#the whole trial or something. like bullshitting a way for her to survive can be forgiven in this case i think.

[batw1nggg]

i know the dr2 survivors having zero chemistry couldve easily been fixed by like. If The Writers Had Taken The Time To Write The Chemistry instead of just last minute throwing in one or two lines literally at the very end. the combo of characters does have lots of potential for chemistry but also i think one thing that wouldve really helped is LETTING HIYOKO SURVIVE 😭😭😭😭😭😭 if dr2 had just had 6 survivors like dr1 their survivor dynamic during chapters 5 and 6 couldve been so much better 😭😭

hiyoko just slots with them perfectly. theyre missing the energy that she’s able to bring if that makes sense like dr1 has hina as its more upbeat survivor and v3 has himiko but dr2’s most upbeat survivor is. like. Akane. am i making sense here. and also hiyoko bonding with any of the dr2 survivors theyre the last people youd expect her to bond with and it can be representative of her character arc and i also wish theyd been able to play more with fuyuhiko’s arc spurring on hiyoko’s because they had that kinda going on too. idk i know we’ve had this conversation as a fandom already but i just get angrier every day that she didnt live. of course adding hiyoko in isnt a Fix All Solution to the issue of the survivors not having been given chemistry but it couldve elevated the dynamic a lot i think :( i wanted to see her fight with and bond with everyone

[davekat-sucks]

kanaya has way too many limitations as a character, rose just brings her down as a satellite love interest. but people cant even ship karkan as moirails because shes a lesbian and nobody knows if shed be okay with having a man in a concilliatory quadrant. fuck, you cant even show her being friendly with sollux or eridan because people instantly assume you ship them as matesprites.

which, again, limits her, because regardless of shipping shit her best relationship that gives her some ounce of personality and narrative relevance is by far with karkat.

i wanted to know kanayas opinions on culling and how she relates that to karkats mutancy and her duty with the matriorb. does she even like taking care of grubs? how did the auxiliatrixes stiffen her freedom? does she misses her lusus? why does she even like gardening? why did she never try to become god tier?

we dont know, instead we just have to see her act as a battered wife and be reduced to how hot she looks while wiping her tears

Some also wouldn't put Karkat x Kanaya as moirails for the fact that Kanaya is the mom friend. The responsible woman in the group. If a character is labeled as this, regardless of age or context, they are now considered an ADULT and everyone else is minors. Yes, that's how stupid it is. And these people forget that trolls are okay with incest and any troll ship regardless is just them doing it with their relative in some shape or form. I get that her not being able to stay or form in an easy relationship is suppose to play up the whole SPACE PLAYERS ARE DESTINED TO BE LONELY. That's what is the excuse for people still watching Kanaya going through the cucking in Homestuck 2/Beyond Canon. Same for Jade's situation. But fuck that bullshit. Kanaya and Jade deserve a lot better than this. It would be interesting to know another side of Kanaya that isn't about lesbian love. Is her growing plants like some metaphor thing of her giving life of her own despite the fact trolls reproduce differently? Was she bored of making clothes one time and decided to take advantage about her love for the sunlight and have plants grow alongside her? If other mutants do hatch from the Matriorb, would she take care of them? Does she believe all grubs should live and that's why we never hear anything about the trials like it was mentioned, being present on Earth C? The trials was something that states only the trolls who are lucky or strong enough to survive gets to live and have a parent. Did she get rid of that rule so that everyone can have a chance? Does she educate humans and Carapacians how to raise a grub? Could Consorts adopt? Is Kanaya fine with that? If not, why? Because they are dumb animals? There is so much to her that isn't just a tragic beauty who has a trashy interest in the Twilight series.

[kokitschi]

"like, once he's got miu and gonta killed, it's like nooo im totally not acting out because i feel extremely guilty. nooo this kamikaze plan is definitely not a direct result of that. i am simply the antagonist. im evil and crazy and this is what is in character for me. this is simply my curtain call."

I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT LIKE THAT NOOO. but YES omg that. plays SUCH a part. he's trying SO hard to make himself completely logical and cold and calculating to help everyone without all those silly caveats. but he's HUMAN and he FEELS and he's doing this to help everyone and he feels so so bad about everything he's doing (except he's not, obviously, that's sooo dumb why would he feel bad about helping everyone? you're so dumb :/ NO HE'S NOT CRYING SHUT UP)

ohh and that SO helps him detach from everything doesn't it. he so THOROUGHLY sees himself as the antagonist because of his own guilt that he starts planning his own downfall, literally becoming his own worst enemy because he cannot let this shit continue but also he's the one doing it? and it's for the good of everyone? but that's what every villain says.

(man writes his own narrative. tsumugi who?)

(no seriously my most self-indulgent headcanon is that so much of kokichi's bullshit was completely unplanned. like they wrote the characters and some of their progression but they did NOT plan for this so every time some more crazy bullshit happens and tsumugi's got her whole "omg O_O that's so weird guys!!" schtick going it's almost COMPLETELY genuine because internally she's genuinely just going "what the fuck??? i did not sign up for this shit." layers upon layers of pretending. also it's my silly little way of letting kokichi win in my brain. because he DID confuse the mastermind. even if it was mostly just a series of inconveniences.)

anyway your brain is iconic. got me rotating.

im still not over how many crying sprites this guy has - and i also think it's pretty clear when he's fake crying and when he isn't and he certainly was crying for real after the fourth trial.

i think it's very wonderful how emotional he actually is - like, yes, he's logical, smart and he can be cold af. but he also gets happy and sad, he gets devastated and super angry, he gets annoyed and he gets proud. and sure, sometimes he does exaggerate and he lies (a lot) - but i don't think it's all lies. i think he likes to pretend like it is though. and well, what's that one quote... "he wears a mask and his face grows to fit it" or smth like that

and i think that's an important aspect - because no matter how much you tell yourself that it's just a role, a mask - in the end you're still the one doing everything. you are how you act.

and i think kokichis very self aware in this aspect. ch 4 happens and he knows, this isn't something he can come back from. he fucked up beyond repair. and while he did already believe himself to be the villain, and perhaps this was a self fulfilling prophecy of a kind, i think actually having something like basically killing two people on your conscience gives it a whole different weight.

i think he had to confront the reality at this point and i think it made him despair a bit - which then leads to the kamikaze plan. (because why does someone who was just willing to sacrifice two people for his own survival suddenly choose to basically kill himself? and trust someone else to end the game?)

-

i love the hc that kokichi did genuinely derail the whole game! i think it's credible enough too, considering the absolute mess that was chapter 6.

and monokuma sometimes really seemed to have personal beef with him which to me says that he was actually getting pissed at him lol

tsumugi also seemed to be quite wary of him - though you can also interpret that as her setting him up as the antagonist ig. i think it was both.

-

my brain is very honored ♥️

i very much enjoy yours too :D

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs Minsc (and Boo)

Heading for the docks

Jaheira: Thank you for not stopping to rob the Counting House. Just by the way.

Alisaie: Eh, not a problem. I'm basically swimming in money right now and the last thing I needed was more stuff. Now, there's one more potential entry to the sewers and undercity that I want to try.

Wyll: I am a little afraid to ask how you know about any of this.

Alisaie: Wyll ... how long have we travelled together. It's ... what, a month now? And you're still shaky on what 'bard' actually means.

Wyll: Right. Sorry. I suppose I'm not used to this 'combination of rogue, fighter, and wizard who also sings' ... thing you've got going these days. So ... there's an entrance in the docks?

Alisaie: There's an entrance in that warehouse basement.

Jaheira: This heroism requires much more breaking and entering than I expected.

Alisaie: You're a Harper, and therefore you are lying through your teeth.

Jaheira: ...True.

After a somewhat unexpected fight

Shadowheart: Why was he keeping worgs in here?

Jaheira: Because he is cruel to animals.

Wyll: I was going to say 'guard dogs', but given the size of them and the size of this room, I think I'm with you on this one, Jaheira.

Alisaie: My bet is pit fights, personally. Which leads into Jaheira's guess quite well too. Now. Down into the basement.

Jaheira: *peering down* Why does this man have a dungeon in his basement?

Alisaie: Because everyone in this city is a collection of personality disorders wrapped in skin?

Wyll: ...Harsh, but probably fair, if my father's frustration-venting at the dinner table is any indication.

Jaheira: You realise that includes yourself, yes?

Alisaie: I am a glorious collection of personality disorders wrapped in skin.

Shadowheart: Lovely skin, too.

Wyll: *tinysquee*

Jaheira: Gods save me from the romantics.

Alisaie: Aren't we going down to rescue some dude that--

Jaheira: *laughs* No, no! I prefer my partners with something resembling a brain.

And, down in the sewers

Alisaie: There are an awful lot of ways to go down here. Then again, there's an awful lot of bullshit nesting down here.

Wyll: I mean, I understand about Minsc, but ... should we maybe look for Lae'zel first? I mean, Orin has her...

Alisaie: First of all, Lae'zel's bait. Live bait works best. Second, Orin's not the kind of person who'd just present us with a corpse; she'd want to really twist the knife by killing her in front of us. And third, Lae'zel really likes the whole "enduring the trials of life" thing so honestly, while anything Orin might do to her in the meantime probably hurts, she probably also prefers it to lounging in a cushy inn suite.

Shadowheart: ...That makes more sense than I want it to, really.

Alisaie: Right. I hear the dulcet tones of cultists over that way, so...

Jaheira: It is an improvement over grease mephits, anyway.

Alisaie: At least those actually were mephits. Remind me to tell you about Lorroakan's bullshit sometime.

After some stabnation and a little bit of bullshit with sluice valves

Wyll: So that's exactly one thing you're not good at.

Alisaie: Actually, that's a bit more me not giving much of a fuck at this point. If the city survives, they can repair it. If it doesn't, no one's going to notice or care. Now let's go find Jaheira's friend, and quietly so we can eavesdrop some bonus data.

Gnome Bard: Well, that's all of it. We'll put it to good use and--

Minsc: These ones again! I will make squish of them!

Jaheira: Please ... don't ... kill him.

Fake Jaheira: *attacks real Jaheira*

Alisaie: Can I kill her?

Jaheira: No! ...I want to do it!

Alisaie: Fair enough.

Stabnation: *ensues*

After the stabnation is done

Minsc: YOU KILLED JAHEIRA!

Alisaie: Hey ... Emperor? Want to help out here?

Emperor: No. He's a fuckwit and a liability.

Alisaie: We're all fuckwits and liabilities! Just help him!

Emperor: I really don't want to--

Alisaie: And I don't really want to face certain death, but I cope with it! Just shield the man!

Emperor: I had to commune with a soft-hearted person--

Alisaie: --A person who, if she wasn't soft-hearted enough to give people chances and pragmatic enough to understand that sometimes we work with non-trusted individuals just to get shit done, wouldn't have given you the time of day!

Emperor: Oh, fine.

Minsc: AAAAAAAaaaa...? Jaheira? But ... I saw...

Jaheira: You saw me kill ... that, which looked like me, and-- Oh, never mind. You owe this one thanks.

Alisaie: You owe this one a headache remedy, is what.

Minsc: Yes! My thanks! I only willingly heed one tiny creature, and... wait. WHERE IS HE?!?

Alisaie: ...wut.

Emperor: I told you...

Alisaie: Face. Shut.

Minsc: *smashing through a wall* Ah! THERE you are, my adorable and fearsome compatriot!

Alisaie: Um...

Minsc: *holds out Boo* This is Boo! He will not harm you! He knows that you are a friend! He is a miniature giant space hamster!

Boo: *is a hamster*

Alisaie: Hey, Boo.

Boo: *is apparently not talking to the one who swigs a Speaks With Animals potion every day*

Alisaie: Okay. We ... really need to take a breath and figure out the next order of operations. I'm not facing down Orin without a rest, I tell you that much.

Minsc: I want to SMASH THINGS!

Alisaie: Don't you also want to eat things?

Minsc: ...Oh. Yes. That would be good. Come, Boo! To camp!

Shadowheart: Are we sure about this?

Alisaie: Jaheira can keep him in line if it comes to that. Plus, he doesn't seem so bad. A little volatile, but ... come on; Lae'zel.

Shadowheart: ...Fair.

((Controller Person Note: every time I encountered Minsc was an excuse to say, "Hi, Matt". It was fun.))

[junko-enoshima-in-dark-souls]

around a year ago, this guy told me a sentence i hated: 'junko enoshima is the most hopeful character'

and even though he proceeded to go off on the stupidest reasonings about it, how 'zetsubou' doesn't even mean despair but, uh. 'socially unacceptable behavior' and apparently homosexuality falls under 'zetsubou', and also how 'hope' in its 'PURE, UNCORRUPTED' meaning should just mean 'the thing driving determination'

so really, it was nonsense. but i think there's a kernel of truth to the last bit. she has a lot of determination. and in a way, a strong self-preservation instinct

she's gone through so much bullshit. her entire childhood, which can be easily inferred from ultra despair girls and dr0. being abandoned by the one person that stuck with her through all of that, escaping, being licorne, going through all that shit, putting her own self through the fashion industry to stand on the fucking top of it

she's gone through so much bullshit. she's pushed on, and on, and on, working to better her life, survive, exist

and it still. all. sucks.

she hates every bit of it. she hates how she'll wake up tomorrow, and be fine. be alive. because she'll continue existing in this world of hope that constantly drives her to the brink of self-destruction through insisting on values like forgiveness and love and kindness and hope

and no one has ever forgiven her, she will never forgive her countless abusers, she has been abandoned by love over and over, she has never received kindness, she has never once been helped by hope

and it's all dull. dull. boring. she'll wake up tomorrow and be fine. she'll wake up tomorrow and continue suffering this dull, boring feeling of nothing, not even permitted to resent the world around her

and you have two paths here. you have a path where you fight, fight even more, for a world where you can exist like you want to, or a path towards self-destruction

and filled with determination, she chooses the latter

she could end it all there and then, of course, but she doesn't

because there won't be either even a moment of catharsis, and in all likelihood, really, she won't be able to push the knife into her heart at the last moment

and most importantly, the whole world will continue being this disgustingly boring shade of hope

'boring' isn't even the right word. something much stronger. like 'despise' compared to 'hate' compared to 'dislike'

but that's the thing! no matter what, she still hangs onto it. and it hurts her that she does. she sees her sister, back with her, doing her best to do everything to make up for the hurt she caused her, and she hates it, because it feels like just another reminder that she's never going to just exist as a normal human, but something to be fixed, made better, and it frustrates, because she wanted her sister, her one person in the world, to maybe be someone who understands her, but she doesn't, not in the way junko wants

but she still clings to her. she still spends the entirety of chapter 5 essentially crytyping her way through the trial because she's so damn full of despair at killing her. because she wants to feel like caring, loving, is not going to hurt her, but it does, maybe as a self-fulfilling prophecy to a degree, and so she does everything to get rid of it, killing her own most beloved sister

and that's the thing! look at what she does to get to the end of chapter 6, the end of her

she kills every person she cares for, or makes them hate her. to remove every little bit of hope she could possibly have

she kills mukuro, she kills ryoko, she kills y*suke (piece of shit, bye, will never be missed, bye), she kills chiaki, she removes herself from her adoptive children (out of all the things she's terrible for, she's a good mom. fight me.), from the world, and makes every one of her friends either feel nothing but hatred for her, or drives them to the same love of despair she has

and she only finally ends it all when they all have condemned her to death. even makoto can only muster the weakest opposition to her going through with it

where am i going with this?

my point is, hope will never save junko. it's the thing that drives her to despair, in the first place

but she still cares. she still really cares. just look at how she interacts with kyoko. these are childhood friends (licorne). she cares so deeply. mukuro, ryoko - even though she doesn't even realise that's what it is, in this case, mikan, her entire class

she projects so hard onto izuru because she hopes against hope itself that maybe, finally, she'll have someone to call community, because fundamentally, even though she cares for so many people, she feels completely outcast from them all, because ultimately, unlike her, they're all saved by hope. not big H Hope from kibougamine, strictly, because that fucking sucks and i could make a whole other rant about it, but hope, in some form

and she's not. in a way, the apocalypse is her rebellion against life

so how do you get junko out of this endless spiral of destruction?

you jump right in there with her, if you ask me. show her she does have community. that the deep, indescribable boredom and dissatisfaction she has with the existence of a tomorrow is not something she's alone in. and then, maybe, you'll instead build a better today together

i feel like i didn't exactly get what i wanted across but there that's a junko rant while i continue to ignore the existence of my python notebook

[flyingincandescent]

This fucking sucks. I do all this shit for this fuck, and what does he do? He fucking kicks me out! Is he really that pants-shitting scared of what I might do, even after I literally came to the aid of damn near everyone in that village? I've seen Jubilife grow before my very eyes as a result of my actions, and yet this shithead can't get his head out of his ass and blames me for the weirdass timespace bullshit in the sky! I can't even fucking use my time powers in this realm! So for now, I'm staying over at some place that Volo lead me to, after the two clans both said they were too chickenshit to take me in. There's something weird going on, and its more than the sky turning red.

Volo took me to see this woman called Cogita, and I get this feeling like she's wise beyond her years or something. Meanwhile with Volo… I don't get what's with him. He's been looking at me differently since I ran into him on the way up to quell Noble Avelugg. I asked my pokemon what they thought of him and a few of them got defensive against him. Alpha Gardevoir has been glaring at him, Slayer the Zoroark hissed threateningly, and Manaphy started crying. I feel like there's something going on, but I can't quite put my finger on it. So now, I'm on a quest to ask the three lake guardians for assistance on the Red Chain. Apparently Cogita thinks its the right thing to seek out, though my past experience with red chain bullshit tells me otherwise. I don't have any other leads however, and seeing as my phone is going with it, opening secret passages out of nowhere and all, apparently I'm supposed to do this. So far I've visited one out of the three.

Mesprit, the being of emotion, gazed deep into my heart, enough to alert Gracidea. Apparently they were satisfied with what they saw, or maybe they were just surprised that I was already Connected to a network of close friends and family. Either way, I passed the trial and was given a plume. I assume this is the Actually Intended method to create the Red Chain, and not the absolutely unethical way that team galactic tried in the present. I wonder if this is the point where they went wrong, when the shitty group that they used to be kicked out the fuck who actually tried to do things the right way. But then again, Cyline, Cyrus's ancestor (who would probably be ashamed of the shit that her descendant did), actually has a backbone and has been supporting me through this whole-ass situation, even sending her abra over to let me access the pokemon I caught. And the last order she gave me… "Don't die alone out there". She may not show it easily, but I can tell she actually fucking cares about me. I don't know how much she sees what I do for everyone, but she actually wants me to survive. Granted, I'm not sure if I can even die properly while I'm here, seeing as I'm able to get back up after I black out against nobles, but the thought behind the order… it makes me want to cry.

Regardless, if I'm expected to set things right here, then I will, even if there's a part of me that wants to spite Kamado for wanting no less than that just to let me back in the door, but I can't let my bitterness get in the way here. Countless lives are at stake here. The people and pokemon here still deserve to not be threatened by disturbances to time and space. Regardless, I still have two more trials to face. At least they're bound to be more fair than any shitty attempt of justice that would be used against me out of fear.

[truckreincarnation]

Slow a Goddamn Second | Shinjuku | Trial 4.3 | RE: Vee, Esmee, Bian, Avery, Germain, Theophania

“......”

“........what?”

As Vee begins their explanation as to why Luz possibly did it, complete with the implication that she wrote the letter present in the post office, Shin just… stops, for a moment. He didn’t look at the letter closely, out of respect for privacy, but to find out….

“......Did Luz-” write, that…..

“............oh-”

His eyes flash down for a moment. When they last discussed this plan, Luz left it as a maybe. Maybe. She was scared about thinking toward the future, so she didn’t, and as such, she left it as a ‘ask me again when everything is done’. But to find out she’s actually considering his offer, that she wants it to be a part of her future, that she is considering it to be her future….

…….fuck.

Shin pauses once more, before clearing his throat. God, keeping everything inside is killing him now.

“.....I can back up everyone else. Luz wouldn’t attempt to do such a thing. Normally, she cares a lot about her own survival, so she wouldn’t do something so risky. But now, even with the letter…. I’ll be the one to say, now that I know that’s hers, the mention of her future…. I proposed an idea to her. Now that she’s considering it… I don’t think she would have risked doing something so dangerous. Something that doomed her future.”

Another pause. “...I feel guilty for looking, and now knowing her thoughts, but… she didn’t do it.”

There, his gaze goes back up toward the group. “....I know I’m not exactly accounted for, but, I think I have a solid alibi, even if I was alone. The whole time I was in the manor, I was upstairs, so if I left, someone was bound to see me come down. Beforehand too, I think coming from the tree to the manor, when I passed by Esmee, she would have seen the bomb. Plus, hell, fuck if I know how to make stuff, even with the books. Theophania can vouch that I tried to make a basic potion for her, and that too was a struggle. Plus-”

A small sigh. “....I wouldn’t chance something so dangerous. I’m a man of risks, but getting others killed because of my actions…. You know I couldn’t bear that.”

Clearing his throat, he goes back to the proper discussion. When Bian chimes in with her theories, Shin blinks. And blinks. Hey, wait.

“Ah, yeah, I said something like that a bit ago.” Oopsies. “...glad we’re on the same page though. Anyway, as I was saying-”

Though as Theophania says no one has that sort of ability in response to Nao, followed up by Avery saying they have that sort of ability, Shin blinks. He glances between the two, before nodding.

“Well, I should say, thank you Avery for the information. I figured you would considering your powers. But regardless, that does raise something.”

“I’m not saying that you two are, but we need to consider they could be covering for each other. After all, they said they were with each other for a while before the two went separate ways, but… we need to consider that since the two care for each other a lot, they could be covering up things for each other-”

“.....like just now. Theophania would’ve knew about the ability Avery has, due to how much they fight and explore together.” He flashes a small look their way. “I’m not attacking either of you. This is a point of discussion brought up before previously, and we just have to cover all corners.”

“Regardless, following up with Bian’s accusation, and Germain’s questioning, I do have my own question. After Esmee, did anyone see the two? Can anyone vouch for them? I can suspect they- or at least Theophania- was in the training hall after me, sometime past 8, due to all the rocks around the place. I imagine if she was possibly practicing with the slingshot, then that would explain all the rocks.”

Pause. He blinks a few times. “.....could a smaller bomb be slingshotted? Look, okay, it sounds like bullshit, but some of the rocks in the training hall were pretty big, plus the books were detailing demolition bombs- I also don’t know too much about- so I was just… thinking.”

“So, that, or the bomb that was placed was hit. And then it did a shit ton of damage, with Luz insanely close by it, and Frank close but not as much. Plus Theophania caught in the crossfire…. And, possibly Avery, due to their ability, but I don’t think they would just leave the scene and I don’t have much evidence that says otherwise right now.”

“...besides your bomb knowledge, or course. Plus, since the books placed out would be common knowledge to Avery, I believe, so I think they could make one easily. However, they would not need a book for it, right? Which, I suppose then Theophania could have looked at the book, and also, then again, it could just be an insane coincidence with Avery showing their knowledge with the book and teaching her. Because I know they know a lot and like to show others they care about stuff they care about.”

He flashes a small smile at that, before shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m not accusing either of you, just possible talking points or my attempts to put two and two together. Anyone could have read those books, built the bomb. Being civil, and everything. Like what Esmee said, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions too quickly unless we have stuff to prove so….. Yeah.”

Gooooo team

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby. 

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants. 

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones. 

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that. 

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that. 

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations. 

[carpedzem]

Oh, thank goodness, because I see lots on how c!Dream is evil and is obviously still manipulating people, but all I can see is someone who is broken, tired, and imprisoned for something he only half deserves without even a proper trial... Am I wrong for thinking that?

hello there nonny! here's short answer: no, of course not!

here's very long answer :D

all /rp

people can enjoy dark media and villains. it's fun! idk why we still have this discussion about villains. enjoying something problematic doesn't mean you are going immediately imply it to your life. even if Dream was just pure evil, people are allowed to like him! he is fun to watch in a sense of: look at his master plan! look how he does everything from the shadow! look how he is losing because he did bad things! so even if Dream was pure villainy it's still okay to like him!

that being said I don't believe Dream is actually only a villain. he is the same morally grey character like everyone. the only complicated thing about him is that we don't have his POV (but soon! :D). but even without it you can find pieces of his actions and sometimes even his mind and put them together to understand his character more. does it excuse his action? no, of course not. he did a lot of terrible things and he deserves consequences. but can we sympathize with him and understand why he did it? of course! exactly like with every other character! and that's why feeling for him, liking him, looking for explanations of his action is not a bad thing. it's a good thing and it might be, again, fun, because you have this very mysterious character!

also, the story is clearly setting Dream into something! redemption arc? better understanding of his action? I can't answer that but form the storytelling perspective, putting a bad guy though so much just to be back into villain story is just dumb. so yeah as much as Dream had fair share of manipulation I think (I said it before and I will say it again) they gave 'a manipulative Dream' closure during Disc Confrontation. most of his actions right now, with Techno or Quackity or Sam or hell, even Ghosbur are not manipulations. they are instincts of surviving and/or desperation.

and there is the whole thing of Dream being happy once, Dream being called villain before he became one, Dream loving and being loved, Dream having attachments, Dream trying to do the right thing, Dream's and Ranboo's connection but if we start talking about it I will never be back studying lol

when it comes to the deserving being in prison - no one deserves to ba in Pandora Vault. it's a terrible, terrible place, home of all torture. Dream did deserve consequences. and then he deserves chance of rehabilitation. he doesn't deserve being tortured. the same way Tommy didn't deserved abuse on the exile. but people have this twisted sense of justice. but this isn't justice. this is torture. literally.

there was never trial, because they were going to kill him for good and didn't because he might be useful in the future. they never pretend this to be fair imprisonment. but again, that what's justice was for them. for more hot takes in this matter consider: @/peppsta

in conclusion Dream is really tragic sad character. and there are people who like characters like that. and they are allowed to. no one is going to tell anyone who they might like to watch or sympathize with

here's cool meme that summarise it all!

and now I PRESENT: ✨ a few salty words about the fandom ✨

the whole 'abuser apologist' discourse is just a bullshit. I, a this point, don't know what apologist even mean because everyone has their own definition. I understand that Tommy is very relatable character, but someone's trauma shouldn't be reason why people can't enjoy media. also at this point I'm calling myself abuser apologist sarcastically because honestly, this is such an empty phase in the fandom, it's sad

'dream is hot/did nothing wrong' is a joke. made mostly by people who are tired explaining their reasons. I understand them because the first thing I learn joining fandom is that I'm a terrible person for liking Dream. however, if anyone uses it as a real argument (I heard it happens on twt sometimes? idk I avoid that hell site) I think they are a little dumb :)

Dreams apologists/systematizers/enjoyers/enthusiasts etc were through shit while others can do whatever they want and that's so annoying. we have to explain people that 'hey, torture bad, maybe?' while Wilbur apologists jumped Nikki's throat because she dared to say that their meow meow lied to her. that's b u l l s h i t

sadly we can't control fandom and we are going to see a few dumb takes from time to time. here's something that helps me a little when I'm annoyed why people don't see that they are clearly wrong.

if anyone is giving crap like, personally, block them. really. it's not worth it. fandom experience supposed to be fun! if you need I can recommend a few c!Dream friendly blogs! and they can recommend even more blogs! :D

and remember: between fictional character Dream, real people who enjoy fictional character and real people who attack other real people over fictional character - who is really a bad guy here? :)

[witchofrvnswood]

the toxicity of sophie and agatha’s friendship (aka let’s bash on sophie time)

why hello! yes, it is i, bringing you yet another essay at 10 pm, when my brain is ready to die and my eyes keep shutting as i type this.

so i’ve been thinking of agaphie’s dynamic lately and the more i reread their scenes, the more i realized just how toxic and almost unbelievable their friendship is?

now, it should come as no surprise that sophie is a very toxic and bitter friend in the first arc, but i feel like her treatment of agatha contributed a lot to agatha’s character. or maybe agatha’s character contributed a lot to their friendship.

let’s analyze this.

so in the first book, we can see that their friendship, as sweet and pure as it seems, was only initiated because sophie wanted to go to the school for good. she befriended agatha because she was the resident outcast, the loner, maybe even an evil witch. despite becoming close over time, she still strongly believed agatha was a witch and would end up alone or go to the school for evil where she supposedly belonged.

as the book progresses, we see her at first, completely jealous of agatha’s place in the school she wanted to go to, but she starts being kind again as tedros starts flirting with her, seeming like she could have her happily ever after while in evil. but when that doesn’t work, she convinces agatha to visit the school master with her to ask to switch schools. when that doesn’t work, she begrudgingly agrees to go home, but when the riddle seems to say she must make tedros fall in love with her and kiss her, she abandons ALL plans, COMPLETELY disregards agatha’s longing to go home, and even decides to let her stay trapped in the good school, all so she can make tedros fall in love with her and STAY with him.

it reaches a breaking point when sophie avoids agatha after scoring tedros yet comes back to her after panicking about the trial and realizing she needs agatha to survive. only to blame agatha for her mistake with tedros, accuse her of being a witch and ruining her fairytale, and ultimately throwing her away.

we can see where this is going, yeah?

so obviously,,,, she’s a very conflicted and negative character in book 1, and very toxic and cruel to agatha. she doesn’t see her as a genuine friend, she has always seen her as a tool to get what she wants.

and the problem is, agatha lets her get away with it. but why?

the truth is, agatha has always been lonely. she’s an outcast, no one wants to talk to her. but when sophie showed up, she finally had a purpose in life. she finally earned someone’s love and she wanted to do anything she could to keep it,,, which is,,,, toxic! while sophie’s friendship with her had bad intentions, agatha only had good intentions, even if it led to actions that hurt her.

i feel like since agatha was clearly depressed with her life in general, when sophie came, she put all her happiness and potential happiness in her to a point where she couldn’t imagine a life without her. it’s just like callis said, agatha is revolving her whole life around sophie and being loyal to her “like a dog” rather than a human being.

in book two, we finally see agatha try to advocate for her own happiness, realizing she was trapped in a toxic friendship with sophie and that she thought happiness only lied with sophie, but it turns out it didn’t. on the other hand, sophie now sees agatha as a tool once again for her happy ending, except this time, it lies with her. she cheats and schemes to ensure that agatha has no connection to tedros and manipulates her into completely trusting her and even feeling BAD for even doubting her in the first place despite the fact that she tried to kill her and has only ever used her for her own personal gain.

in the end, agatha leaves sophie, sophie feels betrayed, and turns to rafal, which is a toxic relationship on it’s own - we’ll get to that on another day. agatha is now navigating her new relationship with tedros, they’re finally actually together, hip hip hooray. but they also have issues,,, which,,, majorly stem from agatha.

with tedros and agatha, we see a dynamic very different from sophie. with sophie, agatha has to be self sacrificing and do everything she can for sophie’s happiness for maybe some kind words and i love yous. she knows this is wrong but this is what she’s used to - so deep down, she expects this kind of treatment from tedros too. and when he ends up reciprocating her love completely and even being self sacrificial for her.... it feels wrong. it doesn’t feel liberating or good or free, it just feels wrong to her. because when you’re stuck in a toxic relationship for a long time, normal ones don’t feel right to you.

this causes her to pull away and question if she’s good enough for him. she’s doubting him because this doesn’t feel real to her, a love as good as that, seems like it’s ready to break at any moment. and sophie’s constant putting down of her at times can play into this too.

and finally, when sophie realizes that she doesn’t need a future with rafal to be queen, but instead sees an opportunity to manipulate tedros into being with her instead, she takes it. she doesn’t even seem concerned or at all guilty for what this means to agatha. she’s literally STEALING her man. and she has no shame.

why? because she doesn’t value agatha as a person. she sees her as her loyal friend, her savior, that’s all. she whole heartedly expects agatha to just drop tedros for her, because she’s proved she can do anything for sophie.

and when agatha resists, when she fights against sophie’s manipulation, she resorts to degrading her. she noticed that agatha felt unsure on being queen, and she pounced on that. 

Y’ALL, SHE WENT AS FAR AS TO CREATE  A FALSE REALITY WHERE AGATHA BEING QUEEN COULD JEOPARDIZE TEDROS’ FUTURE AND MADE AGATHA BELIEVE IT.

what the actual fucking fuck bullshit is this. that’s an AWFUL person.

she was even said to look at agatha as if they were friends working towards a new goal, as if she hadn’t just ask her to give up her happiness for her.

yeah i’m getting super heated just typing this.

even in the handbook and book four, we see her to be jealous of agatha’s role as queen and got enraged whenever someone brought her up. even throughout the camelot years, despite helping agatha and tedros through thick and thin, she was still pretty darn jealous of them and was not satisfied with being cast to the side. despite taking a break from relationships, after rafal’s emotional abuse, she desperately craves a love as pure as the one agatha has, and immediately gives rhian a chance.

to be honest, i’m not surprised with tedros and everyone else’s mistrust of sophie in book five, like she’s a SNAKE, she has proven she can do anything.

something else that bothers me? the way sophie never genuinely apologized for how she treated agatha or anyone else in the book she treated poorly, like DOT. (ahem fatshaming her despite her constant support and friendship).

(and the WAY nicola was dragged by the fandom for calling out sophie when NO ONE else bothered to. y’all suck sometimes, just saying it)

anyways i’m going to bed, it’s 11 now, the salt has been written, and i desperately need sleep- 

<3

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

[novannna]

“Let go of my hand.” for nodrian pls

hi anon!!!  tysm for the request!!

i have not written nodrian in a hot second, it was weird to write them again ngl

wc:1360

Adrian finds out Nova is Nightmare, and confronts her

 Nova looked at the mask held in Adrian’s hands, the glint of metal handcuffs hanging on his belt, the bright red R emblazoned on his chest.  Anywhere but his face.  He glared daggers into Nova, and the change from his soft gazes filled with joy to this hard stare made her shrink back. The face that used to be soft curves and gentle smiles, was now a mess of barely held tears, a clenched jaw and eyebrows slanted angrily.  

Nova’s eyes accidentally caught his, and she flinched at the hatred in them.  

Why had she been so damn stupid, to think that there was an ending that ended in something other than tragedy for them.  

“Adrian, I can explain-” she started, knowing it was pointless.

“Stop.  Talking.”  He said tightly.  “I don’t want to listen to your lies.”

“Adrian, I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“The truth?”  He scoffed, tone incredulous.  “Why the hell should I believe you?”

Nova felt tears gathering up, threatening to spill over.  “I’m not going to lie to you anymore.  I just need you to understand.”

Somehow, his tone got angrier.  “Oh, I understand plenty,” he spat viciously.  “I understand how you were working against us for months, while we were ready to die for you.  I understand how you used me, and Ruby, and Oscar, and Danna, just to get something for yourself.  I understand how you pretended to be a Renegade, just so you could bring it all tumbling down.  I understand how you faked everything with me, you used me, made a fool out of me.  I understand exactly who you are, Nova Mclain.”  he paused.  “Or, should I say Nova Artino?  You’re just like the rest of them. I’d expect nothing less from the niece of Ace Anarchy.”

“Adrian, that’s not true-” she tried.  “I did care about you.  A lot.  Enough to leave my entire life behind.”

“Are you denying it?  Are you saying you aren’t an anarchist?  You aren’t Nightmare?”  He held the bright metal mask up, a reminder of the chasm of lies in between them.  

Nova shook her head, the tears finally spilling over.  She couldn’t control anything anymore, it seemed.  “I was Nightmare.  I was an Anarchist.  But I’m not anymore.  I left, so I could be with you, and I could do good.  Adrian, you made me realize that I wanted to be a good person.  I wanted to be a hero, not a villain.  I was ready to give my whole world up for you.”  She dared to meet his eyes, tears still spilling out of her own, tired brown ones.  

There was a second where everything was soft.  Adrian was looking at her with… it almost seemed like hope.  And, though Nova could have imagined it all, it seemed as if there was still some love left in his gaze.  

But it was only a second, and reality is never what Nova would wish it was.

“Lies!”  Adrian screamed.  “Stop manipulating me.  Stop trying to make me believe this complete bullshit you are coming up with.  You’re just flailing in deep water, trying to claw your way out of this hole you dug yourself.”  He inhaled, and straightened, his eyes slightly glassed over, as if he was trying to hide the emotions warring in his mind.  

Nova felt a part of herself break apart.  “Adrian..”  She should put him to sleep, and run away.  She should fight her way out of this mess, and survive another day.  But she couldn’t bring herself to lift a finger against Adrian.  She couldn’t hurt him more than she already had.  Nova honestly didn’t think she could live with herself if she did.  

“My dad’s and the rest of the council will be here soon.  They will take over, and you will have a short trial, and then be shipped off to Cragmoor, like the criminal you are.  Then, you will be administered a dose of Agent N, and you will cease to be a prodigy.”

“And you’re fine with all of this?”  Nova asked desperately, feeling as if she were about to throw up.  “You’re fine with them wrongfully banding me as a criminal, when everything I have done is to help this organization?  When you don’t even know the whole story?  Adrian, I never chose this.  I didn’t ask for my parents to be killed, and for my uncle to be the only one who would take me in.  I didn’t fucking ask to be manipulated and forced into a hatred of the Renegades for my whole life.  I never had a choice.  I was leaving for you.  I’m not a criminal, I’m still a scared little girl, who’s screaming as the world's passing me by, looking at all those people who don’t spare me a glance.  Please, will you at least listen to me.”

Adrian’s fists tightened.  “You didn’t need to stay with the Anarchists.  You could have left.  You could have forgotten them, and just told me the truth.  You never had to hurt anyone.  You never had to hurt me”

Nova shook her head.  “How?  How could I have left my entire life?  Everything that I knew was with the Anarchists.  They fed my hatred, they fueled me on my journey for vengeance.  They wouldn’t have just let me walk, and you know that.  Adrian, you need to understand.”

“The council is almost here.  I hope you save some of your begging for them.”  Adrian’s voice was ice once again.  Nova dared to look at his face, cringing away from the anger and hostility radiating off of him.  

“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry. For hurting you.  I never wanted too.”  She paused, then added, “and it was all real.  My feelings for you.   I just wish you could understand it wasn’t my fault, and I’m not the guilty one.”

“Stop talking now,” Adrian spat.  “I can’t listen to your voice anymore.”

His wristband buzzed, startling the both of them.  He looked down.  

“One minute until you’re out of my life forever,” Adrian said tightly.  

Nova felt that panic inside her writhe.  She wasn’t going to be a prodigy.  She’d be forced to spend her life as a prisoner, when she had been ready to leave the Anarchists for Adrian.  It would be ironic, except Nova was shaking with both fear and exhaustment, and she was just so tired.  

And still, she tried to sway Adrian.  

Maybe it was fruitless, but she had to make him understand.  

“Adrian, I deserve your hate, your anger, all of it, I do.  I lied to you, and I now see that was the worst decision I could have made.  But are you ready to succumb me to a fate worse than death, without even beginning to hear my side?”

“The council will give you a trial.”

“The council?”  Nova couldn’t help but scoff.  “The council are the ones who left me to die 10 years ago.  They won’t give me a fair trial.  They’ll look at the metal mask, and paint me guilty without bothering to ask me why any of this happened.  The council would sentence me to death if they could.  Hell, maybe they will!”  

Adrian glanced up, looking to the sky.  Thunderbird was hovering high above them, waiting to descend. 

“Your time’s up.”

No.  Nova couldn’t let this happen.  She couldn’t let herself be captured.  Not now.  Not with so many things left unsaid.  

Unthinkingly, she grabbed onto Adrian’s hand quickly.  It was warm, the calloused skin so comforting to her.  She could sense his blood flowing, her heart beating in perfect sync with his. 

“Adrian, you cannot let them do this to me,” she begged, fully sobbing now, both from grief and fear.  

For a brief moment, Nova thought she had gotten through to him.  She thought he was about to step out of her way, and let her flee the city for good.  She thought, maybe he finally understood that she wasn’t the villain, she was the victim.  

Instead, his voice hardened, and his eyes turned as cold as ice.  

“Let go of my hand,” he hissed. 

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

wait a minute. So I've read your bits on civil war 2008, and I have a question for you: all the characters in the civil war event, at least the major players(like stark, Cap, Spidey, FF), do you believe that they are acting OOC, or that the writers chose to bring out the character's worse qualities to create drama?

And do you think that if the writers had written them In Character, or at least written them to be more balanced, would it have improved the story? Actually, do you think that Civil War could have been... at least A not Bad Story under an intense rewrite? or that the whole concept should have been thrown away?

The OOC talk is tempting and also partially justified. There is a batch of previous stories scattered through the years with the Fantastic Four dealing with similar scenarios where Reed is pretty much anti-government.

1) In one Social Services sue the FF4 for endangering Reed and Sue Kids by keeping them in the Baxter Building despite it being blown up once every 2 weeks. They ask them to "register" them and put them in a safe government facility, so to spearhead a new law where they can get pre-teen superhumans "out of harm way" or some shit.

Keep in mind Franklin is still a Mutant in this story (And still is right now because FUCK YOU SLOTT). Anyway, Reed seemingly agrees,only to set up a dummy facility and "register" his kids there. He doesn't even announce it he literally only writes it in the Government's documentation and shit.

The facility is razed to the ground a couple hours later. Because yes the Baxter Building can explode at any time but AT LEAST they are there to protect the kids from the countless people.

2) In another story, Reed is asked by Congress to create a device that outs mutants and "abnormal" humans, so the government can better individuate them for "reasons." Reed agrees, and makes a device SO POWERFUL it detects every deviations from the supposed norm, so when he gives a demonstration in Congress, he reveals half of its members would qualify as "Mutants" if they kept that line of inquiry, which makes them hastily drop the whole thing. This was intentional, because who the fuck are they to decide who is or isn't not normal?

3) Compare and Contrast with Civil Ear Reed Richards, who is a McCarthy apologist who goes "Logically speaking, we need to listen to the government on this one otherwise we might get burned just like my (gay coded) artist uncle was by the McCarthy Trials in the 50s when he told the court to shove it and his life was ruined as a result. It's the rational way to do it."

4) (The three main proponents of the Registration Side being Rich, White, Heterosexual Men in positions of powers, with jobs in the science field that justify their decision with "Facts and Logic" was PROBABLY unintentional, but is also a great unintended allegory for this kind of shit. The ones who are hurt the most but these kind of laws are the ones who can't afford it after all, and who is ever going to go after the rich and powerful first? Especially if they come with little repercussions on their lives (Tony, Reed and Hank where all already outed as Superheroes after all))

5) Peter is OOC in OMD mind you, Civil War goes pretty much how you'd expect him to go (gets manipulated by authority figure into it, MJ and May are supportive of him because they see only half the facts, the SECOND Peter realizes that those people are monsters he drops them and gets the shit beaten out of him for it, unlike Reed or Tony who can AFFORD having their identities public Peter barely has the money to survive which ends with May getting shot for it). It's an incredibly poignant scenario that I wish was used to TELL A MESSAGE rather than just a backdrop to shoehorn OMD in.

6) Which is to say Civil War could indeed be written better under the same premise. If they want to keep the Patriot Act Allegory, they should be aware of what that would entail for the characters that support it.

We are currently seeing a similar scenario going on in Marvel in the Champions comics where the registration side is pretty much spearheaded by an unambiguous evil corporation and shit. In light of Civil War I existing the whole thing kinda loses its impact (Like that one joke scene where Tony goes "Maybe we should register them" with a smug look on his face as if he isn't responsible for so many deaths), but at least they are trying to shift the conversation? The villain is not the Government of course it's Evil Apple, but at least it's not a "Both Sides are equally ok" centrist bullshit take like they did in Civil War or in Skyrim.

Like, fuck, it's literally called CIVIL WAR to invoke the American Civil War in the context of the "brother kills brother" interpretation some bastards are so fond off, I wouldn't call THAT a "Both Sides are valid" scenario by a long fucking mile, yet here we are.

7) I think the best way to put it would be to set up the same scenario but make it realistic to the setting and shit.

Hank and Tony still support the Government because one is a Skrull Chaos Agent the other is misguided, Carol takes Reed's place in the Triad because Women can be War Criminals too (She was leading the equivalent of a child soldier program during Civil War so she is one already at least). Steve is also anti government because this is happening during the fucking BUSH ADMINISTRATION and he goes "When will Washington decide who the villains are?" Like he did in canon but in, like, a poignant moment.

Speaking of Reed he will keep his family neutral and go "I admit superheroing does need failsafes and some kind of oversight mind you, I just don't this this country's government has demonstrated their right to be that."

Let's not put the "Cap you are out of touch because you don't know what MySpace is" or "Luke every time I see a Sentinel that's like seeing a Burning Cross" rants in the story too because those were some raw shit.

Tony, again, lives in privilege, so it wouldn't exactly affect him, and is genuinely trying to do good, so we need to put him as the "Patsy" who gets duped by Skrull Hank Pym for it, the government is the one with the secret prison for Superheroes, Hank is the one recruiting Nazi Scientists and starting child soldier programs, clones Thor, sets up with the Government a Super Prison in the Ocean (can't use the negative zone without Reed), outside of US Jurisdiction so the government can ship then there with no trial and torture them. When Skrull Hank Pym is confronted for it, and the blame is attempted to be pinned on him and him alone, he goes "Are you earthlings daft or something? I did almost nothing, it was your government who did most of the work in their desire for security and safety, I just sped up the process for them, they would have done all of this with or without me."

Around the ending Tony finds out and is devastated and drops the whole thing."

When someone tries to comfort Tony over it because he didn't know any of this he goes "Oh, that's were you're wrong Peter. I knew. Deep down, I knew things weren't right, unjust, but I did nothing, because I could make things better from the inside, because it didn't affect me, because It would have been inconvenient to me to stop this. This is on me for passively accepting it as it is on the ones who enforced it." Which leads him to make amends, that way he is not as much of a awful character here.

The scene where The US kidnaps Ororo so they can strong arm Tchalla into getting registered happens but is treated as a international crisis as it deserves.

The Prison Break finale happens because Namor discovers the prison in HIS FUCKING DOMAIN and just goes ham on it with the help of the Anti Registration side, he drops a line like "I've seen shit like this before, I've seen what happens when man declares another man a criminal for things out of their control, for what they've been from birth, and I say NOT IN MY KINGDOM!" or some shit (He is a WWII veteran after all).

Since Steve isn't pummeling to the ground Tony in this scenario there isn't the dumb as fuck Everyday Heroes scene and he doesn't get shot by Sharon later on..

We have instead the scene from Secret Invasion where Skrull Hank Pym kills Steve (In SI it was Skrull Queen killing Janet Van Dyne) on national television, which leads to the anger of everyone involved who rush him, only for Tony to be the one who pull the trigger.

Tony is put in charge of SHIELD, which leads to Iron Reign (Dark Reign equivalent), and the story ends with him going "Let's see if things can reach change from the inside this time" as he actually reforms Shield from his position of power. The Registration Act becomes unpopular due to Steve's death and Alien Interferences, so that helps, and leads to actual protests in the streets after Namor reveals to the UN the war crimes the US is committing. It's a slow process, but is something.

OMD doesn't happen, The Peter storyline remains pretty much the same, but instead of Tony bragging about his private prisons for Superheroes in hell, it's the Punisher who shows up to him and reveals some troubling shit he discovered, Peter Confront Tony for it who dismisses it as fake news because he doesn't want to believe, Peter drops the registration side out of disgust, which then leads to the government sending villains after him rather than Tony. Tony is then seen strongly arguing with Maria Hill for this since Peter almost died from what he got from his suit readings (which he never hijacked or deactivated), but the Skrull Hank Pym shows up and supports Maria Hill for it, and Carol is busy with her child soldier program to comment.

May still gets shot and dies right as Peter and MJ discover MJ is pregnant with their second Daughter, which is ripe for lots of good stuff.

Maria Hill will therefore have to take even more of a role as a Government Plant and shit, but what's new.

Johnny Storm still gets hate crimed on but not by black people. Maybe confirm him as Bi while we're at it? You know, to get topical and all.

Ideally No More Mutants never happened so mutants are still a thing and most of them are vehemently anti registration. Emma Frost appears neutral at first glance, but ultimately she is playing the long game, secretly helping militant mutant groups and shielding the school from unwanted attention. She still has a restraining order filled for Tony Stark, she still points out to Carol how fucking dangerous a mutant life can be if outed via mind powers.

Can't think of much else for now, maybe Felicia helping MJ and May while they are in hiding? MJ is nauseous and all and she goes "must be the nerves" and Felicia agrees but May knows. This could lead to the polycule post May death since Felicia blames herself for it for not being fast enough, and MJ now is pregnant and scared and the Registration Act is getting repealed by the future is still glum and Peter is depressed so they all comfort each other and then 69 issues later we have a two parter maxi event where they face their fears and BANG we get the polycule.

Aunt May still poisons the Chameleon while he was posing as Peter. She actually actually poisons him rather then just drug him this time, because she knows of that one time he tried to force himself on MJ while posing as Peter which lead to MJ beating the shit out of him with a baseball bat, and May is a nice old lady but there are things she really can't stand you know?

Felicia and MJ help her hide the body. Peter never finds out.

And that's it?

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (8)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 8.1k warnings: angst™, cannon violence, mild reference to passive suicidal thoughts, description of a panic attack 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

Bucky took in a steady breath; a cold, calculated inhale as he focused his scope on a target sitting at a table outside a quaint café in Brussels. A light breeze filtered through his hair, enough for him to adjust the positioning of the rifle a few millimeters to the left before he took his shot. The man, dressed in a navy suit and dark tinted glasses, took a sip of coffee from the mug on the table, steam visible through the end of Bucky’s scope.

He positioned his finger on the trigger, the soft click of the safety as it released, and Bucky narrowed in his aim, ready to make that final pull, the difference between life and death with a single flinch of his finger.

“Busy, Barnes?”

Natasha’s voice chimed from behind him and his positioning faltered as he swung back an angry glare in her direction. Wearing her leather jacket hung over her shoulders and red hair worn up away from her face, she sat on the edge of the rooftop, back to the café and legs swinging aimlessly beneath her. She raised an eyebrow, searching for an answer to her question and Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for her antics.

He turned back to his scope to find the target missing from the table. Gritting his teeth, he searched for the man amongst the crowd, only to find a short glimpse of him before he disappeared inside of the restaurant. Bucky sat back against his heels with an aggravated grunt.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Who’s the target?” Natasha countered, knowing eyes upon him and he knew she didn’t need the answer to confirm her suspicions.

“Not your business,” he replied shortly, unscrewing the end of his rifle and carefully placing the pieces back in the case. He’d have to take out the target on foot; up close, personal. It would be a welcomed change, could give him a chance to make sure that asshole knew exactly who was draining the life from his pathetic, feeble existence.

“Think it might be actually,” Natasha shrugged, jumping down from the lip of the roof, “since you’ve gone rouge and all.”

Bucky paused before he slammed the case shut, locking the rifle away. He stood to his feet; case gripped tightly in the palm of his left hand. Natasha watched him, studied him, because while he was still getting to know her again, she knew him better than most, knew the tells he didn’t realize he had. But Natasha had known the soldier, he reminded himself. It wasn’t the same.

“I’m not rouge,” Bucky grunted, shoving past her as he headed for the stairwell. “Steve knows where I am.”

Bucky’s hand grasped onto the door knob, warm from the beam of the sunlight and he turned it sharply before Natasha’s voice called out again.

“He also know you’re taking out Hydra agents on a hitlist without SHIELD jurisdiction?”

Bucky froze. He had told Steve he was taking time for himself, traveling for bit, because being in the compound a second longer was going to destroy him. Steve had seen him take the weapons with him, caught him as he loaded a rifle into his bag and about four different hand guns and a series of knives, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t question it. Bucky assumed Steve had his suspicions, but no one, not even the Captain, was going to challenge him after what happened in Times Square.

No one except Natasha, apparently.

“Go home, Natalia,” Bucky urged, keeping his back to her as she approached him.

“Can’t do that,” she retorted with a purse of her lips, arms folded over her chest, “not when you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“I’m doing just fine.”

“Are you?” Nat accused, standing in his way as he attempted to pull the door open to escape this conversation. She pressed her hand against the door and slammed it shut. “If you were okay, you wouldn’t be out here killing off Hydra agents like it’s a damn hobby. Y/n wouldn’t want—”

“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, dropping the case and shoving Nat hard against the door. His forearm draped over her collarbone, pressing her securely in place.

If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. Always so calm, collected. Unaffected. She watched him carefully like she was searching his face for something he’d never say aloud. He hardened his features, unwilling to give her the satisfaction and pulled away, releasing her from his grasp.

“Y/n doesn’t want anything for me,” Bucky growled, voice low and unforgiving. “She’s dead.”

Natasha flinched, losing her cool demeanor for only a second but it was long enough for Bucky to notice, to feel a sting of guilt pierce through the impenetrable exterior he built around himself.

He hadn’t let himself think of you in the two months since you died. It wasn’t just because it was too painful; the mere memory of you cutting and ripping at the hole in his chest until he was broken and empty. It had become survival instinct.

In the days after the events in Times Square, he had been a mess. It took hours before anyone could convince him to leave the open streets, even as camera vans pulled in and reporters shot their footage of the winter soldier sobbing on his knees, frozen, paralyzed, as the rest of the world continued on, as pedestrians moved about their day. His legs grew stiff and numb from how long he stayed there, knees digging into the pavement and unable to catch his breath.

He couldn’t seem to get away from the nonstop coverage of the event. It was on every news network, every late-night show, in every newspaper. He was plastered across the cover of TIME magazine; an image of him kneeling in the open streets, Times Square brought to an agonizing stop, devastation on his face and images of the man in the black mask covering every screen in sight. He couldn’t escape the reminders of what happened to you.

He holed himself up in his room; didn’t eat or sleep for days, and only found rest when he wondered into Dr. Cho’s office and begged her on hands and knees to sedate him, because the thought of seeing you in his dreams was more than he could handle and the need for sleep was crippling his body at the seams.

Bucky wasn’t the only one suffering. He knew that. The whole team had loved and cared for you and they lost a member of their family, but for Bucky, it was more than that. You were the light in his life, his reason to get up in the morning, the crutch that held him up when his body ached. He put too much on you, put his recovery and the darkest parts of his mind for you to hold, but you made it too easy, always asking for his burdens to share, always wanting to hold his hand in the dead of night, always curling up against him when the nightmares pulled him under.

Bucky didn’t know how to be the man you loved anymore.

Somewhere along the line, he decided that the man you knew him to be wasn’t strong enough to survive this. The Bucky you loved was too soft, too weak to have protected you that day, to have saved you in that Hydra facility before you were even taken, to have rescued you before you were executed on the live television for the world to see. That version of Bucky broke on 7th Avenue.

The day he finally emerged from his room again, after he’d lost nearly fifteen pounds of muscle and dark bags hung heavy under his eyes, his beard unkempt and hair grown long and unwashed, he’d told Steve he was going to Spain for a while, said he would take some time away to find himself again; a bullshit excuse to fuel the rage and vengeance stirring in his chest and Steve agreed with little persuasion.

Only one month after your death and Bucky regained the weight he lost, packed on muscle and lived behind the scope of his rifle. He found a reason to live again and it was killing every son of bitch that was remotely rumored to have had any contact with you in your time in Hydra’s captivity. He didn’t care about trial and justice, or whether the rumors were true. He’d take out every Hydra agent he could find and it would ease the suffering in his chest. Every kill would make it just a little bit easier to breathe.

It was what he told himself anyway.

It was also how he ended up on a rooftop in Brussels two months later. He came back to the compound intermittently, feeding Steve lies of what he’d been up to, though he could tell Steve was more than aware of what Bucky was doing than he let on. He didn’t say anything, didn’t challenge him on it, and Bucky was thankful for that, at least. It seemed he wasn’t the only one hell bent on revenge.

“Bucky,” Natasha started, breaking through his train of thought, voice softer now as he reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under her touch. “You should come back with me. Don’t put yourself through this. You don’t have to be alone.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, teeth pressed so tight that it ached in his muscles. He yanked his arm out from Natasha’s reach and grabbed the case from the ground. He didn’t say another word, didn’t offer an excuse, as he shoved his way through the door, leaving Natasha on the rooftop alone.

***

Hours later, once the sun had gone down and Bucky tracked his target to a laundromat on the outskirts of the city, he grabbed his bag of weaponry from the trunk of his car. The soft chirps of crickets in the background in stark contrast to the hustle of the inner city, and Bucky pulled a handgun from his bag and slipped it into the holster at his side. He grabbed two knives and set them in place on his jacket before closing the trunk securely.

He had a job to do, one he would thoroughly enjoy.

“Whatcha got there, Barnes?”

“Goddamn it, Romanoff,” Bucky grumbled as red hair emerged from behind the shadows.

She was one of a very few number of people who could sneak up on him. Hands tucked into her pockets, her eyes glimpsed at the silver reflection of the knives strapped to Bucky’s chest before she turned back to the window of the laundromat where the man from the café was loading clothes into a washer inside.

Bucky gritted his teeth, shoving past her as he made his way to the door. “I thought I told you to go home.”

“Don’t think I ever agreed to that,” she responded flatly, following him. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Go. Home. Natalia.”

There was a short pause that followed, one a lifetime could have sat between. He was nearly to the door when Natasha’s voice called out after him; softer, aching.

“Y/n was my friend too, you know.”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, breath caught in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists at his side, nails of his right hand puncturing his palms. The pain wasn’t nearly enough to distract him.

“Don’t say her name to me.”

“You don’t get to capitalize on grief, Barnes, and you sure as hell don’t get to control how the rest of us mourn!” Natasha shot back. “You don’t get to use her as an excuse to pursue a vengeance she never would have wanted for you! This doesn’t have to be who you are anymore. It was Y/n that showed you that, don’t you remember? You don’t have to be this.”

The Winter Soldier. Cold. Ruthless. Vindictive.

Bucky closed his eyes, unwilling to turn around and allow Natasha to see the painful clench of his jaw, the burn in the back of his throat, the red in the whites of his eyes. It had been so long since he’d heard your name, since he let himself even remember who he had been when he was with you, and it was all rushing back. He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t let himself be weak again.

Bucky took a step forward but Natasha rushed around him, placing a hand on his chest and planting herself to the ground.

“Get out of my way.”

She shook her head and Bucky grabbed firm hold of her arm, metal gripping flesh and shoved her aside until she slammed against the trunk of the car with a grunt. Bucky was halfway to the door when she spotted her reflection charging at him through the window of the store. He spun on his heels to catch her leg in time before she kicked it against his side. He swung himself around, sending an elbow to her back. She retaliated with a punch to the side of his face though he barely felt it, even as blood gushed from his lip.

They went back and forth, Avengers fighting in the alley under the mask of darkness, evenly matched, until Bucky yanked the handgun from the holster on his thigh and aimed it straight at her chest.

Natasha’s eyes widened, flickering between the barrel of the gun and Bucky’s face. She was panting, heavy breaths in her chest as he stared at Bucky in disbelief.

But she’d never understand. Bucky knew with certainty that no one would. It was why Steve never asked questions when he saw the weapons in his bag. Bucky only knew how to fill the void inside of him with violence and vengeance. It was all he knew before you and now that you were gone, it seemed like it was all he could physically muster just to stay alive.

He looked at Natasha, red hair clinging to the sides of her face in sweat. He knew how much you cared for her, how she had been the one who trained you, who taught you that you could have more in your life than just missions and SHIELD. She was your closest friend and Bucky had been cruel to her, tossing her aside like her own grief meant nothing in comparison to his, but he needed to be selfish, needed to protect himself because if he didn’t, he’d drown.

“Y/n wouldn’t recognize you right now,” Nat exhaled. Her tone was lacking the malicious intent he deserved, only filled with a devastation he couldn’t quite understand.

Bucky lowered his gun and set it back in the holster.

“Go home, Natalia.”

With that, he turned on his heels in search of the next man on a list of names whose blood would find its way to his hands. She didn’t follow him.

***

A few weeks later and Bucky found himself in Bratislava at the center of a Hydra base. Blood coated his hands, dripping in clumps down his sleeves and soaking into the fabric of his jacket. Bodies lined the hallway from where he came, dozens of men who dared block his path. His escape plan had been thrown out the window the moment he stepped foot in the building because at the end of the long hallway, he spotted one of the men at the top of his hitlist, a low-level agent named Brent Murkowski.

Murkowski had been one of the men who had dragged you away from him all those months ago. Harsh hands wrapped around your arms as you kicked and screamed as Bucky tried to punch his way through the barrier with no avail. Murkowski had the nerve to smile at him, taunting him as they took you away, and Bucky was determined to cut the man’s lips from his mouth if that was what it took to ease the sharp pain that had taken residency in his chest

No man would stand in his way.

And no man did.

He killed every last one of them. The floors were red with blood. Murkowski was bent over the table, throat slashed, and Bucky felt no relief. Being numb would be better than this.

Feet sticking to the tiles from the blood under his boot, Bucky carefully moved to the doorway, only to find Steve standing it’s his frame, a strange mixture of shock, anger, and disbelief on his features as his eyes trailed over the series of bodies, the blood, until they landed on Bucky.

“Jesus, Buck,” he gaped, shaking his head, “this what you’ve been doing the last few months?”

Bucky shrugged, brushing his knife off on his pants. “Usually it’s cleaner than this. Been sniping ‘em from a mile away,” he said casually. He grabbed a hold of Murkowski’s hair, lifting his face for Steve to see and blood gushed from his neck. Steve winced. “This one deserved something more personal.”

Steve shook his head, hand brushing over his lips as he took in the scene. “This is insane, Buck. It’s not you.”

“You don’t know what’s me anymore, Steve.”

“Like hell I don’t!” Steve crossed the room in a span of a few paces and grabbed a hold of Bucky’s arm, dragging him out to the hallway. “You’re acting like you’re the only one who lost her! Like you’re the only one that’s affected by what happened! Nat was right. You’ve gone too far and I’m putting a stop to this. Now.”

“Oh, so now you have a problem with me killing off Hydra agents now that you’ve seen my work?” Bucky scoffed, ripping his arm from Steve’s grasp. “Or is it because your little girlfriend thinks I’m out of control?”

“Watch yourself, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, clenching his jaw to hold the anger boiling in his veins in.

Steve sighed, gesturing to the far end of the hallway. “Get to the jet. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not a child—”

“You’re sure as hell acting like one!” Steve shot back. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum with knives and guns and taking out your anger and your grief on any Hydra agent you can find! They deserve that. Hell, they deserve worse! But you don’t have to be the instrument to do it! It’s the last thing Y/n would want and you know that!”

“Will you people stop fucking saying her name to me!”

Bucky’s chest was panting heavily; the rise and fall heavy in his lungs, anger left unclaimed and unrestrained setting him ablaze. Steve shook his head, sadder now, as if seeing his brother this way, this lost and helpless, drained the frustration from him.

“She’s not just something you can push aside and forget about, Buck,” Steve said, his voice considerably softer now and his shoulders began to slump. “She was real and alive and she changed you. You can’t erase her from your life like she never existed. You can’t pretend didn’t love her.”

“I’m—” Bucky exhaled through his teeth, “I’m not. I’m taking down the people who killed her, Steve. She’d want that. We’re Avengers, aren’t we? It’s in the fucking title! I’m trying to avenge her since none of you will!”

“Look around you! All this blood and violence… You’re going to get yourself killed, Buck!” Steve shouted, slamming his hand against the wall enough to make Bucky jump. “Don’t you care at all?!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t!”

The words slipped out before Bucky could stop them and wished for a moment that he could reach out a grab them from the air before they fell on Steve’s ears because the absolute look of devastation upon his friend’s face was worse than he could have prepared for. His name came out in stuttered consonants from Steve’s lips but he pushed past him before anything could be said, walking down the hall towards the jet.

He couldn’t talk about it. Not now. Not with fresh blood coating his hands and the stench of death in the air. Bucky couldn’t face another conversation about how he was throwing his life away, how he was being too reckless in his hunt to destroy Hydra, how he waited patiently for each of these self-destructive missions to be his last and relieve him from the burden of this never-ending pain in his chest.

Bucky had lived through so much in his life, too much for any one man to take on alone, and for a while he didn’t have to. For a while, he had you to lighten his load, to give him something to look forward to each day and for the first time in very long time, he started to think about days further out than the next, started to wonder if you’d like to go apple picking in the fall or Coney Island in the summer.

He had started to let himself fantasize about what a life would be like with you if he ever worked up the courage to tell you how he felt. His nightmares started to be replaced with pleasant dreams and his trainings in the gym were sparring at your side instead of beating a punching bag until his knuckles bled. He started running around the compound instead of running for his life. He was free.

But you were gone and any progress he made left with you. Though, if he was honest with himself, he was worse now than before he met you. At least then, he had been convinced he would never find something to live for, something that made his days on this Earth worth dealing with the torment he had survived.

Now, he knew there was. He had it in the palm of his hand and it was ripped from him, violently and without remorse.

He stalked up the quinjet and took a seat in his usual spot. Steve didn’t say a word as he filed into the pilot’s seat. It was a quiet flight back home.

***

It was easier out on the road where he could push you from his mind, where he wasn’t constantly reminded of you everywhere he turned.

He saw you stretching by the fridge in the kitchen wearing your workout gear and the smile that made him want to come out from the darkness. He saw you in the gym, on the sparring ring, heard your soft grunts and the laugh that echoed through the raptures when you’d finally get him on his back. He saw you down by the lake, by the bench you’d read on as he’d sit in the grass at your feet, your hand casually carding through his hair like it didn’t mean more than just innocent touches.

You were everywhere and Bucky couldn’t breathe.

So, he started spending most of his time in the east wing of the compound. It was largely unfinished, with exposed beaming and dry wall, wooden frames of the foundation peaking through. It was the only place that wasn’t haunted by you.

Tony had put the project on hold after you were taken, so it was empty, quiet, and Bucky could find sanctuary somewhere no one would bother him, where no one would ask how he’s doing or if he was willing to see his therapist yet because the answers were always ‘fine’ and ‘no’.

One day, he found a spare pair of gloves in the corner of one of the rooms and picked up a hammer. He was always good with his hands, so he started to follow the plans the builders had laid out. It gave his mind something else to focus on besides the cruel voices in his head.

It was where he went first thing in the morning and didn’t return back to his room until long after the sun set. Sometimes, Sam would bring him some food he’d leave by the door, hoping Bucky would try and eat something, and every once in a while, he brought it back with a few bites missing. It was improvement, at least.

Two weeks in to his new routine, he brought his laptop with him, in need of something other than the sharp sound of the hammer to distract his thoughts, and reflexively opened up to one of the many playlists you made for him. It hadn’t been his intention, didn’t even consider that this would be the first place he’d go for music, to the tracks you strung together at the foot of your bed. His hand hovered over the cursor, shaking, unable to even press play before he broke down in tears. It was the first time he cried in months and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

It was Sam that eventually found him, after he’d been sent to bring Bucky dinner, curled up on the floor, hyperventilating and tears streaming down his face. Sam had rushed towards him, dropping the plate as glass shattered on the expose wood. He skidded on his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky, urging him to find five things he could see.

“C-can’t,” Bucky gasped, clinging onto Sam’s arms.

“Yes, you can, Barnes,” Sam had replied sternly, squeezing his shoulders a little tighter. “Five things you can see. Do it now.”

Bucky looked around the room, though it was blurry and tunneled and losing focus, he caught sight of a pair of gloves on the floor.

“G-gloves,”

“Good. Four more.”

“Ha-hammer,”

“Keep going,”

Bucky nodded, doing as Sam instructed until he named all five items he struggled to focus his blurring vision on.

Then, Sam asked him for four things he could feel. Shaking hands dug into the fabric of his jacket, felt the way Sam’s arms restricted around him, felt the hard of the wooden floors under him, the muggy heat of the air. He told Sam so.

“Three things you can hear,” Sam continued, “Come on, man, do you’re almost there.”

Bucky nodded, telling Sam he could hear his own heavy breaths, agents talking down the hall, Sam’s stupid, irritating voice. Sam laughed slightly at that and Bucky told him he heard that, too. It was getting easier to breath but his head was feeling numb.

Sam asked for two things he could smell.

Bucky took a minute, forced in a harsh, shaken breath through his nose and reported back, “f-fresh wood and leather, from your jacket.”

“One thing you can taste,”

It was the last step. He didn’t want to say it aloud. It was too embarrassing, though, he supposed Sam had already seen the worst of it.

“Salt.” From his tears.

It took him a while to come back down from the haze, so long that his head was pounding and his arm felt numb by the end of it, but his heart rate did go down again, and he caught his breath.

He pulled away from Sam slowly, swallowing thickly and avoiding his eyes. Sam helped Bucky back up to his feet and offered him a short smile.

They never spoke of it again, but Sam started showing up to help Bucky with the renovations the next day, no matter how many times Bucky pushed him away.

Sam would hum to himself in the corner of the room, asking dumb questions, and undoing all of Bucky’s hard work and it drove him insane. But he found that he laughed when Sam caught his thumb under the head of the hammer and he started to tap his foot to the music Sam put on.

The days weren’t as long now with someone to talk to.

***

Bucky had been assigned for lunch duty, much to his reluctance. He left Sam behind in the east wing and jogged his way back to their kitchen. His own stomach was growling, which was new for him, and he wondered if it was part of the progress Sam talked about. He was starting to feel normal again, less of a machine, more like the man he was supposed to be, and he supposed that maybe eating meals three times a day was something he should be doing.

He pulled open the fridge, digging through the back to find the sandwiches Nat had put together for them this morning. He sighed, removing the bags and setting them on the counter as he noticed their names written in her handwriting, signaling who’s had mayonnaise on it. He wanted to apologize to her for how he’d treated her in Brussels but she wouldn’t hear it. Not because she didn’t accept it, but because she claimed it wasn’t necessary. He disagreed.

After grabbing a few water bottles, Bucky turned to head back to the east wing when he heard Steve’s voice from down the hall.

“Tony, you’re seeing things,” Steve said, voice strained, followed by a few drawn out footsteps. He was pacing. Bucky narrowed his eyes, leaving the sandwiches behind and following Steve’s voice down the hall.

“I’m telling you, Rogers, there’s something wrong here,” Tony replied, just as Bucky turned the corner to find the two of them standing at the end of the conference room.

Bucky’s heart nearly leapt from his chest when he saw what they were huddled around; an image of you on the television, tape pressed over your mouth, tears down your face. It was the video from the worst day of his life.

“Look at it,” Tony urged, pointing his finger at the TV. “There’s a fleck of gold in her eye in this frame. It’s subtle but it’s there. Go on, look!”

Steve looked closer, leaning into the television to get a better look, but his arms were crossed. He pulled away with a shake of his head. “Tony, I think you’re grasping at straws here. It’s probably the lighting.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Tony grunted, picking up the remote and zooming in until the entire TV displayed your eyes. Bucky grabbed onto the wall for support. “Look!”

“What am I supposed to be seeing here Tony…”

“Those aren’t Y/n’s eyes!” Tony shouted, almost gleefully, “That’s not Y/n!”

“Stop,” Bucky exhaled from the doorway, and though his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, it instantly grabbed the attention of the two men as they turned around sharply, surprised to see him standing behind him. Bucky’s grip on the wall was so tight it started to warp under his grip. “Don’t do this, Stark.”

Tony stepped forward, quickly turning the TV off and your eyes faded away from the screen. “Barnes, I’m– I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Y/n’s dead,” Bucky gritted out, the words never any easier as they fell from his tongue. They tasted like poison in his mouth. “She’s gone, Tony. We all saw it happen.”

Tony paused, clenching his jaw like he was trying to keep quiet. It didn’t last long. “But what if we didn’t? What if it wasn’t her?”

“Tony, stop,” Steve warned. “There is nothing worse than false hope.”

“Then I’ll find proof,” Tony conceded as he exited the room.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over at Bucky nervously. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Buck. We all grieve in different ways and I think it’s just hitting Tony, you know? Think he’s struggling to believe it’s real.”

Bucky nodded, he knew the feeling well. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Steve smiled softly, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I know how hard this is but it feels like you’re starting to find yourself again. Y/n would be really proud of you.”

It was the first time he heard your name without wanting to scream and yell and throw himself into the dark embrace of the soldier. For the first time, he felt a sense of calm. Still, hurt in his chest, but it was a deep kind of longing he didn’t think would ever go away. It was something he could survive though, he thought.

“I feel like I owe it to her,” Bucky confessed carefully, voicing thoughts aloud he struggled to let himself process on his own, “to be the man she knew. I think… I think she’d want me to be okay. I’m not there. Hell, I’m really far from it, but it’s something I can work towards.”

“Something to keep you going?” Steve asked slowly.

It was only three weeks since Steve found him in Bratislava and brought him home, since Bucky had all but admitted to Steve he lost his will to live when you died. It was the reason he was asking now and Bucky nodded sincerely, sorry that he had scared Steve enough for him to still be questioning it.

“Besides, I gotta fix all the shit work Sam did in the east wing,” Bucky shrugged, a light hearted tone in his voice for the first time in months.

Steve snorted back a laugh. “Better get back to work then.”

***

Nights were still hard but he was getting better with them since he started going back to see his therapist. Steve’s jaw nearly hit the floor the day Bucky had asked him for a ride. It wasn’t easy and he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about you, but he learned new skills for evading the nightmares in his sleep, for controlling the panic attacks when they came. Turned out Sam’s method for counting the senses was legit and he figured he should thank him again for that if he got the courage.

He realized with the help of his therapist that you were his main coping skill. It was you that talked him down after his nightmares, that held him when he struggled to find reality when he opened his eyes again. It was you who coaxed him down when he struggled to breathe, when he couldn’t catch his breath and he was too lightheaded to stand. You were the glue that held him together and now he needed to learn how to pick up the pieces himself.

So, when he woke in the middle of the night with sweat on his skin and his heart pounding painfully in his chest, he immediately threw his jacket over his shoulders, tugged on a pair of jeans and sneakers and tried something new for a change.

Instead of stalking off to the gym to beat his knuckles raw on a punching bag, he decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars and head into the city. It wasn’t usually something he did alone; too afraid of the stares and the chaos, the unpredictability, but it was a place that reminded him of you and he wondered, for the first time, if maybe it was okay to follow your ghost.

Hands tucked tight into the pockets of his bomber and a baseball cap over his hair to obscure his eyes, he made his way through Brooklyn. The breeze was cool on his back, the city much quieter at this time of night, and there was an era of peace to it he didn’t expect to find.

Without realizing where he was going, he found himself in front of the bookshop you had dragged him to in his first trip back into the city since before the war. It was closed for the night, but something in the window caught his attention. It was a poster, hung on the door behind the glass, an image of your face upon it, smiling, almost mid laugh. Above it, in clear font, it read, ‘New York Does Not Forget.’ Below, it the bottom corner of the page, scribbles of messy handwriting wrote, ‘even if she was a pain in my ass. RIP’.

Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he brushed his fingers over the glass, like touching it would bring him just a little closer to you. He could still see you arguing with the shop owner over when the building was built and the gleeful smile on your face when he conceded the argument. You still purchased all of your books here and Bucky knew it was a lot. Your feud with the owner was only in jest.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky let his hand fall away from the glass and back into his pocket. He shuffled back onto the sidewalk and followed the path wherever it led him.

Eventually he came upon a street with more people than he’d seen in a while. They huddled together at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and then as one, they all crossed the street heading down towards something beyond what Bucky could see. He narrowed his eyes, watching as people from every corner of the block seemed to be heading in the same direction. They were all going somewhere together.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky jogged across the crosswalk with a few seconds to spare. He followed the crowd down several blocks until he came upon a massive crowd, all gathered at the center of an open park. Signs in their hands, candles illuminating the darkness.

“Five months to the day,” a speaker said from behind a microphone, though her voice was soft, reserved. The crowd was silent as they listened. “Five months since we lost one of our beloved heroes.”

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath, jaw clenching on reflex.

“Nearly seven since she was captured while on duty with the Avengers, doing her part, behind the scenes, to keep the people of this country safe from threat,” the woman continued and Bucky was frozen in his spot. “We are gathered tonight to remember her sacrifice.”

Bucky couldn’t move. He was frozen on the sidewalk, staring into the gathering like an outsider. He didn’t belong here. Shouldn’t be a part of something like this. He struggled every day trying to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, tried to hear it in your voice because he knew it would be what you’d say, but it was a constant fight, one he rarely won.

He turned to escape when he felt a tug on his jacket. No one ahead of him, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously until he felt the tug again. Looking down, he saw a girl no older than seven staring up at him; big dark eyes and curly brown hair pulled up in a large bun at the crown of her head. She smiled up at him like he wasn’t something to be feared.

“You need a candle?” she asked sweetly.

“I—I um,” he gaped nervously, eyes darting down the street to somewhere empty, quiet, and he turned back to the little girl who was holding a candle up for him, waiting patiently for him to take it. He swallowed despite the dryness in his throat. “Thanks.”

She grinned, smile beaming, and that was when Bucky noticed she was wearing a shirt with your insignia on it. He let out a heavy sigh and watched as the girl skipped back over to her mom as she stood at the edge of the parking passing out candles to those who entered.

Trying to get a hold of himself, Bucky tilted the brim of his cap down to shield his eyes and he made his way into the park. He kept a careful distance from the others the best he could, but soon the small greenery was filled with people.

“Agent Y/l/n was more than just an Avenger,” the woman’s voice carried through the crowd, “she was a New Yorker. She was one of us.”

Murmurs of agreement followed, people whispering to one another and raising their candles.

“If you saw her on the streets, she’d greet you like an old friend. She was exceptionally kind and cared more about her city and the people in it than anyone knew,” the woman said as the crowd nodded in response. The woman let out a heavy sigh. “She was lost to us too soon. Taken by the evil she worked so vigilantly to protect us all from.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and he looked down to find the candle snapped in his hand. Panic shook him from his trance and he glanced nervously around to see if anyone noticed. He couldn’t afford to stand out, couldn’t have people looking at him, knowing he was there. He was certain he’d be chased out.

“Hey,” a voice said beside him and Bucky’s whole body clenched up. He turned to find a kid who looked about the age he was when he was drafted; young and in a NYU hoodie. He pressed his lips out into a thin line and extended his candle to Bucky. “Take mine.”

Bucky stared at the candle for a moment before he turned to the young man. He recognized Bucky, that he was sure of, but there wasn’t a trace of fear in his eye, or a disdain he was so certain he would find. Instead, there was only condolence, a sad smile as he gestured for Bucky to take the candle.

“Thank you,” he muttered and the kid nodded, giving him a reassuring smile.

Bucky felt a little less out of place after that.

He stood there for hours, listening to the woman at the microphone he’d come to find out was named Maddie. She worked down at the Boys and Girls Club and knew you personally. Bucky learned for the first time that you spent a Saturday afternoon there once a month visiting the kids, playing games, and teaching self-defense. He hadn’t known that and it made him smile; the idea that he could still learn new things about you even after you’d gone.

He listened as Maddie passed the mic off to people as they lined up on the stage of the small, makeshift stage, and they told stories of the short encounters they had with you. He listened as a young, college aged woman told the crowd about when she accidentally spilled coffee on you in that café you’d brought Bucky to once, and how you had been nothing but kind and laughed it off easily, even offered to buy her a fresh cup.

Then, a teenage boy came to the stage, fumbling and nervous, but he grabbed the mic with as much courage as he could muster. He talked about the day Hydra agents had flooded the streets and he had been separated from his father when he was just ten years old. It was before your days as an Avenger, back when you were on a SHIELD ops team, and he was proud to have a story about you from that time.

He spoke about how you had swept him out of the way of an oncoming vehicle caught in the crossfire of an attack in mid-town, how you held his hand for the two hours it took to help locate his father, and you never once complained, never tried to pass him off to an officer because he was just so damn afraid of anyone but you.

Bucky’s heart swelled with pride and he barely noticed the tear that brushed down his cheek.

It was story after story, strangers recalling the absolute best of you and it was more than Bucky had allowed himself to indulge in your memory for months. It was a breath of air and it was suffocating. It was relief and burden all at once.

As a middle-aged woman took the stage and recalled the day she was visiting Times Sqaure with her daughter, the day your face appeared on every billboard for a mile long, Bucky swore his heart stopped. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, desperate to hide his face because tears had welled up in his eyes, a sob creeping its way through his spine.

He gasped against the lump in his throat, trying to stifle his cries before anyone could notice and he almost turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Wide eyes snapped to his right and he was met with a familiar face, a comforting one, who only offered him a soft, sad smile before he took his place next to him, carrying a candle of his own.

Steve.

He stared up at the speaker, listening intently and Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of his friend.

“How did you–”

“FRIDAY,” he responded in a light whisper. He gestured to the back gate. “Once we figured out where you went, the whole team wanted to come.”

Sure enough, as Bucky glanced back at the gate, Natasha was gathering a few candles from the greeter. Sam was shortly behind her, talking with a young boy wearing a Falcon t-shirt, while Tony and Pepper walked hand in hand towards them.

Bucky nodded, a little overwhelmed as he turned back to the front. Steve’s hand gripped at his shoulder, firm squeezes in an effort to remind him he was there, that he wasn’t alone in his grief. The tears didn’t stop as he continued listening to the speakers, but they didn’t hurt as much after that, didn’t feel like shameful burns on his skin, but instead, like they were healing.  

***

It was nearly dawn by the time the team made their way back to the compound. Climbing out of the cars, Steve’s arm was thrown around Bucky’s shoulders, laughing about some story Sam had told about the time you had nearly convinced Thor that you were the Queen of New York. For the first time in months, Bucky had tears in his eyes from something other than heartbreak, cheeks burning with laughter.

The sun was rising in the distance, casting a stunning reflection of pale oranges and pinks and yellows over the tree line, and Bucky stopped for a moment, just letting himself take it in, to see something of beauty again. Steve clapped his hand against Bucky’s back, giving him a smile that was filled with of pride and relief.

Bucky wondered then if maybe he could find a way back to the light.

But then, a scream pierced through the grounds and Bucky’s heart stopped hard in his chest. It echoed and broke through the tree lines, surging birds in flight through the morning sky. Broken and fearful and full of a devastation Bucky didn’t even know how to place, he stumbled back out of Steve’s grip.

Steve sprinted towards the scream and Bucky quickly realized it was Natasha who had voiced such a sound. Shaking himself from his stupor, Bucky chased after Steve, running as fast as his feet could carry him because if anything was to scare Natasha like that, it had to be some awful, something truly terrifying and she’d need the entire team on alert.

It was only a few seconds before Bucky approached the rest of the team to find them gathered around something on the floor. Natasha was on her knees, gathering something up in her arms, though she was blocked from his view by the rustling crowd approaching. Tony was barking orders at agents as they approached with a kind of panic in his voice Bucky hadn’t heard before.

“Someone call Cho, now!”

Cho? Why would they need to call Cho, Bucky wondered as he glanced at Steve’s back only to find his muscles stiff, clenched.

“How the hell is this possible?” Sam gaped; his hands clasped on his head as he stared down in disbelief.

Bucky still couldn’t get a good look of whatever they were gawking at, but as Steve turned to face him, an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes wide and his lips parted in a loss of words, speechless in a way Steve Rogers never was, Bucky shoved his way forward until he caught sight of what laid at their feet.

Heart plummeting to the depths of the planet itself, knees weak and he nearly collapsed if it wasn’t for Steve’s sudden hold on him. Barely able to stand on his own feet, leaning heavily on the super soldier behind him, Bucky couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t even find it in him to scream or cry or speak a single word.

It was the culmination of months of heartbreak and anger and pain all shoved back into the span of a few seconds. Nothing he had experienced in the last seven months came anywhere close to this, to what he saw wrapped in Natasha’s arms, bloodied and scarred and teetering on the edge of consciousness, but so incredibly alive.

You.

—-

This was one of my favorite chapters to write. idk why that says about me but I loved writing Bucky in so much pain and going through stages of healing lol

Your feedback has been so wonderful and encouraging and I cant tell you how much every comment and reblog means to me so thank you! We clearly have more to go so hold on tight my friends 💕

tags 🕯@musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13 / @thefandomplace / @wxstedhexrt /  @jennmurawski13 / @galaxkay / @moonlessnight14/ @kittybritty7 / @sweetheartbarnes

[eldritcharchive]

6 and or 5 for the cliche tropes prompt? With any of the others if you like? Or any of them, really. They all seem so soft and I would love to read whatever you come up with, no matter the ship.

Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted and/or Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap

Going to go ahead and write Jaskel because h e l l it’d be cute

Witchers didn’t have nightmares. That’s common knowledge; ask any villager or king or bard and they’ll all tell you that witchers were, at best, immune to that sort of fear, or at worst, the cause of every nightmare on the continent through dark magic. In the School of the Wolf, most instructors intoned similar beliefs - witchers don’t feel fear, such a thing is a weakness that will lead to death on the Path. Only Vesemir, later, when Eskel and Geralt and, later, Lambert passed the trials, taught them that a bit of fear was healthy, kept you grounded. But he never covered nightmares.

Eskel definitely had nightmares.

They were different from the vaguely prophetic dreams Geralt suffered through, less vivid, so Eskel never brought them up with his brother. He had enough to deal with between finding Ciri and the end of the world. Eskel could get through this alone.

Of course, that was before a certain bard made his way to Kaer Morhen with Zoltan Chivay.

Jaskier always entered the keep like a loud, colorful storm, slamming doors if it suited him, demanding attention with his presence. It was late, and Eskel was the only one in the main keep, still cleaning off the table of discarded katakan bits when the bard kicked one of the large doors open.

“Eskel!” Jaskier yelled, his melodious voice echoing against the cavernous walls of Kaer Morhen’s main room. Eskel looked up and registered the skip in Jaskier’s step as he picked up the pace, the scent of relief and warmth wafting off of him as got closer. “Vesemir said you might not be around. I’m glad he was incorrect in that regard.”

“Had a katakan corpse to take care of,” Eskel said, smirking when Jaskier blanched at the faint smell of rot. For someone who boasted about his travels with Geralt, Jaskier really wasn’t used to the less exciting parts of the Path. Still, he had a fondness for the bard. When Jaskier was close enough, Eskel yanked him into a tight hug; Jaskier yelped but settled into the embrace quickly, looping his arms around Eskel’s neck. “Missed you,” Eskel murmured as he nosed Jaskier’s hair, reveling in the bards familiar sage and chamomile scent.

“I missed you, too, Eskel,” Jaskier said, his warm breath ghosting against Eskel’s neck in such a way that the witcher shivered a bit involuntarily. Jaskier leaned back against Eskel’s arms and smiled. “Have you eaten yet, dear?”

“Had some stew earlier. I think there’s meat and cheese in the pantry,” Eskel said, nodding towards the kitchen, running his hands down Jaskier’s sides. “You hungry?”

“Gods, yes, Zoltan wouldn’t let us stop for food on the way up here.” Jaskier slipped out of Eskel’s grasp with a grin. “And please, for the love of Melitele, tell me  you have alcohol that was not brewed by Lambert in a tub.”

“Ehhh,” Eskel said, making a waffling gesture with his hand. Jaskier danced around the kitchen gathering meat, cheese, and any fruit he could find while Eskel got them both drinks. He managed to find a nice bottle of vodka Geralt had stashed in his trunk and grabbed the two cleanest mugs from the table. (He’d buy him a better bottle later. Probably.) Jaskier swaggered out of the kitchen with a loaded up plate and fell into step with Eskel. “Yennifer and Triss have the large guest room,” Eskel said, “We’ll have to settle for one of the smaller rooms.”

“As long as it’s not your bunks in the main room,” Jaskier muttered, “and warmer.”

“Wouldn’t bet on warmer.”

They both crowded into the room and Eskel kicked the door shut, leaving the vodka and mugs on the bookcase by the door. Jaskier sat down at a small table at the far wall near the fireplace and started dividing up the food as Eskel pulled out a set of furs and started working on a fire.

“Is that Geralt’s nice vodka?” Jaskier asked.

“Yeah, I’ll owe him one.”

The pair ate and talked about Jaskier’s pub in Novigrad, his friend Priscilla and the higher vampire that attacked her (”Really it was a miracle Geralt even found him out, apparently he had to track formaldehyde? He may have also killed the guy in charge of the mortuary, but to be fair, that guy was torturing the fine young ladies at Crippled Kate’s so I gave Geralt a pass on this one..”). Eskel filled Jaskier in on his more interesting contracts until the two men ran out of light things to talk about.

Jaskier began composing quietly to himself while Eskel reviewed his bestiary on the bed. It wasn’t long before the stress of the past few weeks caught up with Eskel, and he found himself dozing off.

He was strapped to a table - to Sad Albert - and his veins, his skin were on fire, melting but frustratingly whole. The Decoctions of the Grasses poured into into him as tall black figures watched. When he turned, he saw Geralt thrashing around in the distance as they changed out the normal decoctions for the experimental ones. Screams echoed throughout the keep. And then he was one of the dark figures, opening up the veins of Uma, and then faceless children, pumping poison into them with a cool indifference. Over and over again for eternity.

Eskel gasped awake, sitting up and sending his bestiary clattering to the ground. Jaskier jumped a bit, looking at Eskel with wide eyes; the witcher folded in on himself and pressed his hands to his face.

“Eskel? Are you alright?” Jaskier asked, approaching the bed slowly. Eskel shook his head. “Nightmare?”

“Witchers don’t have nightmares,” Eskel mumbled through his hands. Jaskier sighed dramatically and clambered onto the bed behind Eskel; the witcher felt the mattress dip behind him.

“That is the most witcher bullshit I’ve heard since Geralt told me he didn’t need people,” Jaskier murmured. “Scoot down, lay your head in my lap.” Eskel shot Jaskier a look over his shoulder - the bard looked back at him with worry, but the type of seriousness in his eyes that told Eskel that arguing would be useless. He sighed and moved such that his head was nestled in Jaskier’s lap.

Hands were in his hair immediately, Jaskier’s nails scratching over Eskel’s scalp, letting brunette strands slip through his fingers. He didn’t talk, just kept humming the tune he was composing earlier as tension slowly eased out of Eskel. The room was warm, the fire slowly dying, and Eskel felt... safe.

“You know Geralt gets nightmares, too,” Jaskier murmured, slowly messaging over Eskel’s temple, smiling when the witcher’s eyes slipped close.

“‘S different. His are... important. Real.”

“And yours aren’t?”

Eskel opened his eyes and looked up at Jaskier and huffed humorously. “It... was about the Trial of the Grasses. Reliving it. The trial breaks you down so the older witchers can rebuild you with mutagens. We had to... in order to find out where Ciri was. Geralt and I had to administer it,” Eskel looked away from Jaskier as he explained. “It... when we were younger, trying to survive the aftermath of the Trial, I promised Geralt we’d never...” Eskel trailed off.

Jaskier brushed his fingers down Eskel’s cheek, holding him gently. Eskel expected him to judge him, to admonish him for his actions or condemn his weakness. Instead, he felt the sudden drip of tears on his forehead.

“Jask...”

“No, stop,” Jaskier said sternly. “It is... I’m sorry you had to break your promise to Geralt. You must’ve succeeded - Geralt told me he knows where Ciri is.”

“Yeah, the elf is recovering in Vesemir’s room.”

Jaskier nodded, sniffing slightly, trying to stem the tide of tears. “This is really serious, isn’t it?” He asked, voice only cracking a little bit. “Geralt... he never gives me details and I wanted to come see you just in case... And if you’re doing something like that then...”

Eskel reached up and cupped Jaskier’s cheek. “Jaskier, look at me,” he said, and met Jaskier’s eyes, pulling Jaskier down for a soft, chaste kiss. When Jaskier pulls away, Eskel maintains eye contact. “This is going to be a hard road. You can’t be here when Geralt gets back.”

“I know, I just -”

“I’m glad you came,” Eskel said, and Jaskier stared back at him. “Whatever... whatever this is, I’m glad you came.”

“I love you, Eskel,” Jaskier whispered back. “Please promise me you’ll try very hard not to die.”

“I promise to try my hardest.” Eskel pulled Jaskier down and held him against his chest, and used Igni to douse the fire. Safely ensconced under layers of furs, Eskel pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s nape before adding, “I love you, too.”

[anxiousfanchild]

Since people liked my Teruteru posts, I’m going to be listing every character in V1 and V2 and saying if they are overrated or underrated and why. WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOTH GAMES/ANIME

V1:

Junko: overrated, obviously. She’s very pretty but other then that? Not the best lmao?? Abused and manipulated Mikan and Mukuro

Makoto: Boring, was carried through the whole game by kirigiri. Not even all that funny in the anime, he’s just a boring kid.

Togami: A spoiled rich boy that messed with poor Chihiro’s body. He’s cute but a total asshole and a twink (derogatory). He should have been a victim.

Toko: I love her personality and her design is very pretty, but the way they are further demonizing DID with her character is horrible and I do not stan. 

Leon: Underrated boy, everyone gives him a lot of shit for being the first murderer. He’s cute, he’s got a funky lil shirt (that he shares with nagito?) and hes got some scottish roots like me. A good boi (minus the fact he killed someone.) 

Maizono: Overrated, shes not even all that pretty. The REAL musical ultimate was Ibuki and you can’t convince me otherwise. 

Hifumi: He never did anything *wrong* in v1, but he gives off this horrible vibe. Probably has a body pillow of Kisa from Fruits Basket or smth gross like that. 

Kiyotaka: In the fandom, his personality has been muddled down to “old gay man” but lets be real, if this dude wasnt in a killing game, he’d be a c*p (o)

Aoi: Her personality is literally eating and big boobs and closed lesbian. Not a fleshed out character and honestly, Sakura should have survived, not her. 

Mondo: You’ve heard of mommy and daddy issues, now get ready for “I accidently killed my big brother when he gave me his biker gang when I was literally 15 years old and now I lay awake for nights thinking about and on top of that I might be gay and oh my god I just got turned into butter.” issues

Yasuhiro: 100% underrated. Is there colorism in the fact he’s one of the only dark skinned characters in this series and his personality is literally “spout off random bullshit and have the whole fandom think i’m a druggie?” yeah, but if i remember correctly, in the anime, he’s actually really smart or something? (in the second anime, not the first.) And he was really kind when he was taking care of Kiyotaka when Mondo died. He’s a good character, minus the obvious racial stereotypes

Sakura: Deserved to live. She was a great friend to Aoi and sacrificed herself so her friend could keep going. She’s a good gorl. 

Chihiro: Prefacing this with I’m a Chihiro Kinnie: overrated and everyone in the fandom sexualizes him. Or headcanons him as mtf or nonbinary. It literally explains why he dresses as a girl (he was v v weak and sickly so if he convinced everyone he was a girl, they wouldnt pick on him for being a weak boy). Headcanon what you want, but dont come at me with the “hE wAnTs To Be A GiRl” cause youre literally erasing his entired character and the REASON mondo was able to kill him. 

Celestia: She’s so creepy and mean? and not even in a cool way I just don’t like her. If Junko wasnt the mastermind behind this game, it totally would have been celestia. Manipulated Hifumi, framed Yasuhiro, and killed Hifumi and Kiyotaka. Not a fan with the double kill tbh

Kirigiri: I personally don’t like her cause she has no personality beyond “gotta solve this mystery like im fuckin scooby doo” and “I can’t believe its daddy issues!”

Mukuro: literally wants to fuck her sister. No. 

V2: (I’m not finished with it yet, just finished the Mikan trial) 

Teruteru: underrated and over villainized. he’s literally a horny teenager and was just trying to a) protect everyone from nagito cause he thought twogami was nagito and b) just wanted his mom. 

Nagito: literally insane lol. If I hear him say anything else about hope, I’m going to scream. 

Nekomaru: No personality minus “I need to take a shit”

Akane: (see Aoi) they are literally the same character

Ibuki: overrated, but I can see why. She was really nice and cool. (I also have an Ibuki interject in my system so I can’t really bad mouth her.)

Mikan: Annoying at most. If Junko didnt hurt her, she probably wouldnt have killed anyone. 

Chiaki: I get.... v bad vibes from her, but I also kin her so its an odd toss up

Hajime: Whole personality is “fuck off nagito” and “orange juice in a wine glass” 

Mahiru: No my favorite, I didnt really like her, but she was really nice to Hiyoko so she’s okay in my book. 

Hiyoko: Underrated because no one takes into consideration: she is litearlly like 16 or 17, shes under 5 feet tall, she’s never gone through a killing game before, shes probably terrified. Thats why she’s mean. And she’s not even mean to everyone, just to Mikan really (who didnt deserve if but she was a really easy target)

Fuyuhiko: boss baby, tiny boy, underrated. He lost his sister and his best friend, let him be. 

Peko: Eh?? if she didnt have a literal slave mentality she’d be cool (and i dont think it was hiko’s fault, cause there are many times where he was just trying to treat peko like a friend and she was in full human shield mode.) 

Gundham: nice design, but the theatrics are getting on my nerves. Whats with the hamsters? I like his scarf though

Kazuichi: literally a giant perv, but i like his design and I have a small soft spot for pervy characters. If he would have left Sonia alone, he would have been an okay character. 

Sonia: overrated, annoying, would fuck ted bundy and run a true crime blog on this gods damn website. Not a good girl and I’m surprised she hasnt killed kazuichi yet. 

I dont think I missed anyone so here you go. Read it and weep /j