brushing past him, his footsteps heavy as he walked back into the living room.

Steve looked up as they entered, his brow furrowing. “What was that about?” he asked, eyes flicking between them.

Sam hesitated. “Just… something we found,” he said vaguely.

Steve narrowed his eyes but let it go. “Did you get her PIN?”

Bucky’s voice was flat. Detached. “She uses her birthday.”

The phone buzzed faintly in Steve’s hands as he typed in the familiar numbers, your birthday. The screen flickered to life, casting a dim glow in the silent apartment.

Bucky paced near the window, jaw clenched, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he was trying to physically hold himself together. Sam leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his brow furrowed with an unease none of them could shake.

When the home screen finally loaded, Steve exhaled slowly. “Alright, let’s see if there’s anything…” he muttered, swiping through the lock screen. His finger hovered over the messages app, hesitation creeping into his expression.

Sam, already tense, leaned in. “Anything from her parents?”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line as he scanned the screen. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “No. Nothing.”

Sam pushed off the couch, his frown deepening. “No way. Let me see.”

Steve handed him the phone, and Sam instinctively locked and unlocked it again. The screen flashed with your wallpaper, a frozen moment in time, a photo that felt like it belonged to a different life.

Coney Island.

The five of you, standing in front of the Ferris wheel, faces lit with unfiltered joy. Steve had his arm wrapped around Natasha, who was grinning as she gave him bunny ears. Sam was in the middle, arm extended to take the picture, his laugh almost audible through the image. And then there was Bucky, one arm slung around Sam’s shoulders, the other wrapped tightly around you, holding you against his side. You had both arms wrapped around his middle, your head resting against his chest like it was second nature.

Sam swallowed hard. His thumb hovered over your face, tracing it absentmindedly.

“How’d we get here, man?” he asked, his voice quiet, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name.

Bucky stopped pacing, his gaze flicking toward the phone. He stared at the image for a second too long before tearing his eyes away, turning back toward the window.

Sam cleared his throat, shaking himself out of it. He opened the messages app and started scrolling, his expression darkening.

“There’s… nothing here,” he said slowly. “No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.”

Steve frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Refresh it, throw the apps up, it's what Nat does. Let me check again.”

Sam handed the phone back, and Steve repeated the process, scrolling through each thread with careful precision. But the result was the same.

Empty. Silent.

Steve let out a slow exhale, his shoulders sagging handing the phone back to Sam. “I don’t get it,” he said softly. “How do you not—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening.

Sam dragged a hand down his face, frustration creeping into his tone. “How do your own parents not check on you? How do they not notice something’s wrong? What the hell is this?”

Bucky let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not surprised,” he muttered, his voice low, bitter.

Steve looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Bucky turned to face them, his expression dark, eyes stormy.

“She was never their priority,” he said, his voice clipped, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “They didn’t want a kid. They barely paid attention to her growing up. Half the time, they didn’t even show up to her school stuff or her birthdays.”

Sam’s jaw tensed. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I wish I was,” Bucky said, his voice rising slightly. “She used to tell me about it, back in high school. How they were always too busy for her. How she felt like she didn’t matter to them. And now? Now she’s lying in a fucking hospital bed—” His voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “And they still can’t be bothered to check on her.”

Steve’s stomach churned as he glanced down at the phone again. His thumb swiped through your last messages, and his chest tightened. “When was the last time she messaged them?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Sam leaned over to check, his eyes scanning the timestamps. His face fell.

“A little over two weeks ago,” he said. “She sent them an I love you. That’s it.”

Steve felt like someone had punched him in the gut. “Did they even respond?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Nope,” he said bitterly, pointing at the tiny indicators next to the messages. “They read it. Both of them. That’s it.”

Bucky’s face contorted with something ugly, rage, grief, frustration, all tangled into something uncontainable. “What the fuck is wrong with them?” he spat, pacing again, his movements sharp, erratic. “What kind of parents just read that and don’t even bother to text back? What kind of people do that to their own kid?”

Sam’s face hardened. “I don’t know, man. But it’s messed up.”

“Messed up?” Bucky repeated, his voice shaking with fury. “It’s fucking cruel. She’s amazing. She’s kind, beautiful and funny and smart and she would do anything for the people she loves. And this is what she gets?”

Steve sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Bucky—”

“No,” Bucky snapped, his voice cracking, his anger bleeding into something more raw, more desperate. “Do you know how hard she tries? How much she hides?” His voice wavered, and he shook his head, running both hands through his hair. “And for what? For people who don’t even care enough to ask if she’s okay? How do they not see how incredible she is? How lucky they are to have her?”

Sam stepped forward, his voice softer now. “We see it, Buck. We see her. And that’s what matters. She’s got us.”

“Did she though?” Bucky stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. He looked at the floor, his hands shaking slightly as he clenched them into fists. “She deserves better,” he whispered, voice thick. “Better parents. Better… everything.”

Steve set the phone down on the coffee table and stepped closer, resting a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“She has you, Buck,” he said, voice steady. “That’s better than anything else.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes glassy. He nodded stiffly. “When she wakes up,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m gonna make sure she knows that. Every single day.”

The room was unbearably quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Alright,” he said, his voice rough. “Do we… text them? Her parents?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said flatly. “If they didn’t care enough to check in before, they don’t get to act like they care now. Not unless she wants them to.”

Steve exhaled sharply. “So… what do we do now?”

Bucky’s hand drifted to his pocket, fingers curling around the letter like an anchor.

“We make sure she’s okay,” he murmured. “And when she comes home… she’s not coming back alone.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bucky straightened, his jaw set, his expression resolute.“I’m staying,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the pull-out. I’m not leaving her alone again.”

Sam and Steve exchanged a look but didn’t argue.

Then, after a beat, Bucky exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. His voice was quieter this time, almost hoarse.

“I need a second,” he mumbled.

And before anyone could stop him, he turned and walked out of the room.

The stillness of your bedroom was deafening. It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace, it was the kind that pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls themselves were grieving. The faint scent of your lavender perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp smell of stale tears and despair.

Bucky sat on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His fingers trembled as they traced the edge of the envelope, your handwriting staring back at him. Bucky—just his name, written in a shaky but deliberate hand.

His chest felt tight, like there was a vise wrapped around his ribs, squeezing with every breath. He didn’t want to open it. He didn’t want to see the words you’d left behind, the thoughts you’d decided to put on paper because you thought it was the end. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself.

With a shaky inhale, he slid his finger under the flap of the envelope, carefully pulling out the folded piece of paper inside. It felt heavier than it should have, as if the weight of your pain had seeped into the very fibers of the page.

He unfolded it slowly, his eyes scanning the first line.

Bucky,

I don’t even know where to start. I guess that’s the funny thing about goodbyes…you never know how to make them feel enough.

He blinked hard, his vision blurring as the words swam on the page. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears.

You’ve always been my person. My constant. My safe place. And I know I don’t deserve you…not the way you’re always there, always showing up, even when I push you away. I don’t know how you do it, Buck. I don’t know how you can look at me and see anything worth staying for.

A shaky breath escaped him, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill. But it was no use.

I’ve tried so hard to fight this, to be stronger, to hold on. For you. For Sam, Steve, Nat. For all of you. But I can’t anymore. It’s too much. I’m too much. And I’m so so sorry for putting that on you.

The paper trembled in his hands as his tears dripped onto the ink, smudging the words slightly. His jaw clenched, and his throat tightened as he kept reading, his voice breaking as he whispered the words aloud.

I want you to know that this isn’t your fault. It’s not because you weren’t enough, you were more than enough. You’ve always been more than enough. If anything, you’re the reason I held on as long as I did. You were my anchor, Bucky. My reason to stay. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to keep holding on.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and he lowered the letter to his lap, his hand coming up to clutch his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re so wrong, sweetheart. You are strong. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking as the sobs overtook him. The weight of your words crushed him, guilt and grief intertwining in his chest until it was almost unbearable.

But he forced himself to keep reading.

I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. I need you to hear that, to believe it. This isn’t your fault, Bucky. This was my choice. And I hope…more than anything, that you can forgive me someday.

You deserve so much, Buck. So much more than I ever gave you, more than I could ever give you. I hope you find that someday. I hope you find someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. Because you deserve everything.

Thank you for being my best friend, my light in the dark, my everything. I love you, Bucky. I love you. I love you always have, and I always will.

Goodbye.

His hands tightened around the paper, his knuckles turning white as he reread the final word. Goodbye. It felt like a knife twisting in his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. His tears soaked into his palms, and his shoulders shook with the force of his grief.

Bucky sat frozen on the edge of your bed, staring at the letter in his hands. It was crumpled slightly where his trembling fingers had gripped it too tightly, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His mind replayed your words over and over, your pain etched into every line, every sentence.

A soft knock on the bedroom door startled him, and he quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Buck?” Sam’s voice was gentle, cautious. “We’re getting ready to head back to the hospital. You ready?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He stared at the letter in his lap, his thumb brushing over your name written on the envelope.

The door creaked open, and Sam stepped inside, Steve close behind him. Steve glanced around the room, his gaze softening when it landed on Bucky.

“I need to get Nat home,” Steve said quietly. “I know she hasn’t eaten all day, and you know how she gets when she’s worried. She’ll make herself sick if we’re not careful.”

Bucky nodded faintly, his movements stiff and robotic. He stood slowly, still clutching the letter as he turned to face them. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“She loves me,” he said, his eyes downcast.

Sam frowned, confused. “Who? Natasha?”

Bucky shook his head, holding up the letter as if it explained everything. “Y/N,” he said quietly. “She loves me. Not as a friend, not like that. She… she actually uh loves me too.”

Sam blinked, then let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, well, I could’ve told you that,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re both idiots. All these years, dancing around each other like the rest of us didn’t see it.”

Steve snorted, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Please. I’ve known since high school. You think I didn’t notice the way she looked at you during football games? Or how you’d lose your mind whenever she skipped school?”

Bucky let out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how much time I wasted,” he said, his voice cracking. “All those years I could’ve been with her, and I just… wasted them.”

Sam stepped closer, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You didn’t waste anything, man,” he said softly. “You were there for her in the ways that mattered. You still are.”

Bucky’s grip on the letter tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Do you think…” He paused, his voice trembling. “Do you think if I’d told her…if she knew how much I love her…that she wouldn’t have…” His voice broke, and he gestured helplessly.

Sam sighed, his hand squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “You can’t think like that, Buck,” he said firmly. “The ‘what ifs’ and the ‘if onlys’ aren’t gonna help. They’re not gonna help her, and they’re sure as hell not gonna help you.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Sam’s right,” he said gently. “This isn’t about what you didn’t do. It’s about what you do now. And right now, she needs you to keep showing up for her. That’s all you can do.”

Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling shakily as he tried to steady himself. “I just… I don’t want to lose her,” he whispered.

“You’re not,” Sam said, his voice steady. “She’s alive, Buck. She’s still here. That’s what matters. And we’re all gonna make damn sure she knows that.”

Bucky nodded slowly, slipping the letter into his jacket pocket. He straightened his shoulders, the weight of his grief still heavy but his resolve stronger now.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

As they left your apartment, Bucky glanced back one last time, his eyes lingering on the room that held so much of your pain—and so much of his guilt.

---

The first thing you felt was pressure.

A dull, suffocating weight settled over your chest, pressing down on your ribs like an invisible hand. Every breath felt foreign, like your lungs weren’t your own, like your body wasn’t yours to control.

Then came the sound.

The steady, rhythmic beeping of a machine. The faint murmur of voices just beyond your reach. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It was all distant, muffled like you were underwater, trying to break the surface but never quite making it.

Then came the pain.

A deep, aching soreness that crept through every inch of your body, weighing you down like you’d been wrung out and left to dry. Your limbs felt too heavy, your head throbbed in a way that made it hard to think, and your throat burned raw and parched, like you’d swallowed glass.

Panic stirred beneath your skin.

Your fingers twitched against stiff sheets. The sensation was slow to register, sluggish, delayed, like the connection between your mind and body had frayed. Something was clipped to your finger. Something else was wrapped around your wrist.

Where am I?

Your breathing hitched, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as confusion clawed its way through you. Your eyelashes fluttered, and the blinding sting of fluorescent light made you wince. You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, but everything was hazy shapes blurring together, colors muted and unfamiliar.

Nothing made sense.

And then..

“Y/N?”

The voice cut through the fog. Soft, familiar, but laced with panic.

Your gaze drifted toward the sound, sluggish and disoriented, and through the haze, you saw her.

Natasha.

Her red hair was messy, her eyeliner smudged like she’d been crying. She was sitting beside you, her hand resting lightly on your arm, her fingers barely brushing your skin. Her green eyes, usually sharp, guarded were wide, raw with something between relief and sheer panic.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “You’re awake.”

Your brow furrowed. Awake?

Something was wrong.

You weren’t at home.

The air smelled too clean, sharp with the sterile bite of antiseptic. The sheets beneath you were stiff, the hospital blanket too thin. The room was cold, the fluorescent lights casting everything in an artificial glow. Machines beeped softly beside you, their steady rhythm a cruel reminder that something had happened…something big.

Then the word hospital settled into your bones.

And everything came crashing down.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each beat erratic and frantic as your mind scrambled for answers.

The pills.

The phone call.

Bucky’s voice desperate, breaking, pleading.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers curling weakly into the blanket as the realization hit. The darkness you had welcomed had spit you back out.

A choked sob escaped your throat before you even realized you were crying.

“Oh, babe—” Natasha’s voice broke, but she didn’t know what to do. She squeezed your arm gently, her fingers tightening slightly, but it wasn’t enough to ground you.

The walls felt like they were closing in.

Your chest rose and fell in quick, uneven gasps. The heart monitor beside you picked up speed, beeping frantically in sync with your panic.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You didn’t want to be here.

The sobs came harder now, your body trembling as the weight of everything settled over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under.

“Y/N, just breathe, okay?” Natasha’s voice wavered as she stood up, panic creeping into her own expression. “I—I’ll get someone, just—just hang on.”

She turned on her heel and ran, disappearing into the hallway.

Chaos.

The door burst open, and suddenly there were too many people. Too many voices, overlapping, mixing together until they became nothing but static.

Too many hands, pressing against your shoulders, trying to steady you, trying to hold you down.

“Y/N, you need to breathe—”

“You’re safe, just try to slow your breathing—”

You couldn’t.

The room was too bright. The machines were too loud.

Your body wasn’t yours.

Your chest was caving in, collapsing under the weight of panic and grief and something sharp, something unbearable.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to run.

But all you could do was cry. Because this was something else you couldn’t do right, another thing you had failed at.

----

Natasha stood frozen just beyond the glass, her hands clasped over her mouth as she watched helplessly. Her whole body trembled, shock and guilt and fear swirling inside her like a hurricane.

“Nat?”

She turned just in time to see Steve, Sam, and Bucky rushing down the hall, their faces etched with concern.

“What happened?” Steve asked breathlessly.

Natasha’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“She—” Her voice cracked. “She woke up.”

A beat of silence.

Bucky moved.

He shoved past them, his pace quickening as he made a beeline for the door. “I need to see her,” he said, already reaching for the handle.

But before he could step inside, a nurse blocked his path.

“Sir, you need to stay out here—”

Bucky barely heard her.

His eyes locked on the window, and what he saw shattered him.

You—curled in on yourself, crying so hard your entire body shook.

Doctors surrounding you, their voices drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing.

The heart monitor beeping too fast, erratic and uneven.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.

His chest ached with something unbearable, something desperate. “I need to see her,” he repeated, his voice raw, cracking. “Please—”

“You can’t right now,” the nurse said firmly, her hand pressing against his chest. “She’s in distress—we need to help her calm down first.”

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to go to you, to hold you, to fix this.

But all he could do was stand there.

Helpless.

Useless.

Sam swallowed hard beside him, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Steve placed a steadying hand on Bucky’s shoulder, his own face pale, his breathing uneven.

“She’s awake,” he said, trying to ground himself in that fact. “That’s what matters.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Didn’t blink.

His eyes never left you.

His best friend. His everything.

Crying like the whole world was collapsing around her.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

[ddejavvu]

this has been in my mind for awhile but like poly!marauders sirius where james and remus after a long day go inside the bedroom to find you and sirius beside eachother on the bed both in hair rollers and just doing spa/salon stuff. LIKE JUSTDOING EACHOTHERS HAIR AND JUSTCLEANING CUTICLES AND NAIL HEALTH AND SKIN CARE

also sirius helping you wax your legs and james is just staring down you both with wide eyes horrified on the brink of tears because the idea of waxing just scares him to death and remus is beside him trying not to laugh PFFT OKAY BYE

Sirius is just smoothing the wax strip over your calf when Remus and James walk in. Remus recognizes the item from tv shows and movies, but James is none the wiser.

"Woah," James laughs at the curlers set in your hair, as well as the matching ones in Sirius's, "Wasn't aware there was a new hat in fashion."

"That's 'cause you dress the same every day," Sirius scoffs, "What do you know about fashion, basketball shorts?"

"You insult me," James throws a hand over his chest in mock indignation, while Remus sidles up beside the bed, holding out his hand for you to take.

"-but I know you like the way my thighs look in 'em," James grins devilishly at Sirius, who rips your wax strip off to avoid answering James's loaded accusations. You inhale sharply at the pain that shoots through your system, up your leg like someone's doused your skin in gasoline and dropped a match. You squeeze Remus's hand tight and in an instant, James's face goes from cocky to horrified, eyes widening and grin dropping.

"Mother of- Sirius! Don't- what are you doing?" He rushes to swat Sirius's hand away from your leg where he's reapplying the strip, fretting as the stickiness has already settled over your skin again. He tries peeling it off slowly and carefully, ignoring the way that Remus laughs at his skittishness.

"You're evil," James gushes at Sirius, who's giving you a look like he can't believe James has survived this long with the little intellect he's showing now.

"Ripping her bloody skin off," James mumbles further, whining low in his throat when the strip refuses to budge, "Darling, I- I have to rip it off quick, and it's gonna hurt, but-"

"Stop being a baby," Sirius gripes, reaching for the strip quick as a flash and tearing it off once more, "It's supposed to hurt."

"James!" You call as the man only worsens in nerves, probably ready to throw a punch or two at Sirius in defense of your honor, "I asked him to, love. It's a wax strip, he's waxing my legs."

"Waxing your- what?" James watches warily as Sirius applies the strip again, then rips it off to show him the discarded hair stuck there.

"It's easier and quicker than shaving," Remus explains, "But it does hurt for a bit."

"Yeah," James exhales shakily, flinching at the rrrip of wax on skin, "I- are you sure those are supposed to be used on skin? I thought those were for killing flies."

"That's a glue trap, darling," You hum, hissing as Sirius finishes off your lower leg. Remus drops your hand so that you can feel for any missed patches, and James eyes the used strip like it'll affix itself to his hair and tear it all out.

"Right." James nods, out of breath like the wax strip pulled it from his lungs, "Uh- darling, next time you want smooth legs, I'll shave you."

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the sand roller!

The sand roller, scientific name Percopsis transmontana, is a poorly understood freshwater fish in the Pacific Northwest. This fish is separate but related to the well known and widespread troutperch (Percopsis omiscomaycus) or sand minnow.commonly found in the Eastern United States. Little known thus far about the sand roller, due to their cryptic daytime behavior, and limited range. The sand roller has a geographic range including only the Columbia river and its tributaries, found in Idaho, Southern Washington, and Northern Oregon, mostly in the Columbia Basin, lower Snake River, and the mouth of the Columbia near and in the Willamette River. This fish prefers slow moving waters, and sandy bottomed streams with rich vegetation. It is believed they spend their days in deep waters, moving to shallow water in the night to hunt. These fish are light adverse, spending their time hiding under rock structures, possibly leading to the large lack of current information on this species.

Sand rollers throughout their life can get to a total size of around 4 inches, but most will only ever reach a size close to 2-3 inches. These fish can be translucent, green-blue, or various mottled browns, depending on their surroundings. Due to their light aversion, these fish primarily hunt at night. Juveniles tend to eat exclusively zooplankton, but once these fish reach 40mm they transition into eating invertebrates, such as crustaceans, and various flies and fly larvae. These fish swim incredibly strangely, swimming parallel to rock structure either horizontal, vertical, and even upside down along them. Specimens caught in the winter and colder months have been found with nothing in their gut, implying they may be able to survive weeks or even months without food.

Males are distinct from females by a black band found around fins, along with being smaller in size than female sand rollers. Their breeding season is in the Mid spring, around April or when the water reaches close to 60 degrees Fahrenheit, during which males black bands grow larger, and both male and female fish create territories under rocks. These territories are then harshly defended against any and all intruders, often leading to infighting among sand rollers settled close to another. Eggs, once laid on the gravel, are extremely sticky, hatching within a few weeks. Juvenile fish tend to spend their time in weed bays or still waterways off of main rivers. Whereas older fish hide under rocks. These fish become sexually mature around 2-3 years of age, and thought to go through a breeding season each year of life, with the oldest currently caught sand roller being around 6 years in age.

That's the sand roller, everyone! I hope you had a wonderful time learning about them, and I wish you a good day!

Sources:

Katula, R. (1992, April). The northwestern percopsis, the Sand Roller. North American Native Fish Association . https://www.nanfa.org/articles/acpercopsi.shtml

Percopsis transmontana summary page. FishBase. (n.d.-b). https://www.fishbase.se/summary/3066

Sandroller. Oregon Sea Grant. (2024b, August 16). https://seagrant.oregonstate.edu/WRF/native-fishes/sand-roller-family/sandroller