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intrepidacious · 1 month ago

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time after time [8]

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

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.3k

chapter warnings: Angsty with a capital A; suicidal ideation and attempted suicide (within the context of ending a time loop); finally, some big conversations are being had. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i wasn't sure whether i really wanted to post this one tonight, but you know what? i've missed this story. so here you go.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

eight: edge of tomorrow

On the good days, life at the Compound felt like a dream.

The world was a mess, but you’d found your own little corner in it, and despite the long hours and the high pressure, you felt happy for the first time in ages. Trusting others did wonders for your confidence.

In turn, you felt like you had a good grip on your powers most of the time now.

Natasha was the one who helped you focus them the most. She seemed to understand something about them that you had never considered yourself, and the more you trained together, the more balanced you felt.

Your reaction time shortened. Your reflexes grew more instinctual, your fighting movements smoothened. It was a slow process, arduous and mostly the opposite of fun; learning that you were of no use to anyone when you were through all the resets you could manage had been one of the hardest lessons so far, especially since you could never predict when you’d reach that point.

But despite all that, you felt yourself getting better. Stronger, too. And almost never fainting after overextending yourself anymore.

You’d always had lots of time, but now, you also had people you cared about. It was a new thing again, a strange feeling, but good.

You’d do almost anything to keep it.

Most nights, you went to bed with a smile, but it vanished some time after you fell asleep.

Usually, your nightmares looked like this: You were walking through a bright void, and as you walked on, you realized you were surrounded by mirrors, an endless labyrinth of them. Each of your mirror selfs was turning a different direction as you walked, seemingly aimless, all of them chattering to themselves or each other, words you couldn't quite understand growing louder and louder until you were surrounded by a whirlwind of noise that shook you ever which way until you didn’t know up from down anymore.

None of you seemed to have any idea where you were trying to go, and slowly, your breaths grew more panicked as you realized that you still felt a presence, somewhere above you; something malicious.

And you felt it steering you like you were its lost little puppet on a string, around and around, until you felt the heat of flames licking at your skin and your world set on fire, the mirrors splintering into a million pieces.

You were aware that you should be in pain, but your mind was only set on dread, twisting its icy fingers into your heart and pulling. There was no space to feel hurt; this was a twisted torture chamber crafted from fear and living from fear and allowing nothing else but fear.

When you woke up, you’d be drenched in sweat and hollowed out, your throat sore even though you couldn’t remember screaming. Hell was an endless, empty place, and when you sat up in bed in the middle of the night, you’d have to give yourself a couple of minutes before you got out of bed on shaky legs and snuck outside.

You had been living at the Compound long enough you knew how to slip past super soldier ears and spy instincts unnoticed. The hallway seemed even emptier than usual at this time, almost like it had been crafted from another nightmare.

This one was dark, though, soft and gentle, so maybe it wasn’t as bad.

When the doors finally opened, you gulped down a greedy breath of fresh air, reality finally settling into you again. You sat down on the front stairs, wrapped your arms around your knees and looked at the sky.

It was cloudy, but every now and then, you could see the stars peeking through. It soothed your heart and made it feel sore at the same time.

You heard the door open behind you, but you didn’t turn your head. Light steps approached you, legs crossing next to where you were sitting, and half of a heavy blanket was wrapped around your shoulders.

"You’re like a living ice block," Natasha complained quietly as she bumped into your side.

You chuckled quietly, wriggling your naked toes. "Why are you up?"

"You’re not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Sorry," you said, tilting your head to the side so she could rest her head on your shoulder. "Did I wake you?"

"It’s alright," she yawned. "It was either you or Steve’s snoring."

The man did sleep like a locomotive. Neither of you were going to say anything about it, though. It was nice to hear he finally got some sleep again at all. Even if he might as well have put FRIDAY up to make an announcement.

You were nearing the fourth anniversary of the Snap. That fact alone was hard on all of you, but you felt guilty for another reason.

"Nat?" you said, and she hummed. "You know, my life’s been a lot better since … since I got here."

That wasn’t what you were going to say initially, but the truth felt too selfish. Too unfair. What did your happiness mean in the face of half the universe disappearing?

"You’re sweet," she mumbled, but you didn’t feel that way at all. What you felt was a harsh knot in your stomach at all times, because how was it you had spent the last couple of years? You’d found a new family. You’d laughed more times than you could count, found purpose in your powers again, learned to take up a space you considered your own, free of the burdens of anyone else’s rules or commands.

The only thing still haunting you were your dreams, and even they were easy to forget when you were awake. It didn’t seem right. How come you got to be so lucky in the face of all this tragedy?

"Nightmare again?" Natasha asked quietly.

"Yeah," you answered, staring out at the black lake. "You?"

"Yup." She sighed and stretched out her arms. "Wanna go get donuts for breakfast?"

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. "That’s the best idea you’ve had all week."

"That’s hurtful. It’s Friday."

"I said what I said."

It all felt too good to be true, and you knew it.

When was the second shoe going to drop?

* * * * *

"In other fun news," you tell Bucky as you are sitting cross-legged in the astral plane, on the edge of the bed he isn’t using, "apparently we have been underestimating our delivery guy."

He frowns in his sleep and you chuckle at the timeliness of it. Alpine whines at you.

"I know," you tell her earnestly. "Haven’t I always said that the wizard guys are bad news?"

You roll your eyes, continuing to flick through the pages of one of the ancient tomes that have come to live on the right side of Bucky’s bed. Ever since Strange’s disappearance, you’ve fallen into a new sort of routine, coming in here to conduct your research and feel at least a little less alone.

Even if you’re just fooling yourself.

Despite your best efforts, Alpine has proven not to be much of a conversationalist or particularly interested in magical theory. She’s mostly taken to flopping down on the bed next to you and falling soundly asleep as soon as the pretty green lights twinkling on your fingertips have ceased to be interesting. Honestly, you’re jealous.

"Anyway," you continue, uncapping your pen. "I feel like I’m on the right track, but I still can’t figure out why the last try didn’t do anything."

According to everything you’ve read, it makes no sense for a reaction of that impact not to have made any sort of dent on the loop. It’s possible that it simply is a case of a slower, gradual deterioration of its structure, but you’ve been stuck here far too long already. You are sick of waiting.

The fact that you’re only making tediously slow progress on your reading doesn’t exactly help either; but these grimoires are just so boring. You don’t understand half of the things written in them, and the rest of the time you have to literally catch the sentences before they are trying to slip away from you onto the next page.

Frankly, being a wizard full-time must be exhausting.

You’re not about to pity Strange of all people, though, especially not when a drawing of the time stone catches your eye before the ink has a chance to fade away. Quickly, you snap your fingers and create the tiniest of orbs on the tip of your thumb, leaning over the book.

In the emerald light, the illustration stays where it’s supposed to be, even though the lines blur a little in protest underneath your translucent hands. The words surrounding the stone appear to describe some sort of ritual, requiring all kinds of horrible-sounding ingredients and complicated incantations as well as—

You jerk the book away from you so violently it falls on the floor, missing Bucky’s head by a hair’s breadth. Alpine flinches, hissing miserably at the intrusion.

Bad news might have still been an understatement, you think as you try to breathe calmly again. This was a brush from the past you do not appreciate. Not at all.

"I don’t know how much longer I can do this," you say, hiding your face in your hands. "Maybe this reality is just doomed to collapse and I have to accept that."

Something soft bumps through your elbow and you sigh. Alpine has been uncharacteristically affectionate with you ever since you started seeing her in the astral dimension. Her eyes are somber when you look at her, as if in reaction to your distress.

"I’m quite a mess, huh?" you murmur, and she doesn’t even attempt to scratch you when you pat her head. She purrs quietly.

One glance at the alarm clock tells you it won’t be long until Bucky gets up. Those last couple of minutes before he wakes are the worst for him, muscles twitching with the visions his nightmares are putting him through. You wish you could make it any easier on him, but there’s nothing you can do.

"I think your dad was tagging the other day," you tell the cat.

Of all the recent tiny changes in the loop, the absolute worst ones are what you’ve dubbed the TAGs—temporary awareness glitches.

They never last more than a couple of minutes, but that doesn’t make them any less painful. Hearing the words, "Haven’t we done this before?" from a random stranger at a crossing made you almost topple over the first time. Then, there are the murmured "I think I’m going crazy"s and "It’s just a dream"s when you pass people in the street; not every day, and never the same person twice, but still more often than you’d like.

The whole part with a certain Peter Parker telling you that he knows all of you and you’ve simply forgotten him because of sorcery—only for him to not recall any of it the next time he delivers food to your doorstep—doesn’t exactly help this maddening situation, especially not when Sam squints at you in the ring one morning and says, "Something’s weird."

He’s forgotten about it all again by the time he gets out of the shower, and fuck, you think you might be going green with envy.

It’s the TAGs that make you double down on your studies, because even more than unexplained celestial phenomena and little time skips here and there, they seem like a pretty tell-tale sign that your universe isn’t holding up so well.

You keep scratching Alpine’s head with one hand while picking up the book from the floor with the other, suppressing a shudder going up your spine as you flip the page over.

You manage to scrape together a couple of measly notes on energy flow and general power recovery, which you then copy to your own sleeping body’s naked arms before bringing yourself back into the present. The notes are still there in this reality, and if you touched your skin, the ink would smear. It’s a mystery to you how the timing of it all works out, but it’s not one you’re going to waste your time and focus on.

Especially not because it’s already way later than you usually wake up.

Cursing, you stumble to your feet, slipping out of your loungewear and pulling on your combat suit. This is usually how it goes these days, with you telling Sam through the door that you need "just a couple more minutes" while already being fully dressed, letting yourself catch your breath and shut off your mind for the mission to come.

You’ve been doing this too damn long.

With a last tug at your gloves to make sure that your rings aren’t getting stuck, you flop down on the edge of your unmade bed, ready for the knock to come.

Except … it doesn’t.

You keep looking at the clock with a frown, as if that would change the fact that it’s almost five now and the hallway stays silent. At 5:04, you risk a look outside despite your get-up. Everything is dead quiet, even though you normally leave in precisely seven minutes and Bucky is notoriously noisy when doing his final weapons check.

"Guys?" you call out hesitantly. No one answers.

When you make your way downstairs, the shield is no longer leaning against the kitchen cabinets, and there’s an empty spot on the shelf where Bucky keeps his combat boots.

You have a terrible feeling about this.

Your hands are starting to get clammy, so you pull the gloves off impatiently, dropping them on the couch table. This time, when you look at your phone, there’s a new message.

Cap 🫡: New lead re lab. Taking J and the grump, u rest up!

You turn and run back upstairs.

At the end of the top floor hallway, there’s a narrow metal staircase leading to the private roof. It’s not very interesting; the space is cramped due to the solar panels that power the last remaining quinjet in the small hangar. Most plants you’ve tried growing up there have long since died, the wind relentlessly tearing at hair and vines alike. The latch is kept closed at all times unless someone is up there.

It’s open now.

When you burst outside, you’re still hoping against all odds. Expecting the jet gearing up for take-off, or Bucky and Sam loading the supplies into the back, looking at you oddly, the exhausted "did you jump again" look on their faces.

But there’s nothing there, not even a dark spec of the craft in sight against the beautiful sunset.

They’re long gone.

* * *

You don’t know what to do.

You can feel yourself spiraling, your heart racing as you stumble back down the narrow stairs, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to fix this.

This isn’t just a small, inconsequential glitch like all the others have been; this is a shift in the narrative of the entire day. If you’re not with them during that mission, all kinds of things could happen. Maybe the white jacket from that very first time gets him again, or maybe Riff finds a new target for their knives, or maybe …

Or maybe it means Bucky will live.

Maybe that’s the possibility you’ve never dared to consider; that you might have to take yourself out of the picture entirely for him to have a fighting chance. Give up what little control over the situation you have left and let them try to get through this without you.

It’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before.

Your feet find their way to Bucky’s room faster than you can consciously catch up with them, and even though you expect it to be locked, the door swings open easily.

The astral plane couldn’t have prepared you for this: it smells like him in here. Warm and safe, just like you remember his embrace. The way the room feels to you is a vast contrast to the way it looks; the walls are even paler when they’re not warping around the edge of your vision, Bucky’s absence emphasized by the fact that he hasn’t put his mark on anything in here at all.

There’s a cat-shaped indent on the right side of the bed, and a couple of white hairs on the carpet. Even Alpine is gone, though. The whole apartment is uncannily quiet, in a way it’s never been on this particular Friday.

It’s almost like it used to be before anyone but you lived here, and you hate it.

You sit down on the floor next to the bed and lean your head back until it touches the bedding, hands twitching for your phone. There’s never been a reason for you to call him before; you’ve mostly had one-sided text conversations about picking up dinner and taking out the trash. You’re not even sure what you’d want to tell him. Don’t die without me?

This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t even try.

There’s a clicking sound when he picks up, and then more silence. Breathing. You can hear your own heartbeat rushing through your head.

Five seconds pass, ten, maybe more. Neither of you says anything, as if both of you have run out of things to say long ago. Maybe there’s nothing left to say today.

"Please come home."

The word seems unfamiliar on your tongue, but it’s never sounded more true. Despite time repeating endlessly, despite the empty walls and untold truths. Home.

There’s an admission hidden inside its four letters that feels, to you at least, a little like removing the mask you’ve been wearing, even though there’s no one here to see, even though he won’t get it.

You can hear Bucky exhale slowly, almost like a sigh, and then he hangs up. You throw your phone across the room, watch it break as it skitters across the floor, and then you cover your eyes and you hope.

What an ill-placed sentiment.

Your head is jolted forward and you sit up in bed with the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and you don’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. Minutes pass, days, weeks. It’s still July 4th. The green band of symbols is still slowly winding across your wrist.

Not going with them didn’t change a damn thing about his situation, and now you’re going to have to pretend all over agai—

There’s a pounding at the door, but before you can call out to Sam like you always do, you hear a different voice from the hall. "Open up."

You stumble out of bed, more falling over than walking to open the door. Bucky is standing on the other side, his chest heaving, blue eyes refusing to meet yours but narrowing at the sight of you. Alive.

Again.

The shock of it is enough to make you huff. It makes something flicker in his eye, but you can’t make any sense of it. Your heartbeat is way too loud to focus on anything at all, anything but the sweat on his brow and the harsh tick in his jaw, his teeth grinding so hard it must hurt.

"What the fuck," he says quietly, and your hand flies to your arm. It’s still covered in smudged pen markings, barely hidden by the shirt you wake up in.

"What?" you say, trying to sound normal. You miss normal.

Bucky’s hand tightens around your doorframe.

"I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I want you to stop." His voice is low, dangerously low. You can’t tell whether he’s furious or sad or disgusted or in pain; the wall has closed up over his emotions and he is as unreadable as ever.

Tell me.

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice cracking a little.

"For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you know exactly that I keep dying," Bucky says, finally looking at you. You stop breathing. "You know it shouldn’t be Friday anymore, but it is, over and over again, and I know it’s because of you. You’re the one doing this."

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

You’ve really thought it couldn’t get any worse than the short glimpses of awareness you’ve seen people go through recently; it couldn’t possibly get any worse than being witness to Bucky’s death every single day for weeks. But this—this is different.

That look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and it doesn’t feel like a glitch.

He moves towards you and you involuntarily take a half-step back, your fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. For a moment, something vulnerable flashes on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by that unreadable wall.

You barely even notice yourself shaking your head. "It wasn’t—Bucky, I didn’t mean to—"

"Then what is that?"

He’s staring at your wrist now—no. At the green symbols dancing around your wrist.

Only now does it occur to you that you haven’t done anything to camouflage them.

"Nothing," you say reflexively.

"Bullshit." He catches your arm before you can hide it behind your back, his fingers closing tightly around it. The emerald runes reflect dimly in his eyes, giving them an odd shine. "What is that?"

"It’s a time loop," you say quietly. "The one we’re both stuck in."

Neither of you moves, the truth hanging between you as sharp and painful as a knife. You want to reach out, cup his face in your hands and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But you’re frozen to the spot in your doorway, and you can’t lie to Bucky Barnes.

"What did it?"

Of all the questions you’ve come to expect from previous times you’ve told him, this isn’t one of them. "What do you mean, what did it?"

"Well, something must’ve set you off. Or do you regularly decide to kill people repeatedly and you’ve only just gotten to me?" He drags a hand across his face. "God, I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid."

You’re sure Bucky must feel your blood boiling through your pulse point. "Is that what you think of me? Do you think this is—what, this is fun for me? This is my idea of a holiday special?"

"If you asked me on Thursday, I’d’ve said no, but weirdly enough, I’m not so sure anymore now."

He might as well have cut you in two.

"Wow." You snatch your arm out of his grasp, ignoring how your wrist gives a painful throb. "You know, Barnes, I know you hated me when we first met but I thought we’d moved past that in the last few months. Good to see that you still think so little of me you’d have me be capable of being that cruel."

"Then tell me I’m wrong." You hate the way he yells it, almost like a plea. Almost like a prayer. It makes you want to curl up into a ball and scream. "Tell me you don’t have any clue what’s happening here or why, and that this has nothing to do with you and me."

You want to lie. You want to lie, you want to take it all back, you want to get out of this day.

Useless.

"I can’t," you whisper, and you try conveying all the things you’re not saying through your eyes, because there’s too much to say and you don’t know where to start. It’s not enough.

A slow nod washes his features with ice. "I thought so."

You feel a bout of panic rising up. "No, Bucky, please let me explain—"

"No, I am done with this. Do you hear me? I want you to make it stop. Now. Today. And until then …" He drags a hand through his hair, his jaw locking again. "Just—stay away from me."

Your throat is constricting, his name barely making its way over your lips before he’s gone, his fists still clenched tightly. There’s a hand-shaped dent in the metal frame of your doorway.

"Okay, would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

You manage to shut the door in Sam’s face and lock it before your knees give in.

* * *

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes. Everything is so quiet around you that at first, you think the world must have stopped around you, blissfully holding its breath just for you.

Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe your powers are finally returning.

But when you open your eyes, there’s no mistaking the warped shapes and colors around you, and despite everything else, the letdown still tugs at your heart.

Still not good enough.

These past couple of times, with Strange gone, you’ve almost started to appreciate the weird quietude of this place; the blurred colors and washed out edges that distinguished this reality so much from your own started to look almost beautiful. It’s a space nearly out of time, just as much caught in liminality as yourself, but in a slower, much more refined way.

There’s something calming about existing somewhere far, far removed from your actual life with nothing and no one but a cat to disturb you.

It doesn’t feel like this today.

Today, everything has been heightened to look too sharp, too kaleidoscopically technicolor. The air feels thinner without your physical lungs processing it first, and you gasp so much you send yourself into a coughing fit.

Your sleeping body’s eyebrow twitches. She doesn’t know shit yet.

But Bucky does.

There’s no way this is the same as some of the TAGs you’ve encountered before. None of those lasted longer than a few moments, as far as you could tell, and absolutely none of those people came to any logical conclusions about your involvement with the creation of the loop itself. No, this is something different, something huge, something …

Shit.

It must’ve happened when you tried to change the loop. It must have reset it in a way, made him aware like you, except he’s the one who’s actually dying every day and—

For fuck’s sake, it’s been days. Days, and he’s only coming to you now.

I am sick of you pretending to fix stuff.

He doesn’t look any different in his sleep, and yet you don’t feel any of the usual calm looking at him. Something cold and sharp has taken a hold of your insides, gripping them tight.

You swallow down your nausea and grab the first book from the pile, blindly thumbing through it as you recall exactly where you went wrong during your attempt to dissolve the loop. Your mother always used to tell you to be careful what you wished for; clearly, the lesson still hasn’t sunk in.

This isn’t what you wanted.

You blink through the blurriness and catch part of an illustration just before it bleeds through to the other side; something green and gold and repulsively familiar. You quickly turn the page before the drawing evades you completely.

The Eye of Agamotto stares at you menacingly, and something in your stomach churns.

The remainder of the page is covered in the same small, slanted handwriting you’re already familiar with, spiraling around the Eye in its center at a leisurely pace that speeds up when it notices your attention; you hate spell books so much.

Part of the passage stands out to you, anyway, like something big and ugly and exactly what you’ve been looking for.

"… deliberately loop segments of time through the formation of a literal energy loop over the wielder’s wrist. Upon the wielder’s death, the timeline will …"

The words drip off the edge of the page before you can take in the rest of the sentence, and when you flip it over, they’re gone. They refuse to reappear, no matter how many times you flip back and forth.

The timeline will what? Move on? Repeat anyway? Disintegrate?

You groan frustratedly, throwing the book across the room as a rush of power floods through you, making your hands flare up. You push the useless green light away from you, and a ball of it forms in the center of the room, bathing everything in an eerie emerald shine.

Something very heavy settles in your chest; the knowledge of what might well be the only way out of this loop, after all. The one possibility you haven’t really allowed yourself to consider because you promised not to do anything stupid and this would be stupid, probably.

And you’re afraid.

It’s ironic, really; you’ve been trying to find a solution for so long at this point, and now you don’t like the one you’re presented with. You’re selfish, after all, and you don’t want to die. You’re terrified of it, just like you are of all the things that you have no control over.

But is it worth more than Bucky’s life?

If there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that he’ll make it out of this, that he won’t have to go through this anymore once you’ve left the picture, shouldn’t you do it anyway?

I want you to make it stop.

"Bucky …" you start, trailing off just as soon as you take a closer look of his face again. That familiar frown, and that light smattering of freckles on his cheekbones.

There’s nothing you could tell him here, anyway. This reality doesn’t help anyone; it’s as inconsequential as your actions so far.

You wake on the floor of your bedroom on the last July 4th and for once, there’s no blood on the bed. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do next. You don’t know how to do it. Your gun is kept in the safe, and you’re not sure your hands wouldn’t be shaking too much, anyway; plus, you don’t want to leave any more of a mess than you already have.

You sit up slowly, staring out of the window. "FRIDAY?" you say hoarsely. The A.I. jingles to life pleasantly. "How high up would you say we are?"

"You are on the 92nd floor, or about one thousand, one hundred and twelve feet above ground."

"That should do it," you mumble. You’re feeling very light-headed somehow.

This would either work to end the loop, or you’ll wake up on Friday the same way you always do. Either way, Bucky doesn’t have to die again. The more you think about it, the more sense it makes. Why on earth you haven’t thought about this for longer than two seconds before is beyond you, really.

It has to work. You’re the one who inadvertently created the loop, and you’re the one maintaining it. Take out the head, and the whole thing goes down. Right?

It feels strange to pull your door closed behind you, not knowing if you’ll be back after this. You wonder if you should leave something behind, just in case. For Sam, maybe. Bucky will put it together, anyway.

Don’t do anything stupid.

You push the memory of his voice away. That was a different, long-gone version of him, one that didn’t really understand what was going on in the first place. One that was wrong.

Something whines at your feet. Alpine tilts her head at you when you bend down to pet her behind the ears, letting out a little sigh. Her fur is so soft.

She indulges you for a moment longer, and then she sinks her claws into your shin.

You yelp, staggering a half-step back and instinctively pressing a hand to the scratches, eyes stinging at the burn. Alpine looks at you haughtily.

"You really are a hellcat," you mumble. "And here I thought you were starting to like me."

You’ve never seen a cat stare at anyone so disapprovingly, but somehow, she manages.

* * *

One thousand-odd feet looks even higher than it sounds. You can barely see the people on the streets all the way down, barely hear the sound of traffic over the wind and your own rushing pulse.

There’s a certain kind of calm that comes with the clarity you’re experiencing.

You don’t want to do it; of course you don’t. But even apart from your determination to save Bucky, the thought of it is somehow … tempting. You’re so tired. Everything stays unchanged, no matter what you do, and you just want it all to stop.

Your hands are clammy around the railing. The midday sun is absolutely merciless, and for a moment you wish you’d changed out of your sleep things into something else. What would be the point of that, though?

It would just take a couple of seconds, at most. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out from fright before you hit the ground.

Your naked toes inch closer to the ledge.

You’ve never been scared of heights, but usually you’re not planning to fall. You lean over a little more, forcing your fingers to let go, one by one.

Right hand. You tuck your necklace under your collar. Maybe you should’ve taken it off. Slowly, carefully, your grip loosens completely.

"What in the—"

You flinch, and you let go.

This is it, you think, closing your eyes shut as you lose your balance, it’s actually happening.

Things slow down again; there’s a split second of regret panging through your heart, followed by a surge of something through your lungs, something you haven’t felt in this reality for quite some time, and then—

A painful jolt goes through your entire body and you yelp as someone grabs your hand and you are hauled back onto the roof, your hip slamming into the railing.

You stumble into him, making a desperate sobbing sound as your knees buckle for the second time today.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

There’s a raw edge to Bucky’s voice that only your fucked-up brain could come up with. He’s still pulling you into him tightly, his arms like a life raft around you.

"Let go of me."

"I can’t."

"Bucky, if I die before we go on that mission then you won’t have to. Either it’ll reset or the loop will be over."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? You said it yourself, you know—you know this is my fault. I have to fix this."

"Not like this." You can feel his heart thundering in his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer. "Never—not like this."

So you cry.

You both sink to the floor of the roof and you cry and you sob and you curse in Bucky’s arms for the second time because it simply isn’t fair.

"I don’t know what else to do." You take a shuddering breath. "Maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. Maybe I’m just doomed to make everything worse forever. Maybe the only way to get out of this mess is to take me out of the equation."

"You’re wrong." Bucky exhales onto your neck.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do. We’ll find another way." He swallows heavily. You can feel it, just like you can feel his thunderous heartbeat. "I—I’m so sorry."

"Why the hell would you be sorry?" you say quietly.

"Because this isn’t what I meant."

"I know. Do you think I haven’t tried? To stop this?" You hiccup. "I’ve been trying to do that for weeks."

He stiffens. "How long have you been stuck here?"

Wordlessly, you pull up the leg of your pants a little to reveal the tally marks you’ve been making; one for each loop.

Bucky just stares for a very long time, long enough for you to start squirming under his gaze. When he finally does speak again, his voice cracks at the seams. "Please tell me you’re joking."

"Why, are you going to laugh?" You miss his laugh. But how could you tell him that?

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his thumb ghosts over your skin as if he’s trying to count the days he’s missed. His other arm tightens slightly around you when he finally averts his eyes.

"I know, right?" you almost laugh, but it’s so nice not to pretend anymore, even though everything hurts and you hate him seeing you like this, but you don’t hate it as much as you used to. And you just can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

You still can’t bring yourself to move away from his touch, either. He might have to pry you off him at some point, as soon as he’s done feeling bad for and indulging you.

"Why did you come up here, anyway?" you ask at some point when your breaths have finally calmed again under his fingers soothingly rubbing circles into your back. Your thigh.

Bucky’s hum is like goosebumps down your spine. "I was on my way to find you. Alpine sat on the top stair and kept screaming her lungs out."

"Oh," you exhale. You rub your cheeks, slowly, contemplatively. "I’m sorry, Buck."

"You don’t have to apologize—"

"Not just for …" You nod your head at the ledge, cringing. "I mean, I am—I didn’t think you’d be …" There? Shocked? Giving a damn?

"You scared the shit out of me," Bucky says quietly.

And you don’t know how to respond to that. You can’t look at him, can’t find the right words because suddenly they all taste wrong in your mouth, too overwhelming or and too small at the same time.

I’m scared for you all the time, you think.

Finally, you settle on, "I’m sorry I got you stuck in here." It doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re trying to say, but it’ll have to do for now.

He shifts in front of you, and you realize that his shirt is basically soaked through. Between the sun burning down on the roof and you sitting so close to him you’re basically in his lap, he must be unbearably uncomfortable.

So you swallow heavily, and you retreat a little, your eyes downcast. "I’m okay now," you mumble. "You don’t have to keep touching me."

It seems like Bucky hesitates for a moment before he pulls back completely. "Right."

He gets to his feet again and your heart tugs uncomfortably, but then he reaches out his hand to you. You stare at it for a second before taking it. The metal has warmed slightly, but it’s still cool to the touch. Cool and familiar.

He lets go of you almost immediately to glance at his watch. "We should probably get downstairs. Sam’s gonna start looking for us."

"Stay," you whisper, before you think about it, before you can try not to sound so damn desperate. "Stay here, just this once. Please."

You meet his gaze again. There’s something different in his eyes now, something other than the pain and the pent up anger you’ve seen earlier, softer and more focused at the same time.

There’s a pause.

"Let’s go downstairs," Bucky says, that determined tick in his jaw returning. It makes your heart sink.

"Bucky—"

"If I’m not going, you’re not going," he interrupts before you can finish your protest. "But Sam’s gotta know. And you have to come downstairs with me."

You blink at him as something unfolds in your chest. "Okay."

* * *

By the time the sun starts to set, your head is aching almost as badly as the bruises on your side.

Honesty, as it turns out, is surprisingly exhausting, especially after you’ve spent all this time keeping your cards to yourself. It takes a long time to untangle the web of near-identical days that you’ve accumulated, to explain the mess of notes and references scattered on your skin. All the things that have happened, the research you’ve conducted, the different attempts you’ve tried to stop this day from ending how it always does, it all comes out in a blurt and terrible diagrams.

It’s familiar, in a way. You’ve done this dozens of times, after all, with Sam pacing and Bucky staring and your coffee getting cold on the living room table.

Only now, there’s a kernel of hope mixed into the same old sense of underlying dread. Perhaps, it whispers, this could be the last time you’re recounting all of this. Perhaps there is a way out for both of you, now that someone else remembers this whole shitshow happening in the first place. Perhaps, if you don’t lose time to explanations every single day—

"So, just to recap," Sam says, pinching his nose. "You’re both stuck in a time loop."

You nod.

"Like Groundhog Day," you and Sam confirm.

"Or Doubled and Redoubled," you and Bucky offer.

"What the hell’s that?" you and Sam ask.

"It’s a good story," you and Bucky say.

"Still isn’t, by the way," you tell him. "And don’t ever make me say that again."

His gaze hasn’t left you once, swooping over you repeatedly, like you’re a flight risk. It lingers, sometimes, on the scratches across your arm, or the smeared ink on your legs.

"No one’s forced you," he replies and you roll your eyes.

Even though you’re already starting to fall back into your usual patterns, something has irrevocably shifted, that small glimmer of hope being overshadowed by a vulnerability you’re not used to.

Awful or not, in a way, the loop has given you the same sense of relief your resets usually provide. Now that you know Bucky is just as aware as you are, you can no longer hide in the knowledge that he won’t remember a thing as soon as the day starts again.

Of course that means you no longer have to carry everything that happened on your own anymore, but you won’t be able to predict his reactions to the things you say or do either. And while that’s been the case for every day that wasn’t this damn Friday before, there’s one last thing that he doesn’t know has changed since today’s started. One last memory you haven’t shared, sitting in a park with the sunlight catching his smile, your heart pounding wildly.

I take calculated risks.

Now’s not the time.

"Alright, that was upsetting," Sam says, bringing you back to the present. "What I don’t get is why we’ve all been doing the same sorta stuff every day, mission and all, when that’s clearly not working."

You bite the inside of your cheek, but when you glance at Sam, he’s frowning at Bucky. Not for the first time, an entire conversation appears to happen between them in complete silence, one that ends with Bucky almost imperceptibly shaking his head.

Sam’s jaw clenches. "Fine," he says. "Have it your way, but you gotta sort your shit out at some point." He looks back at you. "What happens if we don’t go on that mission at all today?"

"I don’t know," you reply. "We only managed that once, and Bucky died anyway. And earlier than usual."

You don’t mention the roof. Neither of you has, even though you feel like it still clings your skin, making every inch of you sticky with shame.

"Alright," Sam says, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I’mma call backup and try to buy us some time. You two stay here and don’t invent any new dumb ways to die."

"You sure about this?" you ask warily. "We’ve never tried this before."

"Neither have I," he says, a tired grin flitting across his face as he grabs his jacket. "It’ll be just like old times."

Can’t say that, bud.

"Sam," Bucky says and he halts for a moment, hovering, "be careful."

You cross your arms in front of your chest as you watch Sam’s shoulders square up. He doesn’t turn back around, so it’s impossible to tell whether the sound he makes in his throat is a laugh or a sigh.

"What’s the worst that could happen?" he asks.

Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

"Now what?" Bucky asks when you sit down on the couch opposite him, leaning your head back and wrinkling your nose when the motion pulls some of your strained muscles.

"You heard the man," you say. "We’re gonna sit here and not move and hope the ceiling doesn’t drop on your head." You blink one of your eyes open. "Thinking about it, maybe you should move away from underneath that lamp."

"Very funny."

"Oh, I’m not joking."

With an exasperated sigh, he crosses over and flings himself down next to you. His thigh brushes your knee, and your stomach makes an annoying little swoop at the contact.

You force yourself to lean back again, like you don’t even notice. Like you can’t feel his gaze on you.

"Are you planning on ignoring me now?"

As if that was ever an option. Your heart gives a painful tug.

"Oh," you say, ignoring it, "did you want to pretend that we’re good at having a normal conversation?"

"What’re you reading?"

You do open your eyes, then, and find him already thumbing through your book; you must’ve left it on the couch table this morning. It feels like that was lifetimes ago.

"No worries, be my guest," you say dryly. "You’re not the kind of person who dog-ears other people’s books, are you?"

One of Bucky’s eyebrows lifts with a crooked grin. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

"Give it here right now," you say, trying to grab it from his hands; he holds it out of your reach so quickly you can barely see him move, and you huff exasperatedly. "Bucky, I swear—"

"What, you gonna learn me?"

It’s more than the tone of his voice that makes you sit back on your heels; it’s the faint glimmer of a smile as he gently flicks through the pages, like someone who’s very familiar with their contents. "Have you read it?"

"Only several hundred times when my sisters wouldn’t fall asleep. They liked the part about it being 'not the sorta night for bed'."

"I can’t imagine why," you say quietly as Bucky continues to skim through the book, lost in his memory. It makes you ache a little. "Three sisters, huh?"

"Yup." He absent-mindedly traces the frame of an illustration with his right thumb. "I’m the oldest. Was."

There’s a dull sort of grief in that single word, one that makes your fingers twitch. Not because you want to reach out for time, but you want to reach out for him.

Instead, you let out a light laugh. "I don’t see it."

He puts the book down. "What, me growing up with a bunch of little pests?"

"You being nice enough to read them the same story every single night."

"Because I’m not nice?" There’s no venom in his voice, just vague amusement.

"You’re not patient," you answer.

Bucky raises a single eyebrow. "I can be very patient if I want to."

"So you just don’t want to, usually?"

His jaw ticks. "I really don’t."

Something hums in the air between you with unexpected ferocity, making your head swim with the confusing mixture of feelings you’ve gone through today. This loop in particular has left you hollow, too bone-tired to examine what this new, different tension might mean. At least it’s no longer pure animosity.

You think.

You clear your throat. "We’re both gonna have to be for a couple more hours. If we make it to July 5th, it might finally get us out of the loop."

"What, we’ve never tried just sitting around before?"

"Oh, I did. But you wouldn’t, whether I told you about the loop or not." This is the first time you’re both on the same page; at least the first time you’re both aware of it.

The gears are turning in Bucky’s head as he lowers it, frowning at the floor as he’s putting something together. You put your book to the side again and pull one knee up on the couch, waiting for a moment.

"Say it," you prompt him gently.

He lets out a slow, measured breath. "Do you think there’s a reason why we’re stuck in here?"

An involuntary laugh comes out of your throat, joyless and sudden. "You’re talking to it."

"You’ve reset things before, though. What makes it different now?"

"You died," you say quietly.

"Exactly." An angry flush washes over his cheeks. "So what if this isn’t about you and your powers at all? What if there’s something that I still need to do?"

"You think your unfinished business made the time loop? Like the universe intervening or something?"

"No, but … I don’t know. It feels like this is happening on purpose. Not because of you," he adds hastily. "More like, because of everything I did."

His voice catches on the last word, and the urge to reach for his hand becomes near overwhelming. The one closer to you is the vibranium one, though, and you’re sure he doesn’t need that reminder right now.

So instead, you let him sit in the silence for a moment. His head is probably loud enough.

"How long are you going to try punishing yourself for things you had no control over?" you finally ask.

Bucky scoffs. "You’re one to talk."

It’s not really a fair comparison, but it still makes you want to roll your eyes. Then, you remember something.

With a triumphant hum, you reach between the couch cushions. Every day, Sam loses his sharpie in there, and most of the time you’re too tired to remind him.

"Give me your arm," you say, gesturing over his lap.

He frowns. Of course he does. "Why?"

"Just trust me for a second."

Apparently, that works. His muscles flex involuntarily at your touch and you bite the inside of your cheek.

"How are your hands so cold?" he mumbles.

I just run cold. "Hold still."

"What’s that supposed to be?" He cranes his head. "I swear, if you draw a penis on me—”

"No. Self. Deprication," you interrupt him, underlining the words on his arm before capping the pen. "You got it? This was your idea originally, so you should like it."

Bucky stares at you, and you realize your heads are very close together. His eyes are sparkling with something like wonder and hope, and for once, you don’t feel like it’s suffocating you. It makes your insides flutter.

You move out of his space so hastily you startle Alpine, who hisses at both of you before jumping off the couch.

"I’m sorry," you say. "About earlier. I didn’t want …" For him to see you like that.

Bucky nods, finally looking away and closing his mouth again. You can’t help but follow the movement with your eyes.

"No, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to think that—that that was what I meant when I asked you to end this."

"I know that," you say, frowning. "I found something in Strange’s books about time loops—did you think I would just throw myself off the building because you were angry with me?"

"Of course not." It comes out a little too fast.

"Well, for the record, I wasn’t. So stop that." When he continues twisting his fingers, you slap at his hands, immediately regretting it when you hit the metal with a little too much force.

"What did you do that for?"

"I don’t know!"

"Idiot," he mumbles, catching your hand and frowning at it.

Just then, there’s the sound of an explosion outside, and you both flinch, heads whipping around to the window.

It’s the fireworks.

Crimson red, cobalt blue and bright white sparkles illuminate the night sky. You’d both missed it for the past todays. You’ve never made it this far.

Your look returns to Bucky again, because he hasn’t let go of his hand yet. He’s staring outside, his shoulders rigid, his fingers softly twitching around yours when the next pyrotechnic round cracks thunderously through the night.

"FRIDAY," you say, looking up. "Could you turn on the soundproofing?"

A blinking light around the windows indicates your command is being executed. The next colorful explosion outside is no louder than raindrops on the window.

Slowly, you tug your hand out of Bucky’s only to reach for him again properly. Your fingers slot between his, and he sighs quietly. You’re not looking at each other at all; you’re just watching the lights.

You know there’ll be music outside, parties going on all over the country, but in here there’s only the view of the night sky and the silenced cracking of the fireworks.

An unexpected wave of sadness hits you as another shower of light explodes outside. You think of your last New Year’s Eve at the Compound, of sharing a bottle of champagne with your friends as you watched a soundless firework display much like this one. Nat kissed you on the cheek when the clock hit midnight, and Steve stared outside with a look of apprehensive wonder on his face.

None of you were in a particularly cheerful mood, not after five years of not knowing how to bring everyone back, but still, there was a sense of calm that washed over everyone. The serenity of new beginnings, you supposed. With the familiar sight of Nat demolishing a bowl of leftover Christmas chocolates and Bruce humming Auld Lang Syne. You could only ever remember the chorus.

"We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne …"

"I have a good feeling about this year," Natasha said, leaning her head back against the couch with a tired smile.

Steve nodded, thumb continuously rubbing his old compass like he always did when he had that lost look in his eyes. "Yeah, me too," he said.

Not for the first time, you wonder whether they’d already known it would be your last New Year’s together. Whether they’d felt it in their bones somehow. You certainly hadn’t.

You would have tried to change it if you had.

Bucky exhales deeply when the wave of fireworks dies down. His thumb is absent-mindedly tracing light patterns on the back of your hand and you try your best to suppress a shudder, rubbing the tears from your eyes with your other hand.

"You okay?" he asks softly, not turning his head. Neither of you are ready to break this spell quite yet, caught up in the moment after resurfacing from the past.

"Sometimes, I miss the Blip," you answer.

Immediately, there’s the familiar ache of shame and longing. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the patterns continue.

"I know it’s stupid, and terrible," you continue. "I know I shouldn’t. But I—that was the first time I felt like I had a proper purpose. I had people I cared about and who cared about me. I could just disappear from my old life, and no one would even think to look for me. They’d just assume I’d turned to dust, like all the others."

He knows the broad strokes of this, of course, but it’s not something you’d usually talk about. You don’t like thinking about your brush with genuine power all that much; it still makes you sick to your stomach.

"I was always told that I didn’t deserve my powers. That I was useless, that someone like me shouldn’t even exist. And that’s true, in a way, but it’s not like it’s my fault. I didn’t ask for them. But this … the only thing that I can do is trying to use them to help others, and now I can’t even do that anymore."

"I know what you mean," Bucky says. "But you’re wrong. You’re not useless, you never were. You were still the one in control, even though you didn’t feel like it, then. Your powers knew."

"I don’t feel like I’m in control right now."

You’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about your powers. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

"You know what else is stupid?" you say. "They keep promising rain. On the radio. They say it’s 'a blessing we’re stayin' dry on Independence Day, but on the weekend, it’ll start pouring down," you imitate the woman from your local station. "Sometimes it feels like it’ll never rain again and it’s my fault."

"You hate the rain," he says, and you hiccup a laugh.

"Do I? I can’t even remember."

Bucky hums. "Were you ever going to tell me about the loop if I hadn’t confronted you?"

"I told you so many times," you reply. "You always forgot."

He sweeps a finger across your knuckles. "I’m not forgetting anymore."

"I know that now." You’re not breathing. You should breathe.

"Why did you stop?"

You pull your hand away and a shudder runs down your spine. "Because it fucking hurt."

He turns to face you, then, his eyes molten. "Twelve …"

"I don’t mean to interrupt," FRIDAY says with a tinkle. You flinch as the television flickers on all by itself. "But there’s news coverage coming in from the last pinged location of Captain Wilson."

They might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over the both of you. All the softness on Bucky’s face freezes over, showing something else entirely.

Fear.

"Turn the volume up, FRIDAY."

"—yet unclear as to whether these explosions were also set by the organization. There are eye witnesses placing Captain America still inside the building, as well as at least thirteen civilians that have been trapped by the flames."

The footage from the scene isn’t anywhere close to the lab, but you recognize the building, anyway. You pass it about halfway through your daily mission flight, a highrise with an interestingly shaped roof. On screen, flames are licking out the windows.

This has never happened before. Then again, you’ve never made it far enough through the day. Was this always bound to happen or did something glitch again? Your heart is thundering wildly as the reporter continues.

"First Lieutenant Joaquín Torres, better known as the Falcon, has been transferred to Elmhurst Medical Center. His condition is still unclear."

"No," you whisper.

Bucky has gone white as a sheet next to you, his fingers gripped around the edge of the couch. "Is this …"

"This is new," you confirm shakily. "Fuck, Sam—"

"This won’t be it," Bucky says, standing up with a jolt.

"What?"

Alpine chooses that moment to jump onto your lap, and you struggle to pick her up to hurry after Bucky.

"This can’t be the one that sticks, alright? I won’t have it."

He’s taking the steps two at a time. At first you foolishly think he’s headed for his room to get changed; to try and make it there, help out, come up with a plan. Instead, he reaches under his pillow and your heart drops.

"Let’s talk about this for a second," you blurt out, plea, shriek, you’re not entirely sure. You’ve come so close. The magazine clicks into place. "Bucky!"

"Sam might not have a second," Bucky says, not turning around. It comes out pressed, like he’s forcing himself not to shout. "We don’t know what happens if he dies before I do, do we?"

"Well, no, but—"

"No but. I’ve lost too many people, I’m not going to lose Sam, too, alright? Not if we both know I can prevent—"

Alpine jumps onto his shoulder.

You stagger backwards with the force of it, and so it takes you a moment to realize that her claws are fully extended and she’s hissing into his ear.

To see him caught off-guard is still such a surreal occurrence, but not more so than his cat acting anything but affectionate towards Bucky. He’s cursing, arms flailing as he tries to push her off him, and within a split second, you have his gun in your hands.

"Damn it, Y/N!"

"Listen to me." It feels strange to point his own weapon at him, especially considering what he was just attempting. "We’re the closest we’ve ever been to midnight, which means this day is nearly over. I’ll get my powers back and we can fix whatever is going on with Sam, I promise you. It’s going to be fine."

"You don’t know that. Even with your powers, we might be too slow." Doubt churns heavily in your stomach as Bucky takes a step closer. His hands close around yours, pointing the gun straight at his heart. "Just do it."

You shake your head without looking away from his eyes. "I can’t."

His fingers press down on your knuckles. "We’re running out of time, Twelve."

Old anger bubbles up at the very core of you, and just before you’re forced to squeeze the trigger, you twist around in his hold. The shots go through the window instead, smashing the glass into a million pieces as the thunderous clash of the fireworks returns. You squeeze your eyes shut as the shards slice into your skin. Your ears are ringing with the sudden noise of it all by the time the gun drops to the floor, the magazine emptied.

For a moment, you both just stand there, breathing heavily. Somewhere behind you, you hear a disdainful meow.

"Geez, I hate you," Bucky murmurs, his voice vaguely pained. Your eyes fly open right as he leans in.

It all happens so fast.

He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he lets go of you and leaps towards the ruined window.

And then he’s gone.

Too late, a startled cry falls from your lips.

You’ve seen him die so many deaths, but somehow, the intentionality of this one feels worse, much worse. You feel sick with it, the feeling spreading through you like poison, a quick thunderous rush of pain.

Then, you jerk forward and sit up in bed, the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

* * *

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass ki—ooff!"

You slam into Sam’s chest before he can even finish his sentence, wrapping your arms around him tightly. After a moment or so, he hums and settles into it.

Sam gives really nice hugs. It’s not something you’ve consciously noticed before, but then again, it’s not something you usually do. This time, though, he seems to feel that you need it; or maybe some part of him does as well.

Apart from you clinging to Bucky on the roof and in some other bygone version of today, it might be the longest time someone’s hugged you in years, and it makes your heart ache just a little.

"Maybe I should tell FRIDAY to wake you up more often."

"Don’t even think about it, birdbrain," you mumble, squeezing him one more time for good measure. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

"I’m fine," Sam grins, still slightly perplexed as he steps back. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Something," you say. "Have you seen Bucky?"

"Not yet, why?" He falls into step next to you. Easily, no tension in his shoulders. Same as always.

Your heart twists a little when you glance at him. For dozens of loops now, you’ve tried so hard to forget that your situation has any impact on anyone else; like you’re really just stuck in a game, the only real person that gets to make decisions, that gets to leave an imprint, however temporary.

Finding out that Bucky’s started to remember as well makes you remember that you’re not, though. This is just as real for everyone else, maybe more so, because it’s always their first run-through. It’s not the TAGs that show you glimpses of who they are; it’s moments like these. Seemingly inconsequential ones that never are, that no one who hasn’t seen them a hundred times would pay attention to.

Like the fact that Sam’s humming that odious song when you slow down, not bothered at all by your silence. He holds the door open for you and meets your gaze with a merry look in his eyes that makes another flood of relief rush through you.

He’s alright. And he has no clue that if this were any regular kind of universe, it would be Saturday and he’d be dead.

"Just wondering."

After all this is over, maybe you’ll make him another pie. Doesn’t matter that he won’t remember he deserves it.

Doubt creeps in again during training, though.

Yester-today was different. Even if Bucky says he’s been aware for a while, who’s to say that wasn’t a fluke as well? What if, despite everything, that was your one and only chance not to have to go through this alone? What if—

"Jesus, shit."

Pain sears through you as you drop to the mat, something warm and wet dripping down your chin. That’s what you get for being distracted, apparently: more blood.

"I’m so sorry," Sam says when he comes back into focus. "I didn’t mean to hit you that hard."

"S’okay," you mumble, your eyes stinging as you feel for your nose. At least it doesn’t appear broken this time around. "I jus’ … I gotta lie down for a secon’, I thing."

"You sure you’re fine?"

"So fine," you say, giving him a slightly shaky thumbs-up. "Honestly, I needed that."

"You are such a weirdo," he says, still not looking entirely convinced. "Get some ice on that soon, okay? I don’t want Buck to scalp me."

"Yup," you say, your head still swimming enough for the words not to make any sense. Maybe you should close your eyes and just wait here for a little while, you think as the gym door shuts with a click. You’re fairly sure the bleeding has stopped.

"You know, I hate to say it, but you look like shit."

At this point, you should have gotten used to the instant comfort the sound of his voice brings every day. You haven’t.

"You’re a damn bad liar, Barnes," you say, sitting up. "I’m a fucking treat and you know it."

He’s not sitting with his back to you, like he usually would, instead leaning against the side of the ring with his arms crossed. His hair is still damp and curling up at the front; his cheeks are stained pink from his run.

"So," Bucky says, tapping his nose. "Wanted to convince yourself that it worked?"

Another weight falls off your chest. He remembers.

"I know you," you say lightly. "You’re big on physical proof of timefoolery."

Your gaze flits to his arm. The writing has disappeared. Pity. Would’ve been a nice confirmation of your point.

He rolls his eyes. "Come here."

Gentle hands hold up your chin to wipe your face with a cloth he produces from … wait a second.

"That’s not your dirty arm rag, is it?"

"It’s clean."

"You’ve not done laundry."

"Neither have you."

"Please get that thing away from me."

You put your hands on his chest to shove him away, but you can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and your usual instinct to antagonize him vanishes. There it is again, right there, against all odds. Steady and strong.

Alive.

"Hey. Look at me."

You do, and for some reason, he’s grinning. Tiredly, but still grinning. Like he’s onto something and you’re not.

"What?" you say breathlessly, and his smile widens like he wants to rub it in, too.

He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls them away from his chest, and maybe you’re still a little dizzy, and then he says, "I never hit the ground."

* * * * *

On the bad days, you often found yourself sitting alone in the darkened briefing room, having FRIDAY show you the pictures of the Vanished over and over and over again.

If you had been there, a nagging little voice in your head kept telling you, Thanos might never have gotten the stones. If you hadn’t taken yourself out of the equation …

Might not. Should have. A lifetime of them.

Echoes of memories had started invading your sleep again, too.

"Where are you, impossible child?"

You didn’t appreciate being reminded of that part of your past and so, when your dreams insisted on it, you tortured yourself with all the things you did, theoretically, have control over; even if it was too late for that now. It had been storming all night, raindrops still drumming against the windows.

You reached for the pendant around your neck, absently tapping it against your lips as the photos flashed across the wall opposite you.

The light switch flipped on and you found yourself blinking in the sudden brightness of it all. When the stars cleared from your vision, you recognized Steve in the doorway.

"Long night?" he asked.

When you didn’t answer, he pulled up a chair, for once not commenting on your feet on the table. Instead, he threw something into your lap.

You almost fell out of your chair.

"I had to fix up the pages a little," he said. "Took longer to dry than expected."

You stared at the cover of the old, well-loved edition of The Wind in the Willows that you thought you’d lost forever over a week ago. The colors had been touched up, the smallest details carved out anew with skilled hands and precise memory.

It looked better than the day you got it, and it still smelled the same when you opened it up.

"How," you whispered, your voice thick with wonder.

"It looked like something special."

"It is." You looked over at him, gratitude welling up in your eyes. "Thank you."

Steve didn’t comment on your uncharacteristically emotional outbreak, didn’t ask any questions, but you felt like you needed to explain it nevertheless.

"When I was younger, my powers used to be a lot more unpredictable than they are now, if you can believe it." You rubbed your cheek with one hand. "I used to get stuck between moments for hours on end, usually when I was somewhere new. Unfamiliar."

It had been the scariest part of your powers, then, before you’d learned to live with the unexpected silences.

"I always say I got it from the library, but really, I just picked it out of a donation box and started carrying it around with me. Then at least when it happened again, I’d have something to read."

It felt strange, now, to try to put it into words, how much comfort this little book had brought you in those long, dark hours.

There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worse of all, no way out.

But there was a way out, in the end. There was a way, and a door, and a warm, safe space waiting at the end of it, and no matter what happened, things turned out alright by the time you reached the last page.

It was pure coincidence that had brought this story to you at the right time, but it had always felt a little like destiny, looking back. And the fact that Steve had brought it back to you?

To say you owed him a favor would’ve been an understatement.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you said.

"There’s a date stamped on the first page. I think it’s from when the library accepted the donation?"

You blinked. Nodded. You knew it well, even though you hadn’t stopped to look at it for years, usually preferring to skip the front matter and diving right into the story.

His next question came out softer. "How old are you?"

You’d always aged weirdly. Probably part of your powers, you’d supposed. Time had never passed for you like it did for everyone else, and it had been a living nightmare to try to keep up with it.

"I’m not sure," you said, your thumb playing with the edge of the pages. "I was ten when I got it, I think. It’s been a while."

You knew your birthday, but you’d been skipping through the timeline since you were in diapers, and so there was no way of knowing how long you’d actually been alive. How much did people age when they were stuck in limbo? How much did they age when time reversed, or sped up? Your body didn’t change when your powers activated, it never did, but that just made any clear answer that much more impossible.

Maybe you’d always been a little out of time, too, in your very own way.

You sat in silence for a while, staring at the ever-changing pictures on the wall. You were so sick of them, but you could never stop watching; you’d made yourself remember their names and faces, even though you weren’t sure what kind of penance you were getting out of that.

Nick Fury. King T’Challa. Maria Hill. Sam Wilson. Scott Lang. You glanced at Steve when Bucky Barnes’ photograph appeared, but the sadness in his eyes had hardened to a constant layer of ice by then, and his face didn’t change anymore. You had a feeling that the two of you had similar pastimes when sleep wasn’t restful.

"What about your family?"

"Don’t have anyone left," you said.

"Me neither," Steve said. "Not apart from everyone here."

You almost smiled at that, but he didn’t. "How do you bear it?" you asked instead. "Again?"

He shrugged, his eyes closing in grim resolution. "We try to fix it. That’s all we can ever do."

You couldn’t help but silently agree. It was the most hopeful you’d felt in a while, that night, surrounded by pictures of the past you were still trying to save.

That was a few weeks before Thanos happened again, and everything good in your life disappeared into thin air.

chapter nine

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

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #time after time

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schemmentisimpasours · 2 months ago

Text

The Protectors

Summary: Ava and Mel step in to protect you from your mother in different ways.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic family relationships, hospital setting momentarily, word dyke used in poor context, cagna (bitch in Italian), stitches, physical violence, poly relationship[Use of nicknames such as sweet girl, baby girl, princess, angel, babe] Soft! Ava, Protector! Mel Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Melissa x Reader, Ava x Reader, Avamel x Reader, Avamel

Thanks for the encouragement to write this @milfjuulpod and @panerasbox

Masterlist

--~--

You knew the walls of the hospital better than your own home at this point. You had spent your childhood here- learned to read here, cried here, became smaller chipping away at yourself until you were more manageable. Something that didn’t have to be dealt with because there were already so many other problems to deal with. Your own needs were buried so deep down that you weren’t sure you had any. Not really. You were merely a pawn in the game between life and death.

That had been what you thought before you had met them. Now you understand what it means to stand up for yourself. Especially to protect the ones you love. You walked into the room knowing you should wait but it was simpler to do it this way. By yourself, where the words only had to cut you instead of those you loved.

“Hi mom,” You said barely above a whisper.

She was stretched out on the hospital bed tv remote in hand scrolling through the channels, “About time you got here and alone for once.”

You bristled at the jab but tried to remain calm, “What did the doctor say?”

“Just that I am dying. Like I have been for years and no one seems to care to make me feel any better,” She shrugged not even looking at you.

“They have been trying Mom. They have ran every test in the book and you have done multiple second opinions..”

“So you are saying that I am crazy then?” Your mother hollered at you and you instantly flinched, “That I am just some looney toon making it all up in her head.”

“I never said that,” You replied even though it was a thought that had been lingering in your mind for years.

“You have always been a terrible liar,” She scoffed, “I swear to god they have been poisoning you. Turning you against me.”

“Who are the they you are referring to?” You questioned because honestly it could have been anyone at this point.

“Those women you drag with you everywhere.” “Oh my girlfriends. You know their names. I have been dating them for almost two years now.”

“Well whatever you want to call them. You used to be so obedient before they came around. Now you are full of snide comments and sassy looks. That is not the daughter I raised. A dyke who can’t decide between two women. A disgrace.”

You laughed bitterly, “You didn’t raise me. This hospital did. You were always making yourself sick so you could be here instead of out in the real world actually being a mother. You never wanted me in the first place. I ruined your good looks, career, and marriage. Isn't that what you used to tell me?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that little girl,” She yelled anger making her face beet red.

“It’s all fake mom. You make yourself sick so people will pay attention to you. You narcissistic bitch.”

You felt it hit before you even realized what was happening. The flower pot shattered against you a large slash going down your cheek. You immediately used your hand to cover the gash blood already running through your fingers.

“Go to hell,” Your mother said through gritted teeth.

“Save me a fucking seat.”

You rushed out of the room, tears already streaming down your face mixing with the blood from your cheek. You burst through the doors of the hospital as your breath began to quicken and your body began to shake. You sank down against the outside wall until you hit the ground with a thud. Knees curling into your chest, you placed your head down and let the panic attack take control. Nails dug into your biceps as you clutched yourself as tightly as you could. You rocked back and forth your back hitting the wall, propelling you back forward. You didn’t know how much time had passed before you heard them.

“I think that is her right there Red,” Ava pointed out an anxious undertone in her voice, “I thought you told her to wait for us before she went in.” “Yeah well, you know how her mom can be. She probably thought she was protecting us by going in alone,” Melissa hissed, the anger evident in her voice, “Looks like we are at stage five disaster already.”

They dropped on either side of you, and the smell of your girlfriends filling your nose. Stale cigarettes and vanilla screamed Melissa. Ava was a mixture of expensive flowery perfume and a touch of whiskey. Together they made a perfect balance of hard and soft that already eased your broken nerves. You were so far in your panic however that no words came out as they blocked you from the outside world.

“Angel, we are here now. We got you,” Melissa whispered, slotting her thigh behind you so that you couldn’t hit the wall anymore.

Ava laid her hands over yours, her thumbs running across the back of your palms, “Come on, sweet girl. Open up a little so we can breathe together.”

You tried to uncurl your fingers, but when it didn’t work, you merely shook your head and tried to rock again. You could feel the blood still running down your cheek seeping into your jeans. Melissa picked you up as if you were lighter than a feather placing you between her legs. Ava sat on the other side of you, wrapping her legs around Melissa to create a cocoon for you to hide in.

They held you like this for awhile. Ava’s head resting against your arms and Melissa’s against your back. With them protecting you like this you felt that you could conquer anything. They didn’t push you to open up, allowing you to uncurl in your own time. However, when you finally glanced up at Ava her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and fear.

“Baby girl you are bleeding, a lot.”

“What do you mean she is bleeding?” Melissa asked tipping you back just slightly.

At the sight of the blood still dribbling from your face a dark fire filled her normal green eyes. You had seen this side of Melissa before but only once. It had been right before she had flipped out hitting a man who had been attempting to flirt with you and Ava. She had lifted up the nearest chair slamming it down on his back when he didn’t get the hint that both of you weren’t interested. It had knocked him against the bar head hitting the top before he crumpled to the floor. That had been jealousy. This look on your girlfriend’s face was one of protective rage and somehow that seemed ten times scarier.

“This has gotten out of hand. Imma go give that filthy cagna a piece of my mind,” Melissa roared rising to her feet, “Take Y/N in to get that cut looked at. This won’t take long.”

“Red,” Ava said grabbing Melissa’s hand, “Make her fucking regret it.”

Melissa’s face turned into a wicked grin as she stalked back into the hospital. Ava placed a gentle hand on your uninjured cheek. She rubbed her thumb across it gently and you leaned into the contact. Pressing forward she placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I am so sorry this happened to you baby girl,” She whispered and you could see the tears threatening to form.

Melissa was always the one to fight for the both of you. Her rage pouring over into a bear type protectiveness. Ava was the other side. A mask of hard armor but soft on the inside. The first to cry when the ones she loved got hurt. They balanced each other out in the simplest of ways and it made your heart swell.

“I am sorry I went in without you,” You mumbled filled with guilt.

“No baby girl, this isn’t on you. None of this is your fault,” Ava promised, “Now come on let’s get you checked out.”

Fifteen minutes later you were on a gurney getting stitches with Ava holding your hand. Quiet tears were falling down her face for every time you flinched in pain. As the last stitch was being put in Melissa came sauntering over a security guard following close behind her.

“See I told you Danny boy. My girls are right here. As soon as they patch up my Angel I'll leave,” She said wrapping a protective arm around Ava before kissing the top of her head.

“Okay but you have to leave immediately after Schemmenti. I'm only letting this slide cause that woman has been terrorizing the whole floor for weeks,” He relented.

Melissa promised she would and then turned back to you, “Always good to have friends in high places. How you feel Angel?”

“Better now that you both are here,” You said and flinched when you went to smile.

Melissa wiped away the tears from Ava’s face, “See princess she is okay. We got her.”

The doctor gave follow up instructions to Ava and Melissa who listened intently. Ava was scrawling notes on her phone. She wanted to make sure she didn't miss a single thing. You left with Ava and Mel each holding your hand their bodies pressed close to your side. Sandwiched between them you felt safe and like the world wasn't going to crumble in.

“Princess can drive you home and I'll get some supplies for dinner. I'll make your favorite,” Melissa instructed and went to kiss your cheek but stopped, “Of course it is my cheek that is hurt. Guess I'll have to kiss you somewhere else instead.”

She placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your nose, and finally your lips causing you to giggle. She pulled away just enough to send you a smile that melted your heart, “There she is.”

You blushed, “You know I can drive myself home right?”

“No you can’t,” Your girlfriends said in unison.

“Let us take care of you sweet girl,” Ava replied with no room for argument.

You relented and handed your keys to Ava. Melissa gave Ava a goodbye kiss promising to be home soon. Both of you watched until she disappeared around the corner before you navigated to your own car. Ava opened your door leaning to buckle you in before kissing your nose. During the entire car ride she gripped on your thigh. It was like she was trying to ground herself into you. Making sure you wouldn't disappear before her eyes.

“Babe,” You said as you pulled into the house you all shared, “I'm really okay, I promise.”

“She hurt you… physically harmed you. And we weren’t there to protect you,” Ava shook her head, “We promised we would always protect you.”

“You are protecting me,” You promised leaning over to kiss her, “With you and Melissa I will always be safe.”

Ava grinned, “Wanna dance it out?”

“With you? Always.”

Which is how Melissa found both of you when she returned arms full of groceries. The coffee table was pushed to the side allowing for a dance floor in the living room. Ava’s music spilling from the TV. Nothing was louder however then the laughter that came from you and Ava as you danced and jumped around in the clear space. She smiled at the scene before her heart so full with love that it felt lighter.

“Red!” Ava smiled, “Put down those groceries and come dance.”

She didn't even go to the kitchen just dropped all the bags onto the couch before taking your extended hand. You pulled her close to you Ava cirling around behind you. And pressed close between them you knew that you would be okay. No matter the day. Or situation you had the loves of your life. Hard and soft. Yin and yang. Ava and Melissa.To protect and cherish you.

#ava coleman #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #AvaMel #ava coleman x melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x original female character #ava coleman x you #ava coleman x reader #ava coleman x original female character #the protectors #protective! melissa #soft! ava

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babydollmarauders · 2 years ago

Text

BALLAD OF A HOMESCHOOLED GIRL — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n goes on a date with Jack and thinks she made a complete fool of herself

notes: obviously inspired by Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl by Olivia Rodrigo, not proofread and written on extreme sleepiness. (3.6k words)

third dates.

my mother always told me to have them in group settings.

she said the first date is to get to know each other; the second is to learn how he’d treat you in private; the third date is to learn how he’d treat you in front of his friends.

most guys seem to get intimidated when i ask about joining a hang out with his friends for the third date, but Jack was different. i had told Jack on our first about my rules.

first date in a public setting, but alone.

second date in private, his apartment or mine.

third date with a group of friends.

i hadn’t expected him to take it so well, nodding along as though even without context, it made sense. he didn’t ask for clarification, which was good because i had learned after my last relationship not to give any; lest they’ll act like a gentlemen in front of their friends until we start dating.

i honestly didn’t expect Jack to contact me again, fully awaiting the discovery that he’d ghosted me, possibly even blocked me to keep me from talking to him again. but then he texted me tonight.

“i know it’s last minute, but third date tonight? me and some guys from the team are going for drinks, would you wanna come?”

and now here i am, walking into a pretty secluded bar to meet Jack and about half a dozen other professional hockey players. to say i’m nervous would be a massive understatement.

i spent at least half an hour trying on various outfits, but nothing felt right. every article of clothing i tried on had something wrong with it; whether it be that it didn’t fit quite right, or it didn’t match the occasion, or i just deemed it didn’t look good on me, something was always wrong. so i finally settled on a nice sundress, despite the chilled air of the evening.

“y/n!” my head turns in search of the voice that called my name, locking eyes with Jack, where he sits at a high top table with five other guys. “i was starting to think you’d stood me up!”

my eyebrows furrow as i walk over to him, stopping at the end of the table. my stomach ties in knots at all of the eyes on me. i hate attention.

“why would i do that?” a few of the guys chuckle at my question, but i’m not sure i understand what’s so funny.

“i was joking.” Jack clarifies.

oh.

embarrassment washes over me and i can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, but Jack just smiles sweetly, rising to his feet and pulling out the chair beside him.

“oh, thank you.” i take a seat and he returns to his, his hand settling on my knee as one of the guys begin to speak.

“so, you’re y/n?” my eyes go wide, and i glance over at Jack but he’s looking over at the other guy. “i’m Luke.”

“nice to meet you, Luke.” i give the curly headed boy a tight smile, “so, you play with Jack?”

the boy grins, nodding his head, “i guess you could say that.”

everyone snickers, and i fear i’ve made a mistake of some sort. my blood runs cold; i hate feeling like i’m on the outside of some giant inside joke.

maybe this was a mistake.

Jack squeezes my knee, and i look over at him with subtly pleading eyes, silently begging for him to save me.

“Luke is my younger brother, but he does play on the team with me.” there it is. that’s where i messed up.

“oh, i’m sorry.” i’m not sure what i’m apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to do. i glance back at Luke, “i knew Jack had mentioned your name before but, he’s mentioned so many names that at this point they all jumble together in my head.”

Luke just shakes his head, waving it off. “nah, don’t worry, it’s okay.”

after that, i decide it’s better to go quiet; only really speaking when spoken to. i can’t embarrass myself if i’m not saying anything.

“hey.” Jack’s voice is soft, and at first, i don’t even realize he’s talking to me, until i tear my eyes from who i now know as Dawson, who’s telling a story with wildly gesturing hands. “do you wanna go get a drink?”

he nods his head over towards the bar, and i nod, desperately in need of something to ease my nerves, “yes, please.”

Jack and i rise from our seats, his hand going to my lower back to stabilize me as i stumble. my cheeks go red, but i decide it’s better not to acknowledge my clumsiness.

“and i— where are you guys going?” Dawson cuts himself off, drawing attention to Jack and i’s retreating pair. “did i bore you, y/n?”

i stop in my tracks, freezing up as guilt takes over me.

“i- what? n-no! Jack-” i stumble over my words in a panic, attempting to reassure him, but apparently i didn’t help my case.

“see, Merc! poor y/n even finds your story stupid.” John laughs and i shake my head wildly.

“no! i found it interesting!” Nico snickers at my words, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“interesting. that’s one way of putting it.”

oh god, i made it worse.

“guys, leave her alone.” Jack speaks up, rolling his eyes at his friends before he turns back to me. “c’mon, ignore them, they’re just raggin’ on you.”

my brows thread together in confusion, but i nod nonetheless, allowing him to use his hand that still rests on my back to guide me over to the bar.

“i’m sorry about them.” he sighs as we reach the counter, waiting for a bartender. “they have a stupid sense of humor.”

“no! no, it’s fine!” i assure him.

it’s not them, it’s me.

i’ve never been great at picking up on social cues, perhaps due to my odd lifestyle as a child.

when the bartender reaches us, Jack orders another beer before looking over at me, “oh, can i just get an aperol spritz, please?”

Jack hands over his card and when he gets it back he turns to me.

“i gotta run to the bathroom, are you okay waiting for the drinks? i’ll be back in a second.” i nod and he takes off towards the restroom, leaving me alone.

“so, you like him?” apparently not alone for long.

i turn my head in surprise, only to find Luke standing beside me. he asks the bartender who arrives back with Jack and i’s drinks for another beer and the man nods.

“hmm? Jack?” Luke nods and i smile looking down into my glass. “yeah, i really like him.”

“see, i said so!” my face scrunched in confusion as i look back at him.

“you said so?” i question.

“yeah! Johnny was trying to say you must not like him because you aren’t being very flirty, but i told him- i said you obviously like him if you’re on a third date.”

flirting.

i’ve never been great at that. and i haven’t needed to be, Jack is the one who approached me first, he’s the one who asked me out and he hasn’t given any indication that i have any reason to have to flirt to keep his attention.

“oh.”

Luke pays for his beer before retreating back to the table with a low “see you in a few.”

i’m quick to tear my phone out of my pocket, glancing over towards the restrooms for a moment to make sure my date isn’t coming back before making a quick google search.

this seems impossible.

“hey.” Jack reappears beside me and i hastily lock my phone, looking up at him as i go to slide it back into my pocket. but the combination of my fidgety hands, quick movements, and not paying attention to my surroundings doesn’t end well.

before i can even blink, my hand is knocking into my glass, the drink sliding off the bar top and onto the floor, shattering upon impact.

“oh my god!” i squeal, jumping back from the broken shards. i glance down at the mess before looking back up at Jack. “i am so sorry!”

i turn to the waitress who comes rushing towards us with a broom and towels, apologizing profusely and offering to clean it up myself.

“it’s no problem, happens all the time.” she tells me with a smile, but i still bury my face in my hands.

i’m making a fool of myself.

“can we get another aperol spritz?” i peek through my eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, watching as he hands the bartender his card again.

“i am so sorry, Jack.” my voice is low and whimpered, my shoulders rising as though to protect myself. “i just wasted your money and made a huge mess.”

Jack smiles softly, shaking his head as he chuckles, “don’t worry about it. it’s seriously okay, y/n. accidents happen, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

i nod, but i truly feel horrible now.

this was a mistake. i should’ve just stayed home; watched a cheesy romance or read a true crime novel and gone to bed early.

the bartender hands me the new drink, and i thank him before Jack leads me back to the table.

“everything okay?” Timo questions as we return and Jack just nods as we settle back in our seats.

“yeah, just a little accident. it’s all good.” the guys chuckle but all turn back to their previous conversation, somehow now on the topic of the wildest things they did in school.

i stay silent, hoping and praying to any higher power that they don’t involve me in this conversation, but my luck runs out pretty quickly. although i’m not sure i’ve had any tonight in the first place.

“what about you, y/n?” Nico is the one to rope me in, “what’s the wildest thing you did in school?”

“i- uh-” i internally cringe, mentally preparing myself for their jokes, “i was homeschooled. so, i didn’t really get to do anything crazy like you guys.”

“ohh, you’re a homeschool kid.” Luke nods as if it makes sense.

“did you know that statistically speaking, homeschoolers are more likely to graduate than public schoolers?” John pipes up, and i shake my head.

“really?” Jack questions, his nose scrunched cutely in disbelief.

“no, i- uh, i didn’t know that.” John nods at my words.

“yeah, look it up!” he points to my phone, which never actually made it to my pocket after the broken glass fiasco and now resides face down on the table.

i pick it up and Jack and Dawson, who both reside on either respective side of me, lean in to see my phone screen, eager to find out whether their teammate is correct.

but when i unlock my phone, my eyes grow wide and i’m eagerly attempting to swipe out of the current window, but it’s as if the world is against me because this is the exact moment that my phone screen decides to freeze.

“does that say ‘how to flirt?’” Dawson chuckles and i bite my lip, giving up and slamming my phone face down onto my lap as the table bursts into laughter.

i’m blushing like a mad woman, squeezing my eyes shut as i bury my face into my hands for the second time that night.

“aww y/n, you really let John get to you, huh?” Luke teases, and i feel like i could cry of embarrassment.

everything i do is tragic.

suddenly my seat is moving, scooting further to my right, before an arm is spindling around my waist. i let my hands lower just slightly to peer up at Jack, who wears a happy grin, his cheeks tinged pink.

he glances down at me, smiling even wider when he sees that i’m already looking at him.

it’s like a cat’s got my tongue, too stunned by the overwhelming mortification of the situation to even get a word out to explain or defend myself.

but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, pulling me into his body until my head is against his collarbone as he changes the subject; bringing up a story about he and his older brother trying to free an infant Luke from his crib when they were younger.

i’m quiet as the group speaks, most of them speaking over each other, which in turn makes others get louder to try and be heard. my head aches and i need a break.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom.” i whisper, freeing myself from Jack’s hold as he nods in understanding.

“okay. are you okay?” i give him a small smile, reassuring him that i’m fine before i leave.

my hands rest upon the bathroom sink, my eyes glaring into my reflection in the wonky bar mirror.

“get it together.” i try and tell myself, but it comes out in more of a whine.

why am i like this?

i run my hands through my hair, making sure it’s volumized, and heave out a sigh before i make my way back out of the restroom to join the table again.

on my way back, i can’t help but smile at the sight of Jack laughing with his friends.

he seems so carefree.

but i should’ve been watching where i was going, because halfway to the table, i’m tripping over someone’s heeled foot, landing on my knee on the hard ground.

“oh shit!” Jack’s voice echoes over the loudness of the music and bar-goers, and i can hear multiple chairs screech across the floor. “y/n, are you okay?”

oh god, i wanna curl up and die.

“yeah, i’m fine.” my voice is wavering and weak, so over making an idiot of myself tonight.

Jack appears in front of me, holding his hands out to help me up. his skin is soft as i slide my hands into his, allowing him to pull me up to my feet.

his friends stand behind him, a couple biting back laughs, but the others wide eyed in concern.

i let Jack guide me back to the table, and when i sit down, he’s kneeling in front of me, inspecting my knee for any immediate bruising or marks.

i sigh and he looks up at me, worry settled into his expression.

“that was a hell of a tumble.” Timo snickers, but he sobers up quickly as his eyes meet Jack’s, “you’re okay though, right?”

“physically? yes. mentally? questionable.” the table laughs, but i didn’t mean to joke, which only makes me press my lips together.

Jack finally deems my knee okay, settling back into his seat and letting his arm rest over the back of my chair.

“what were we talking about?” Jack asks, effectively diverting the attention away from my fall and back to the conversation from while i was gone.

“cheating.” John states, taking a sip from his beer.

i let out a little laugh, thinking he was just joking, but i sober up as i realize nobody else is.

“oh, you were serious.” i bite my lip as he nods.

“right!” Luke exclaims, “so people are saying he cheated on her?”

“yeah,” Dawson nods, and i’m a bit lost, “which i don’t understand, because all he did was hold hands with the other girl. we don’t know anything other than that. holding hands could have so many different meanings.”

i take a big gulp of my drink, listening intently as the guys debate cheating and what counts as cheating.

“i think, if one of you guys cheated on your girlfriend, i might ‘accidentally’ knock your teeth out on the ice.” Nico tells them, making the guys and i laugh. “i’m serious, you’d be bag skating until you physically drop from exhaustion.”

and like word vomit, before i can stop myself, i’m speaking, “my friend recently cheated on her boyfriend, and i can’t tell if i should tell him or let him find out on his own.”

their heads turn to me and i shrink in my seat as i realize what just escaped my lips.

“oh my god, i’m not supposed to be telling that to anyone.” my hand covers my mouth, and a few of the guys laugh at my actions.

“you should definitely tell him.” John shrugs, “he deserves to know.”

“i thought so too, but if i do tell him, does that make me a horrible friend?” the guys all start shouting different things along the same lines.

some telling me it doesn’t make me a bad friend, while others telling me that i shouldn’t be friends with her anymore anyways.

“has she done anything else?” Luke asks, and i scrunch my nose.

“cheating wise, no: just one drunken kiss with some guy.” i start. “but she told him she was sick to get out of meeting his parents.”

i clap my hand over my mouth again, shocked that these secrets are just tumbling out of me.

“fuck, i shouldn’t be telling you guys these things.”

the guys cackle and Dawson changes the subject, apparently just remembering a story of something that happened to him back home over the summer.

i remain quiet for the next fifteen or so minutes, just listening as the guys go back and forth, telling stories of their summers, until i feel Jack’s hand on my shoulder.

“hey, i’m heading home, do you want me to drop you off at your house?”

i eagerly accept his offer, happily willing to leave now and avoid paying for an uber during surge pricing. the both of us bid goodbye to his teammates and his brother, who says he’ll hitch a ride back to the apartment with Dawson, before we head out to his car.

i smile as he opens the car door for me, allowing me to climb in before he shuts the door again and jogs around the front of the car, slipping into the drivers side.

i don’t need to give him my address, our second date having been at my apartment, so i just clasp my hands tightly together in my lap, both of his on his steering wheel.

“i had fun tonight.” he tells me as we pull up to my apartment building.

“yeah, your friends are nice.”

not a complete lie. they are nice, i’m just not sure i got along with them, or more so, that they liked me.

“can i walk you up?” i accept his request and he exits the car, running around it to open my door before i get the chance to.

i mentally prepare myself on the silent elevator up to my apartment, readying myself to have him tell me that he doesn’t think we fit.

i was awkward tonight, breaking a glass, stumbling over my words, tripping, googling things that should be common knowledge, and telling secrets i had no business telling.

i couldn’t think of any worse ways to ruin a potential relationship.

when we reach my apartment, Jack stops me in front of my door, and before he gets the chance to belittle my dignity any further than i, myself, already have, i’m speaking up.

“i completely understand if you don’t wanna continue this.” i sigh, finding sudden interest in my shoes. “i made a complete fool of myself tonight.”

“why would you think i don’t wanna see you again?” he sounds hurt, his finger hooking under my chin and pulling my head up to look at him.

i chuckle lowly, “you can’t take me anywhere. every time i go out, it’s social suicide.”

“so you’re a bit clumsy and you need time to click with my friends and their humor, so what?” he shrugs, “i think you’re cute. and i’m incredibly honored that you wanted to flirt with me.”

i groan, my face flushing, and i tip my head back to look up at the ceiling.

“oh god, that was so embarrassing.” i whine.

“it was sweet.” Jack chuckles, pulling me into his chest. his arms wrap around me and i melt into his embrace, his chin resting on top of my head.

“i really like you, y/n. and tonight may not have gone the way you would’ve liked, and i can respect that, you’re allowed to feel that way, but i really liked it. i got a chance to figure out more about you and what you’re like, and it only solidified that i’d really like to keep getting to know you, see where this could lead.”

my head snaps up to look him in the eyes, “you would?”

he giggles at my actions, nodding his head. “yeah, i would.”

his head dips down and i suck in a breath as his lips near mine.

“can i kiss you?” he questions, and i nod.

“yes, please.”

his lips slot against mine, moving in sync and pulling me even closer to him if it’s possible. his hands slide up to cup the back of my neck, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and i part my lips to allow him entrance.

what starts slow and passionate, turns into something hot and heavy. i huff as he pulls away, my lips chasing after his and making him smile.

“do you wanna come inside?” i ask him, my voice low and sultry, and his eyes darken almost instantly.

he smirks, answering only by taking my keys from my hands and unlocking my door, leading me into my own apartment.

“ya know, i don’t think you needed that google search. you’re pretty good at luring me in all on your own.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl fic #faithlynn’s writings <3

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acidbreak · 2 months ago

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on the case of "it'd be a cold day in hell before I'd fall in love with either one of you."

( Translations differ, unofficial source for photo. Same premise of, I would never love either one of you. ) This line, in the context of the chapter, comes completely out of the blue. It's said by Shoko, the chapter before Gojo is released, the first thing we read Shoko say this chapter. I myself felt this HAD to be a mistranslation, because it came so out of left field for me that Shoko was suddenly talking about loving Gojo and Geto. Some i've seen claim she's talking about platonic love here, but I find that very hard to believe when in the next panel she is claiming that she was there for him, and is with the group of monsters waiting his return.

The next page gives context to why she would be thinking this- she can't even start to understand how Gojo felt alone. Not when she has been there the whole time for him, not when he has students all around waiting for his return. Here we can see what in reality she lacked over romantic love, a deeper understanding of Gojo. She could not understand the loneliness of being strong like Geto could. ( Though, I hate when people say this is the only difference. Sukuna too understood that lonely feeling, that didn't mean he could satisfy Gojo. )

Put simply, she was trying to figure out what she was lacking to make Gojo feel alone. And her answer seems to be that she lacked the love that Gojo ( And perhaps even Geto ) needed to be able to feel not alone in this world. How right or wrong she is doesn't exactly matter, but we know how important Geto is to Gojo. We know that what everyone else lacked for Gojo, Geto had. Perhaps outside of the ability to understand each other when it mattered. ( I honestly doubt that Shoko even realizes that Gojo doesn't see her as much more then an acquaintance. The relationship between these two is rather sad, with little communication outside of probably work. I think this is just because Gojo's only understanding of friend is Geto and their relationship alone. ) But, why is that brought up now, exactly? In the context of the chapter, on the edge of our seats for the return of Gojo- isn't it a little odd to be thinking on something like "I could have never loved you", to someone she clearly cares about?? I would think it is, if not for the fact that it's setting up for the next chapter and some vibes about Gojo& Geto's relationship.

The next chapter sets up the idea that Gojo's state after the unsealing is possibly unstable, they set up for a whole big thing. It's a little anticlimatic, IMO, when it turns out that Gojo just...teleports away?

That's what I thought at first, anyways, until I realized that Gojo had the full intentions of killing Kenjaku as soon as possible all for the possibility of mourning his body...Again. You'd assume he's past that phase, but you know, we all handle grief differently, whatever. But in the context of the past two chapters, the idea of Satoru's loneliness that could only be cured by love, not platonic love, he seeks out the body of his best friend, just to mourn him all over again...

That's not all either. As it turns out..If Gojo can't have the body right now, he'll want it on December 24th. A notoriously romantic holiday, to the point that even Kenjaku points it out as gross.

And before I hear "Kenjaku is just trying to get on Gojo's nerves!" ...Yes, obviously. The guy with all of Geto's memories, who we know has seen enough with how he had all his faith in just saying "Hi Satoru" would be able to trap Gojo. I really do doubt that Kenjaku was just randomly making insults. Especially when you consider the fact that Geto is the one who originally made these plans on December 24th. Kenjaku would not only have all the memories of Geto and Gojo's time together, but also would know the exact mindset that Geto had when planning this on Christmas Eve. I have a hard time believing this guy who has all the access to everything he could to make a cutting jab at Gojo would just pick this barely an insult "Isn't that gross cuz it's romantic?" And the other defense I often hear comes from Gojo himself.

And like...Yeah. Sure. This works as an excuse. But it's not exactly like Gojo cared up until the moment that he knew he couldn't have the body then and there. Who would this second death anniversary even matter to?

Of course Gojo doesn't give a genuine defense to Kenjaku, why would he? Giving a genuine response to something that simply leaches off of every genuine emotion you give him is a poor idea. I still kind of think that Shoko just thinking about this was kind of weird in the moment, even if it kind of led into the next chapter being about Gojo the Romantic when he's Emotional

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk geto #jjk shoko #satosugu

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cripplecharacters · 8 months ago

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Hello! I write stories in horror genre. I've been wanting to incorporate more disabled characters in these, because I feel like they're really underrepresented in the genre except for either demonizing roles of antagonists, or a random victim who dies/is exploited for cheap shock because of their disability. One of the stories I'm working on has intellectually disabled protagonist/narrator. Are there any things you'd recommend to avoid in writing a character with ID in context of horror genre specifically?

Hey!

I have a few problems with ID characters in horror media. Two of the three biggest ones you've actually already covered in your ask, so I'll just add quick explanations for people not familiar with them.

First is the "big intellectually disabled man murders everyone", not even because he's evil or is seeking revenge or whatever, but because he "doesn't understand" that murder bad. It's absurdly insulting and writers don't seem to understand that a lot of real life cases where an ID man "committed" a brutal crime are a result of police manipulation and tricking them into "confessing", but that's a very long and frustrating topic.

Second one is the victim thing. Hardly exclusive to any minority, but with ID characters it often seems like they're the first of many victims and their death is usually ignored because who cares (granted, pretty realistic) until more people start dying and all that. Dogs tend to get more sympathy (also realistic).

Third thing that I hate is the "everything is normal... until the character is revealed to have mental [R word]! (scary music)". Generally in the sense that the situation seems completely fine, the protagonist has no actual traits of ID, but then at some point they find out they have ID (usually severe or profound, which is ridiculous in this context) and suddenly the actions of those around them are pretty clearly fucked up (the character is actually held hostage, kidnapped, about to be murdered, you get it). It uses intellectual disability as a shock factor and as some worst-case scenario nightmare fuel for abled people, even though the situation makes no sense (no, a profoundly ID person isn't going to be reading their medical records and find out this way) and wouldn't happen. It's insulting nonsense.

Another thing that is insensitive in my opinion is the institution/SPED setting. Definitely not because nothing evil happens in there (quite the opposite) but because the way it's usually treated is completely devoid of empathy and the actual victims are portrayed as animals almost (or not so almost). I'd just stray away from the extreme real-life abuse scenarios (abusive caregivers, borderline slavery "work"places, purposeful medical malpractice) that do actually happen if you don't have a lot of experience or aren't working with someone who does.

Last thing, kinda connected to the third, is to not make any bizarre connections between the disability and the horror. ID can make someone trust others more which could lead to a situation that's potentially Scary, but it doesn't have much to do with demons or the parents doing something fucked up before the person was born.

There are of course other things that are kinda tired, but not completely made-up. ID people are victims of crime way more often, that's a statistic that's been true since the dawn of time. But it doesn't mean that they won't fight back because they're disabled. I'd love to see a character who actually wins against the antagonist at some point (even if just for a moment, considering it's horror) - whether they're physically stronger, or know the place better so they get away, or manage to keep calm because they haven't realized they're in a dangerous situation, it would be awesome to see.

Some additional notes that might or might not apply depending on what kind of horror it is;

A lot of people with ID aren't going to be reacting to the regular horror stuff the same way as your average horror character might. They might not think much when they hear a Suspicious Sound and not go investigate it, or be too scared because it's an Unfamiliar Situation. What would be more realistic in a scenario like this is the ID character actually reaching out for help (depends on the settings what that would be); most of us get it drilled into our brain to listen to authority, so they would probably be calling the cops rather than going into the Scary Basement, even if just in the fear of not doing the thing you're supposed to.

In more of an eldritch horror setting where there is an incomprehensible Thing happening, a character with a significant intellectual disability literally has an advantage over abled people. It's just one of many incomprehensible things. Many of us are simply used to ignoring things that don't make sense since the majority of people don't have the patience to explain things in a way that's actually helpful.

It'd be also cool for the ID character to actually have a goal, objective, or whatever else to drive them forward and have some development. Whether that would be the desire to find out who murdered their ex-husband, or why the sink has blood instead of water, or just to survive the voyage, basically anything other than just standing there only experiencing things when some abled savior shows up and tells them how to feel and what to do (both bad for an ID character but also just a poorly written protagonist of any kind).

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #horror and disability #tropes #intellectual disability representation

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ssmhhh · 4 months ago

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🚨TUA RANT🚨

hey so ummm idk if anyone out there knows this but in case some ppl are confused, the realism that mise en scène works to construct in the process of filmmaking isn’t actually real and storytelling through visual media is a whole industrial complex and professional actors are literally just workers who, in order to do their job professionally, do not feel any certain type of way about what that job entails based on your weird personal morality metrics when acting in service of the story being told.

like are any of you at all cognizant of the fact that when you see an actor portraying a character on screen it’s literally their job to not exist as that actor or the person that they are in their personal lives but instead embody the character for which they auditioned, knowing full well what that might entail? in this case having not only read the source material but already being a huge fan of it, fully aware of the nuanced, grey nature of it all??

like forgive me but if they are actually good at their job (which in this case they absolutely are) an actor shouldn’t even cross your mind as a person that exists outside of the narrative when you are watching their performance.

and are you in any way aware of the fact that with the (now very rare) exception of clearly defined lines set out by legal teams and intimacy coordinators and agents and HR being inappropriately crossed without swift repercussions, if an actor actually felt uncomfortable doing something at their job it absolutely would not go down in this day and age? and that an extremely vanilla kiss scene is not worth any semblance of hysterical hand-wringing over?

do you even realize how ridiculous it sounds when you chimp out about the fact that steve blackman has openly ‘admitted’ (as if that’s not a totally normal fucking statement to make and in no way weird or shameful or gross) that he waited until aidan was an adult with agency to give his character (who is a fucking senior citizen btw) a romantic storyline with the only character it made complete narrative sense to give him one with? this is not a “gotcha” argument it’s literally just the standard respectful thing to do… and miss me with your pearl clutching about the character’s physical age lol he’s physically like 25 by the time anything happens between them in the greenhouse.

technically the age gap goes the other way here, and honestly everyone with more than two brain cells knew the potential for this kind of thing happening given the complicated dilemmas of the character’s age. it was always going to be morally grey no matter what, and frankly, that’s what makes it compelling.

and btw, just fyi— a head writer of a multi-season tv show taking on the responsibility of planning out narrative arcs for fictional characters in very specific contexts does not, in fact, constitute what some of ya’ll so hyperbolically refer to as “fantasizing” about a fully consenting paid actor potentially being assigned a tastefully portrayed romantic storyline with another fully consenting paid ADULT actor who happened to be a ‘physical minor’ 15 years younger than them at the time (many years prior) that both parties were hired for the job, which they individually pursued with enthusiasm to obtain.

i’m sorry but there is nothing being logically presented by anyone whining about this that adequately proves there is anything wrong with it other than a personally biased laundry list of wildly reaching assumptions with zero concrete evidence and a whole lot of baseless projections.

like…you people do understand that all of these actors are doing their jobs and it’s not that deep right?? kissing, especially to the mild extent that was depicted in tua s4e5, is just like any other task in an actor’s job description, and all they are worried about is doing it in a way that best represents the characters in the context of the story that they are being paid quite handsomely to portray, which they contractually agreed upon and willingly consented to do.

not to mention the fact that if you would just take several deep breaths and get your head out of the ass of your moral high-horse for five minutes, you would notice that these actors did an absolutely phenomenal job at selling every single minute aspect of this storyline despite the fact that the amount of work they put in was drastically cut down to literal shreds by the final edit.

but no, y’all judgemental creeps rly out here having the audacity to disrespect the blood, sweat, and tears of the labour they put into it…which they have gone on record saying they are extremely proud of btw:

claiming concern for the wellbeing of people you don’t even know through deluded, sanctimonious takedowns of their hard work that they are (rightfully) proud of is absolutely wild to me… it’s giving vipers dressed in empath’s clothing lmao be so fucking for real please.

there is zero real harm to anyone actually occurring here, so pls stop pretending like your paternalistic moral panic is protecting anything other than your idealistic fantasy of how everything you consume should cater to your specific preferences, remain unchanging and safely free from the discomforts of growth, and never challenge your naïve perception of reality or your disney-ass assumptions that all media should exist as a utopian escape from it.

children… i beg you to put the ipads down and run your needlessly worried fingers through some actual physical grass i am so fucking serious. please grow the fuck up—for your own mental peace but also out of respect for the peace of those around you.

and to all you cyberbullying weirdos out there—fivela enjoyers auto-block hysterical commenters like these not out of cowardice but out of having the maturity to know when to pick your battles, and the unfortunate knowledge that attempting to reason with a certain level of reactionary willful ignorance is a waste of ones precious time and energy.

i have (probably foolishly) made an exception in this instance, bc for better or for worse, i felt that there are simply too many extremely loud voices out here who could do with being told to pipe the fuck down for 5 seconds.

it costs literally $0.00 to mind your goddamn business, stay in your lane, and focus on you and what makes you happy. if you feel the need to define yourself based on what you hate more than what you love, then i would highly suggest having a long eye-opening convo with yourself about why that is. let people enjoy things that nobody is forcing you to enjoy along with them. filter functions exist for this very reason.

it is nobody’s fault but your own if your media illiterate asses completely misunderstood the assignment and utterly failed to read the room here. like i’m sorry you put your rose-tinted hopes and dreams into something that never pretended to be anything but what it was and not what your narcissistic projections wanted it to be. tough shit. step into the daylight and let it go babes.

i didn’t want to do this but i got fucking fed up and needed to clock the tea one time. i will never speak on this again here but i’m sorry it needed to be said.

i wish a very get well soon 💖 to you all and to all a girl, bye.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua s4 #five x lila #fivela #ritu arya #aidan gallagher #steve blackman #the umbrella academy season 4 #five hargreeves #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #lila x diego

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hailturinturambar · 7 months ago

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A Dark Obsession: Sauron and Galadriel's relationship

This analysis is not thought of in romantic or sentimental terms. But it seeks to understand how such opposite beings, separated by light and darkness, are able to coexist and even understand each other's deepest ambitions.

And to understand how this thread of darkness tied the destinies of Galadriel and Sauron, we need to remember how it all began. Or rather, who they were at the beginning of time when the world was young and there were no names for death.

When the world was young and the Valar ruled Arda, Melkor, who would become Morgoth, destroyed the peace in Middle-earth and Valinor, causing the destruction of the Two Trees.

With the help of Ungoliant, Morgoth darkened Valinor and the Valar despaired. With his servants, Morgoth returned to Middle-earth and brought pain and suffering to Elves and Men.

Galadriel was right. The Elves knew no words for death. The days in Valinor were golden and filled with good fortune, despite the malice of Morgoth. In the beginning, there was greater harmony. But, enraged by the loss of peace in their home, the Elves set out from Middle-earth in many companies. And Galadriel's family was present at the great pilgrimage.

The prophecy of Mandos was spoken, and sorrow and grief accompanied the journey of the Elves until the end of days. While Galadriel and the House of Finarfin fought against the forces of Melkor, Morgoth plotted in the darkness. And he was aided by his servants, and the worst of these was Sauron, his greatest lieutenant.

Like many elves in Middle-earth, Galadriel fought valiantly against the advance of evil and the forces of Morgoth. She was the sister of Finrod Felagund, mighty in wisdom and power.

Finrod ruled the elves while he fought against the enemies of the shadows. But even the mighty fall. And this moment defined, in the context of the show, the rest of Galadriel's days.

Marked by loss and grief, Galadriel realizes that she cannot live in peace until the last enemy has fallen at her feet. Morgoth has been destroyed, but Sauron, now greater and more terrible, stands ready to doom Middle-earth. Finrod's task becomes hers. It is her destiny to destroy those who condemned her brother to the cold and lonely halls of Mandos.

However, when anger and resentment remain attached to our souls, spirits and minds for too long, we become a little of what we seek to destroy. Hatred consumes even the noblest light. And Galadriel takes a path she had not foreseen when she decided to hunt Sauron and the evil he created. Who hunts whom now?

By the irony of the Valar or fate, Galadriel spent ages hunting Sauron, facing the furious weather in Helcaraxë and with nothing in her heart but revenge, Sauron was without fair form and struggling to survive in the depths of Middle-earth. The more you hate something, the more you attract it into your life, indeed.

Galadriel is alone on her journey, the elves are tired and weary. Ages have passed and Sauron has disappeared, there is no longer any reason to suffer a pointless search. Galadriel is forced to return to Lindon and abandon her pride. But is this enough for her?

No, I don't think so. Galadriel is a fighter, forged in steel and grief, after so many ages of fighting Morgoth and Sauron. She is unable to stop, she cannot stop. Her body and mind know only one path, revenge. Perhaps, because when the stars shine in the sky and the world sleeps, she is unable to move on until those she has lost see the sun rise once more.

Gil-galad senses the darkness slowly overflowing Galadriel's spirit. Hatred can be intoxicating until it becomes impossible to live without. She must now depart for Valinor and live in peace, a reward for her years of toil and hope of destroying Sauron.

The disagreement between Galadriel and Elrond, in my view, is the first sign of how the evil born of revenge is beginning to infiltrate Galadriel's mind, clouding the reason and light of her thoughts.

Elrond is wise and understands the suffering of Gladriel, his dearest friend, but he still realizes that this task will only cause more pain. He must convince Galadriel to give up her pursuit.

"Then why is it not gone from in here?"

It's a powerful scene. Galadriel touches her chest, her heart as she speaks passionately about what she's feeling. She couldn't let go of the hatred in her heart, could she? Evil can't let go of Galadriel's heart. Because this evil is not Sauron, this evil is her own desire for ruin and destruction against her tormentor.

This thought, however, is dangerous, since Melkor himself felt this way when faced with the punishments of the Valar.

Honestly, Galadriel's words to Elrond don't sit well with me. Doesn't he know the evil she has seen? This is vile, Galadriel. If we look back at Elrond's past, he has seen enough evil. The evil that has befallen his family, his people, himself.

But Galadriel is too blind to understand that many have suffered in Middle-earth, just as she has. Unlike them, she is trapped in the past. Leaving for Valinor is no gift to her. Not when she has lost so much, when she has suffered so much. Not when she has been given the pleasure of beholding again the beauty of the land of the Valar while the dead live in darkness.

It is not pride alone that compels Galadriel to abandon ship, but her own suffering. Ulmo, have mercy on her, for the waters of Arda are bearing her to meet the being who has caused her greatest grief.

Adrift at sea, Galadriel is taken to a group of shipwrecked people and that is when her path and Sauron's path meet again. Did he know who she was? I would say yes. Sauron knew his enemies, those who hunted him. After all, he killed her brother, how could he not know? Surely he felt a perverse pleasure in knowing that she would never recognize him.

Sauron is the Great Deceiver and this is his moment to entangle Galadriel in his plots. Sauron knows lies and nothing else, so Halbrand is there to test our minds. He is not Sauron at first glance, just a man. And he is as he weaves his deception.

There's a suspicious voice in my head, and it's asking to be heard. Honestly, when I first watched the first season, nothing about Halbrand really bothered me at first, but now I see things differently. So, let's talk about the worm.

In the prologue of the second season, we have the ship with the men of Middle-earth who are leaving in search of a better future, Númenor, perhaps. Sauron is with them when the worm attacks the ship. But, Sauron survives the attack of the creature. Even though it comes towards him in blind fury, it does not harm him.

So this quote right here will define what I'm saying here:

"Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of werewolves; his dominion was torment. He took Minas Tirith by assault, for a dark cloud of fear fell upon those that defended it; and Orodreth was driven out, and fled to Nargothrond."

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

Sauron knew Galadriel's family and, most importantly, he commanded the beasts of Middle-earth. I understand then that the worm did not attack him for that reason. But why would the worm attack a second time, right where Sauron was?

I don't believe Sauron planned the second attack, not at first. However, when Galadriel comes to the shipwreck and he recognizes her, I suspect this plan has formed in his mind. All the mortals on the ship die, leaving only Galadriel and Halbrand. He is alone with her and can spill his lies.

Sauron, did you call the worm to be part of your great deception? I bet you did.

Were all of Sauron's actions evil? It is very difficult to say. Sauron did indeed repent when Morgoth was defeated, but he did not follow the Valar's will and fled to Middle-earth. However, this proves that he can repent, but that he simply refuses to do so.

So he could also do good, but he chooses not to. With Sauron, there are no right answers. His deception is too strong to affirm or deny. Still, he saved Galadriel and that changed the course of their journey.

There is a point during the time that Sauron and Galadriel are adrift that generates a lot of mixed opinions. Sauron was apparently vulnerable and letting his grief show. I believe he was, in part, vulnerable. Not because he was romantically interested, after all, they barely knew each other for that. But because his entire life had been turned upside down.

Sauron spent eons formless and wandering in the depths of the earth, bereft of his kingdom and his power. It is to be expected that he would be vulnerable. But, as I have already analyzed about Sauron and Adar/Galadriel/Celebrimbor, even when Sauron is being honest, he is being honest through lies that allow him to achieve his goals.

And now Sauron and Galadriel have arrived in Númenor. Was it at this point that Sauron considered destroying the people of Númenor? It is emphasized in the books that Sauron feared the people of Númenor because they could rival him in strength and power. They were a threat, and Sauron meets his threats with the same strategy. He destroys them.

Something I find very interesting about Sauron's character is how he shapes the desires of those around him. As Celebrimbor said in season two, Sauron plants ideas in your mind and makes you believe that those ideas were always yours. He does this with Galadriel.

Sauron regretted at first, but he did not return to Valinor and atone for his sins. Why would he be otherwise now? As much as I love the idea of Halbrand in Númenor, I am not blind to the fact that he did not exist. Could Sauron have stayed in Númenor and lived as a mortal? I doubt it. His thirst for power, his desire to rule, to heal Middle-earth, would have grown stronger in time.

And in my view, Sauron has been doing reverse psychology with Galadriel. When he says he wants peace for himself, that he wants to stay in Númenor and start over, it is not how he would have her understand it. As a mortal man. But when Galadriel sees it that way, she despairs. She wants him to fight with her against Sauron, against the evil that has also hurt him, as it has hurt her.

Galadriel has spent eons without her husband, whom she loved so much and lost in the war against Sauron, she has lost her family, and her friends believe she is becoming the evil she hunts. Halbrand is her salvation.

And Sauron's refusal only increases her efforts. That's his big deception, isn't it? Pretending you don't want something, just to get it without having to be honest.

When Galadriel fights the boys, Halbrand watches. Was he watching as an enemy? Honestly, I don't think so. I believe that once he realized that she trusted him and was following his plans, she was no longer a target for his malice. His demonstration with the sword incited her doubts, fueling her belief that he is the lost king.

But he keeps refusing, he keeps denying that he wants to leave for Middle-earth. Galadriel and Halbrand are in conflict, Míriel allowed the sending of the ships and will help the people of Middle-earth. But the king of the mortal people refuses to leave. Galadriel tries to convince Halbrand, but she did not foreshadow that conversation.

Behind all the deceit and perversion, I would say this was Sauron's most sincere moment. Wearing Halbrand's skin, he talks about the evil he has done, the suffering he has endured. And Galadriel understands him and feels sorry for him. Sauron knows it is only because she does not know his true face. Sauron is doomed to be accepted only when he assumes a form to please/deceive others. Morgoth, Galadriel, Mirdania, Celebrimbor.

Galadriel will not stop fighting, she is incapable of it. She will leave without Halbrand if necessary. Is Sauron compelled to leave? No. He uses Galadriel's insistence as a way to further guilt her, I will delve deeper into this shortly. I suspect he left because he could not resist the temptation to heal Middle-earth. If Sauron were capable of love, he would love Middle-earth. But it is a dirty, twisted love, born of malice in search of corrupted good.

And Sauron can finally take revenge on Adar. Sauron and Galadriel are ready to fight the Orcs. Galadriel confronts Adar head on and this moment changes many things in her. I believe that at this moment, she understood how anger and revenge were condemning her soul, contaminating it. And she wants to repair this mistake.

Then we have the conversation between Halbrand and Galadriel after Adar's interrogation. In his twisted and deceitful way, I believe that Sauron saw Galadriel as his equal.

A powerful being who could stand by his side in healing Middle-earth, as he stood by Morgoth, partners. She could be his salvation, as he was hers. The problem with the fantasy idea of salvation is that it often comes with deceit and despair.

Adar's final attack either foils Sauron's plans or not. Halbrand's wound is indeed a chef's kiss. Was he really hurt, or was it just an illusion? It's hard to say. But I'm sure he planned for his vulnerability to bring him closer to Galadriel. And indeed it did, when she took a mortal man to an elven kingdom, only for him to survive.

Galadriel has grown attached to Halbrand. He has seen the darkness in her and has not been frightened or rejected her, as she thought others had done. Halbrand ends up becoming her only ally.

Did Sauron expect Galadriel to fight him in Eregion? No, I don't think so. The two of them set off for the Elven realm, and Halbrand receives the help he needs. He is in the right place to achieve his ultimate goals. And Celebrimbor is within his reach.

That's how a third act in a play ends, isn't it? Halbrand's mask hasn't slipped. Sauron is just slipping into his lies because he's too confident to be careful. And who knows, maybe deep down he believes Galadriel really will follow him.

Celebrimbor was the deciding factor in Galadriel's unraveling. Galadriel was already wary of Halbrand in Eregion, who after his healing became very close to the forge and Celebrimbor, but I think she continued to deny the truth to herself. Refusing to see what was before her eyes.

Celebrimbor's words, however, cannot be a mistake. Adar spoke these very words to her. Words that Sauron spoke to him. Words that could only have been spoken to Celebrimbor through Halbrand. Seeking the lineage of the kings of Middle-earth is her last attempt to trust that Halbrand was honest, and it is all a mistake.

Halbrand seems different now, his words don't ring true and Galadriel notices the difference. She has spent weeks at Halbrand's side. She doesn't recognize this man.

"I will never forget that. And I'll see to it that no one else does either."

The words I said I would elaborate on later. Is Sauron grateful that Galadriel saved him? That's not the point here, but rather the guilt he places on her shoulders. Galadriel helped Sauron return, gave him the confidence and strength to fight in Middle-earth, at least that's what he wants her to believe. He would do all these things with or without her. But guilt is an aphrodisiac and once it sets in it's hard to fight.

The masks have fallen and Sauron no longer needs to lie. But did he really lie? He told Galadriel that he found the crest on a dead man, he was truthful. He said he was not the king she expected, true. He said he had done evil, true again. The problem with Sauron's honesty is that it is never total. He is truthful through the lies that will benefit him.

Sauron was surprised by Galadriel's refusal to stand by his side, indeed. I imagine he had not expected it. He had glimpsed the darkness in her, and had certainly expected her to yield. Could this be the point of no return?

In a final attempt, Sauron tests Galadriel's barriers. He speaks to her with the face of Finrod, who died by his hand. How did he think this would work? But the distorted image does not soften Galadriel, it strengthens her, so he tries again.

He takes her to the sea where they were adrift together, where they met and she began, even if unknowingly, to trust him. That vision has the opposite effect. It tarnishes the memory, distorts all events. Sauron then appeals to Galadriel's desire for power.

Gandalf was right, Sauron does not share power. But he can use this to convince Galadriel, even though they would not be equal in power. She could be strong at his side, feared and revered. The real manipulation is to claim that he would not be so dark with her by his side. It is too much of a burden for her to bear.

Galadriel's refusal infuriates Sauron. As discussed before, he does not take rejection well. And if Galadriel will not be by his side, he will destroy her in return. Galadriel is strong enough to escape, and Sauron is now far away.

All that remains is the weight of his lies and the void he left behind. Galadriel has been deceived by the one she pursued for so long, and she will have to deal with the consequences.

Galadriel's rejection begins Sauron's dark obsession with her.

In the second season, Galadriel and Sauron are estranged not only physically, but mentally. Sauron's lie still burns deep within her. While Sauron is in Adar's camp planning his new deception, Galadriel pursues Elrond.

Elrond is devastated. He has seen the worst of the Silmarils' effects and how obsession can hurt so many. After discovering that Galadriel deliberately lied to him, he sets out from Eregion with the Three Elven Rings to warn Gil-galad.

Gil-galad is furious, and rightly so. In her desperate quest to destroy Sauron, Galadriel has allowed the enemy to draw near. Are the rings the elves' salvation or their destruction?

Elrond and Galadriel, friends for centuries, are on opposing sides. Gil-galad knows that Celebrimbor must be warned immediately, while he discovers whether the rings have been corrupted. Elrond, however, leaves with them.

Galadriel disregards Gil-galad's orders countless times and he continues to trust her. He knows that she would never help Sauron if she knew, that she would not use the rings for his purposes. While they search for Elrond, Sauron arrives in Eregion and Celebrimbor is the new victim of his lies.

Sauron isolates Celebrimbor from the Elves, but he does not banish Galadriel from his mind. He pursues her, trying her strength, trying her darkness. The sight of Celebrimbor stirs the guilt she feels.

Galadriel fears that she is responsible for Sauron's return, and Sauron exploits this. Celebrimbor's death would be at her hands, he practically says, as he calls her name, preventing her from moving away from his power.

Gil-galad tries tirelessly to open Galadriel's eyes, to dispel the idea that Halbrand ever existed. No matter how justly he used it, he was always Sauron, her enemy.

Elrond, however, is too hurt to be fair. He fears what the rings might do, he has been through it before and he still suffers from it. Galadriel turns to her friend once more, wanting his support, his help, for someone to take the burden of guilt off her shoulders.

She fears giving in to Sauron once more, being seduced by his words and promises. She feels used and needs help to resist temptation, she knows that Sauron has not forgotten her. Elrond confronts her, he does not trust her, he fears that she will give in to Sauron once more. In Elrond's mind, if Galadriel does not refuse to wear the rings, then Sauron never abandoned her.

Did Sauron think of Galadriel in Eregion? I bet he did. She rejected him, scorned his promises, and resisted his power. He will not rest until she is as corrupted as he is. And Mirdania certainly reminded him of Galadriel. Deceiving Mirdania is fun, because he remembers Galadriel and how she escaped his deception.

In Eregion, Sauron is definitely busy. To forge the rings, he needs to corrupt each of them with his power, his malice, as he cannot with the Elven Rings. Galadriel was right, he did not corrupt them, and so he desired them all the more.

To prevent Sauron's plans, Galadriel sets out with Elrond and the elves of Gil-galad. It is not, however, an easy journey. Elrond is being harsh but fair with her. He fears for her and is resentful and above all, he is afraid of the rings. I do not believe that Elrond was angry with her, not out of malice. But rather out of fear of this new power.

But Galadriel is also hurt. She resents herself for trusting Sauron, for still thinking of him in part as Halbrand. It is frightening to accept the truth. She suffers from guilt and from being judged by everyone. She suffers, most of all, from having been deceived by Sauron.

Galadriel’s grief grows as she journeys, accepting that her hands are stained with blood, because evil drove them into the forest and Sauron deceived them, or so she believes. For all the evil caused by Sauron, Galadriel blames herself. And she speaks to Elrond.

Because she is desperate for companionship, for someone who can understand her fears, as Halbrand used to. She fears that Sauron knows her mind and that he can rule them all. She begs Elrond to choose the world, above her, if it will defeat Sauron. She will only assuage her guilt by sacrificing herself.

The Orc attack leaves everyone unprepared. They are close to Eregion, confirming the elves' fear that Sauron is already in control of the city and Celebrimbor's mind. Is this the moment when Galadriel chooses to surrender? When there is nothing left to lose and she knows that if the ring falls into the hands of Adar or the Orcs, peace will be shaken in Middle-earth.

If obsession had a name, it would be Sauron.

The rings of the people of Khazad-dûm are ready and working, or so they think. Sauron is having results with his plan. He can control Durin III's mind, intoxicating him with his power, slowly corrupting him, but he needs more.

Men need Rings. If he cannot control the Elves, he will need as many peoples bowing at his feet as possible in Middle-earth. And he does indeed intend to recover the Three Elven Rings. And Galadriel is his gateway.

The funny thing is how obsessed Sauron has become with Galadriel. I would say rejection caused it. Sauron is in Eregion forging rings, following his plan, dominating Celebrimbor's mind, but still he is thinking about Galadriel. Why doesn't he forget? I don't think Sauron is used to being rejected.

He thinks of Galadriel when he looks at Mirdania, doesn't he? The blondness of her hair, her elvish features, her innocence about his true nature. It is like deceiving Galadriel all over again. But he feels successful with Mirdania, because she does not distrust him. She has not suffered at the hands of Sauron's malice as Galadriel has, and that's why Galadriel notices him, she's very distrust and be marked by darkness.

He didn't need to talk about Galadriel while he was trying to deceive Mirdania. There was no reason or purpose in his plans for it. But I believe it's because he was obsessed. Sauron was obsessed with many things, all related to those who rejected him. Adar and his army, Galadriel and the Elves. The more he is rejected, the more he thinks about those who rejected him.

And now Galadriel is in the hands of her greatest enemy and ally. Adar suspected Halbrand, and yet he allowed him to escape. Now he needs Galadriel's help and her ring to destroy Sauron.

Like Elrond, Adar forces Galadriel to confront the truth. How consumed she was by Sauron’s destruction, blinded by the vengeance in her heart that she could not even recognize the evil that lay before her.

And most of all, Adar understands the emptiness that Sauron’s deception leaves. When he fills you with promises and beautiful lies, encouraging your mind to believe him, to desire what he is offering, only to suffer when he betrays you.

Galadriel says she resisted Sauron, but did she? She rejected him, abandoned him, and thwarted his plans. But the power he offered, the possible healing of Middle-earth, stuck in her mind, seduced her, even if she would not admit it.

Galadriel has drunk the wine of Sauron's words, as Adar had drunk the wine offered by Sauron ages before. But Galadriel cannot bear to admit that he has almost convinced her, even to Adar.

And she does not know whether she can trust Adar, and his empty promises. Destroying Eregion in Sauron's place is a price she is not willing to pay. The destruction of her beloved elven kingdom cannot be the solution.

Galadriel had no idea how deep Sauron's plans and evil were. And how strong Adar's determination to destroy Sauron was. Lindon's army arrived to protect Eregion and prevent the Orcs from destroying all the beauty and goodness of those people.

Everyone is desperate. Sauron needs Celebrimbor to finish the rings while Eregion is under siege, and Elrond needs to convince Adar to withdraw his army. Scheming, Elrond helps Galadriel escape, and she sets out among the people of Adar, trying to deceive the Orcs.

In the trenches, Galadriel see Arondir. This is her moment of clarity. Arondir is blinded by revenge against Adar, seeking to cover the wound caused by the Uruk. Just as Galadriel was blinded by revenge against Sauron when she returned to Lindon, when she decided that she could not bear to live in Valinor as long as Sauron lived. Galadriel cannot allow Arondir to be tainted by darkness as she has been.

When Galadriel arrives in Eregion, I believe she finally understands who Sauron really is. Since the revelation, Halbrand has remained in her mind, Sauron a vision not quite real. But the destruction of Eregion changes all that, Celebrimbor's suffering changes that.

Did Galadriel suffer when she saw how Celebrimbor mutilated himself? I am sure she did. Her beloved friend is wounded, his kingdom destroyed, because of Sauron. So she blames herself. For having trusted Halbrand who is Sauron. For having led Sauron to Eregion. For not having resisted Sauron's temptation long enough.

The forging of new rings is the final straw. Galadriel understands Celebrimbor's guilt and will not rest until she has redeemed herself and her friend. She accepts the rings to take them far away, away from Sauron and his dominion. Just as she intends to escape his dominion.

This is the moment everyone has been waiting for. Galadriel has not encountered Sauron since his revelation, and she knows she cannot escape him forever. When she is taken to Adar, she struggles to believe that together they can right the wrongs of Sauron and the Orcs.

Galadriel is tired of fighting Sauron, as Adar was tired, as Celebrimbor was tired. So many ages of war and revenge have consumed her completely and she believes in Adar, she has no choice but to trust him.

Meeting Sauron again is a painful surprise. There he is, the evil of Middle-earth, the Dark Lord, the destroyer of Eregion and the bane of Elves and Men. But behind those words, she had once known him as Halbrand. The contrast between Halbrand and Annatar must have hurt Galadriel deeply.

Sauron fights not only Galadriel's body, but her mind, her spirit. He is ruthless in his attacks, attacking without mercy. But it is Sauron's words that cut deepest, the illusions he forces Galadriel to endure.

She can either follow Sauron and save Middle-earth, or she can be destroyed by him if she rejects him again. Worst of all, Sauron actually believes his words. That he would make Galadriel his queen to be fair, that they could save Middle-earth, that they could bring peace.

There is no salvation for Sauron, and he cannot fulfill any of his twisted promises. And Galadriel no longer believes in his illusions, even though to Sauron, they were real. His own truth.

Sauron says he doesn't want to hurt Galadriel, and I believe that's true. Just as he didn't want to hurt Celebrimbor. But he manipulates and betrays and doesn't accept when others abandon him, so he feels forced to hurt his opponents.

Sauron is as Celebrimbor said. The Great Deceiver who is able to deceive himself.

The Halbrand that Galadriel knew has changed and only Sauron remains. Galadriel, however, has also changed. She recognizes the pull of darkness, but she has changed. She is no longer the elf who fled Valinor and lied to Elrond, who defied Gil-galad. Galadriel is stronger and she will no longer let Sauron enter her mind. The mind he knew is gone.

"The door is still open." "The door is shut."

Sauron understands that despite all his attempts, despite all his deceptions, he will no longer be able to entice Galadriel, because she refuses his advances. Galadriel chooses death instead of him, to protect the elves, to protect her mind from him.

Sauron is once again alone and rejected, accompanied only by his power and ambition.

Did Tolkien ever consider Sauron to be obsessed with Galadriel's light? Galadriel has always been a strong opponent, great in power and light. Mighty in mind and wisdom. She would be an even better ally.

"I say to you Frodo that even as I speak to you I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns elves, and he gropes ever to see me and my thought but still the door is closed."

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The fellowship of the ring

Sauron is doomed to corrupt everything he touches and remain alone. He will never have Galadriel's mind to control and corrupt, because she knows his mind. And because she is stronger than the darkness in him, her light will continue to repel Sauron's advances throughout the ages.

And Sauron's obsession with Galadriel will never end. Wanting to know her mind, as she knows his, and as he once knew hers. Wanting to corrupt her light and turn her to his side. Wanting to convince her mind that his path is the only path.

Last words: Remember what I said a few days ago. This analysis is not romantic, mine are not and never will be. Everyone has their own opinion and way of understanding the show. And this is mine. Don't waste your time hating different views and couples. Let's take advantage and share our thoughts in harmony. Because this analysis is how I see the dynamics of Galadriel and Sauron, not yours, nor anyone else's, just mine.

And I don't even want to attack anyone with the analysis, so there's no reason to be attacked either. This fandom already has enough hate, the world already has enough hate. Let's be kind to each other! :)

#the rings of power #trop #the lord of the rings #tolkien #the silmarillion #sauron #morgoth #celebrimbor #annatar #galadriel #mairon #trop spoilers #morfydd clark #charlie vickers #galadriel x sauron #lotr #my analysis

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