#(also i haven't been on lately because the fucking. first half of this week has been frontloaded with a lot of manual labor)

[grimgrinnrs]

If I ever make a fullscale multi muse, there's a non-zero chance that, at some point, I'll impulsively add fucking Godzilla to it

[toomuchracket]

bday boy (flatmate!matty)

(hi! day 1 of Birthday Party week, a celebration of our short king turning 34 on the 8th, organised by legend icons @the1975attheirverybest and @brownduck! i don't know if i'll be writing every day, but i thought it might be nice to kick off "your first birthday as a couple - his" with a tiny thing about the love of everyone's life, flatmate!matty. enjoy!)

the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains is what wakes matty up. it's warm on his face, a gentle caress, as if to soften the aching realisation that he's another year older as of today.

that realisation is also softened by you, tucked safely into his chest, still fast asleep. your bare legs are entwined with his, your hair escaping from the loose bun you insist on putting your hair in every night, and your nose twitches adorably as you lightly mewl (he can't think of a more accurate word) in your sleep; matty has never seen a cuter sight in his life than you right now.

he hopes you're dreaming of him, to be as contented as you are. matty's certainly dreamed of you - in the years before you finally got together, it was for sights like the one he's woken up to today. now, his unconscious fantasies are filled with diamond rings, white dresses, you in sundresses with a swollen stomach, toddlers with your sparkling eyes and his wild curls. it's been less than a year since you both braved the transition from friends to lovers, but matty knows that he wants to wake up to you and only you for the rest of his life. well, to you and several children that are half you and half him, feisty little characters with wicked senses of humour and hearts of gold.

you begin to stir in your sleep, limbs shifting and head rolling back as you awaken. matty eases you through it by rubbing small circles into your bare back, which makes your eyes flutter open slowly. the butterflies in his stomach begin to flutter in parallel - god, he loves you so much. you smile sleepily at him, before your eyes widen in alarm and you exclaim. "FUCK! you weren't supposed to be awake first!"

matty's brow furrows in confusion. "and good morning to you too, sweetheart?"

"sorry," your face softens into a sheepish smile that melts matty's heart. "i just... i wanted to be up before you, so i could make breakfast and surprise you with it. happy birthday, baby."

christ. he could cry at how sweet you are, but he just pulls you close and kisses your forehead instead. "fuck, i love you so much."

"so you're not in a mard because i haven't made you pancakes?" you giggle, as matty begins pressing little kisses all over your face, your bare chests pressed together. "i love you too, by the way, even if i did wake up late on your birthday. i swear i have the rest of the day planned out nicely, though - we'll meet your mum for lunch and then see the boys for a drink then go for dinner and i've booked this hotel in town for tonight that i really think you're gonna li-"

"-baby, baby, it's alright," matty interjects, before you talk yourself back into unconsciousness. "just relax, yeah? s'just another day. no point getting yourself all worked up about it."

your shoulders move forward like you're deflating. "but it's not just another day, matty. it's your birthday, and i'm your girlfriend now," you murmur into his chest. "just wanted today to be special for you, and s'all thrown off now."

you sound so sad about the whole thing that matty's heart aches. weirdly, though, it continues to flutter at the inherent tenderness of how much you love him, to want to make his birthday such a lovely day. "darlin', it'll be special anyway," matty says, tilting your chin up so he can look at you properly. "how could it not be? i'm spending it with you, love of my life, girl of my dreams."

"who couldn't even wake up on time to bring you surprise pancakes in bed," you mutter petulantly, looking away from your boyfriend.

matty's undeterred by your annoyance, though; he begins to press kisses down your face and jaw and onto your neck, long, sensual kisses that involve swipes of his tongue across the spot he knows makes you go loopy. when you begin to moan, despite yourself, matty gently rolls you onto your back and continues to kiss down your body, your moans continuing as background music to his actions, stopping when he reaches the tops of your thighs. "i can think of something i'd much prefer to eat for my birthday breakfast than pancakes. can i, angel?"

smiling, you open your legs, and let matty settle himself between them happily. after all, who are you to deny the birthday boy what he wants?

[sugarskies]

The Deca S1E3: Scandalous Scendeles || Recorded Changes

Minor word changes.

Grammar corrections.

Corrected Scendeles verbage.

Adjusted a Scendeles’s dialogue to reference Only Dead Fish.

Modified dialogue between Ushas and Millennia.

Replaced flashback with dialogue.

Let Theta say “fuck.”

Swapped passive voice to active.

Corrected typos.

Removed Epsilon from the second to last scene.

Final Word Count: -67

Barnable's Behind-the-Scenes Babbles

vansell's line about the scendeles's robe being on backwards is one of the few i've written that actually cracks me up.

i can tell from how i wrote the first scene with mortimus that i was initially hesitant to lean into his sluttiness. in the chapter i made some adjustments to be more confident in it. i am now wondering what else i might have hesitated with so far, though. i was always (and still am) very terrified to share some of my headcanons. whenever i've posted a chapter with a more significant concept i've always anxiously awaited the hate comments. 5.5 years and i haven't gotten any. thanks for accepting my goofy ideas.

to elaborate on the dialogue i modified between ushas and millennia: since writing this chapter i read doctor who and the krikkitmen and i could not stop laughing at "the potato solution for world peace." given that a potato is central to a plot in this chapter, i couldn't resist tying it in.

at one point i wrote basically "4/10 of the deca were there so the table was less than half empty" and nobody has pointed that out to me in over five years. it correctly says "MORE than half empty" now.

i was trying to figure out why jelpax&vansell have 2 plots back-to-back then i remembered that their plot in the new magnus was completely improvised as i needed a 3rd plot and they happened to be unoccupied characters as opposed to this chapter where they were always intended to be together. coincidences are a funny thing.

(i also tried to figure out why epsilon is there twice in a row and genuinely i have no idea. my best guess is that i was making some sort of jokes with my friend, his creator, at the time and it amused me to add him in. it annoys me now. i think it's overdone. get him out of here he's not a member of the deca!!! oh well. too late to remove him now.)

“Who cares?” Theta groaned. “All I see is a bad grade and a failed class.” “That’s all you ever see.” this is my favorite. petition for more of this rallon.

“Why did you stop being friends?” “Because he stopped taking showers.” this is my other favorite. no further comment.

dumb typo of the week: "ment" instead of "meant." congratulations to this typo for surviving almost 5.5 years on ao3 without correction!

especially towards the end, some of this dialogue is so clunky it's making me cringe. ouch. can't believe i got away with this.

what other rules did ushas write down? more importantly... how many of them have been broken? questions to ponder.

overall, i did not take away very much from this chapter. no open plot threads or unanswered questions that i can see.

bonus note: THERE WAS A FUCKING TYPO IN THE SUMMARY

[apprenticestanheight]

Good News - Chainshipping

Ooooookay!! This was born of an idea I had m o n t h s ago but then I tried to write it (I feel like it's one of the chainshipping fics I have here but I can't remember) and it went in a different direction and, as I usually tend to do, I gave it as close to a happy ending as I was willing and able.

This, however? nah. I haven't cried for a serious reason (this is very serious to me!!) in a good bit so. here we have this. To the anon who sent in a req for heavy chainshipping angst, the concept of this fic was brought back around into the handy dandy mental space because of you and I hope you like it!

Title was riffed from the song Good News by Julien Baker, by which this fic is not directly inspired (I listened to it while writing this fic,, at least the start) but might have a similar vibe to.

Fic type - this is straight out angst with maybe a cathartic and kind of hopeful end?? idk but I know that it's all angst until the last scene and even then, the angst is still present there.

Warnings - mentions of drugs and drug use (morphine is mentioned once in a hospital setting and weed is mentioned a lot), addiction is referenced (both in Gabrielas case and also in Adam talking about being borderline addicted to his pain meds and his weed dependency not being a dependency but more an addiction), and this is fairly time-jumpy bc every scene takes place at a slightly different time than the last, which is clarified! The second half is probably not that great in terms of proofreading and editing, this one is hot off the press (I finished it, went to type up the authors note, and rushed to post bc I want this out of my brain) and might not be super good bc I don't doubt that I've missed a few things.

The first thing that Adam registers when he wakes up is a white-hot, raging pain that starts in his shoulder and manages to radiate down his arm til it reaches the nerve endings in his fingers. The second thing he registers is the feeling of someones hand, holding tightly onto one of his own--not the one that's in pain, thank fuck--and the sound of their breathing, somehow both quick and laboured at the same time.

The third thing he registers is a tube shoved down his throat. The second he registers that, the anxiety sets in. He forces his hand out of the grasp of the person who's holding onto it and tries to grab at the tube like his life depends on it, because for a second, he feels like it does.

"Adam," a voice whispers. He blinks his eyes open, turns in the direction of the voice, but it takes a few seconds for the image to blur into focus. "Adam--it's a breathing tube, keeping your lungs from collapsing. Relax, honey."

He stills when he realizes who it is. It's his mother, who he hasn't seen in almost a decade.

He glares at her for a second, but then he hears the resoundingly soft click! of a button, and five minutes later, a glorious-adjacent high sets in. Adam figures out as the haze takes him over that a morphine button is somewhere near his bed, is grateful for it despite the lingering confusion.

"Rest up," she says. "I'll be here until you fall asleep, okay? And I promise not to bug you after. I just heard you'd been found and I needed to see that for myself."

Adam lets sleep take him over--he's pretty much confined to his bed, and while he hates it, he knows he has no other choice, really, and the exhaustion creeps up on him before he can even register it.

--

A few long weeks go by, and by the time he's discharged from the hospital and complete with the necessary physical therapy to rehabilitate his arm and make sure his shoulder is working right, it's the very beginning of December.

Part of him wonders where Lawrence is--did he make it out? Was cutting his foot off worth it in the end? They're things he wonders about late at night, when the insomnia takes over and he resists the urge to climb out onto his fire escape and smoke as many joints as he can in order to sleep without fucking up his liver.

He doesn't go to therapy right out the gate, doesn't even think to do it for those first few weeks, when his doctor is checking in on him every single morning when their shift starts and every evening when it ends, when a psychiatrist comes in once every few days and tries to help him process the memories that he'd taken to vehemently avoiding.

But then, on the walk home from one of Scotts concerts, he sees an ad posting for a Jigsaw support group. It's the next day, runs from seven to nine, and the church basement it's held in is only five minutes down the road from his apartment.

He decides he'll go, part of him gunning for the mere thought of seeing Lawrence--a Jigsaw support group would be exactly the kind of place Lawrence would go after experiencing something so traumatic as the goings on of that bathroom. It's the one surefire spot Adam is betting on, but he tries to stop himself.

He doesn't know what's happened to Lawrence, not really. Lawrence hasn't reached out and Adam has made no effort to do the same for fear of rejection. He figures he could ask around at the support group, holds onto the off chance that someone there knows him or at least knows what happened, somehow.

As he gets undressed, opting to wear a pair of sweatpants and a basic black shirt, he knows that he, realistically, has no valid reason to speculate on the state of Lawrences well being, if there even is a well being upon which to speculate. If he wants to hear from Lawrence--which he does, more than anything--then he can do either of two things. He can wait for Lawrence to reach out, or he can try to do it himself.

He goes to sleep, telling himself he'll look through the phone book before he goes to work tomorrow.

--

Looking through the phone book doesn't yield much--it yields a number with a voicemail that hasn't been updated since the mid-nineties, at least, which is enough to make him laugh depressedly because mid-nineties Lawrence is not the Lawrence he knew, but the one that had existed about five years beforehand.

The support group meeting is, surprisingly, decent. He sits, for two hours, in a room full of people who understand what he's gone through. He shares his own story for the first time, breathes himself through the roughened edges and the sharp points that threaten to stab him in the chest when he thinks about it.

Talking about it, he realizes, is good for him, like the psychiatrist had said it might turn out to be. He goes home feeling the full weight of that day, which is something that he hates more than he hates himself, but he also feels a little vindicated.

The next two meetings go like that as well--Adam talks, warms up a bit slower than butter left on the counter to thaw after having spent many-a-week at the bottom of a large-capacity freezer.

At the end of December, the day after Christmas, it's the groups last meeting of the year and the first with a newcomer since Adam came along at the beginning of the month.

The newbie sits next to him, and he doesn't really bother to notice them, figures he'll pay more attention when they speak a little bit and focuses instead on sipping his coffee, focuses loosely on the delight he feels at the thought of the support groups carrot muffins that they bring out for people to eat at around 8:30, at which point the group kind of disperses to talk amongst themselves.

The instructor is a guy named Paul, and he's 35 and balding. He claims to be one of Jigsaws first survivors, having been tested around '99. Adam doesn't really believe it--Jigsaws first recorded victim would've been around early 2000, if a little bit later into that year, but he digresses. If someone or multiple someones want to pretend to be his victims, Jigsaw and his followers will take matters into their own hands eventually, be it in the name of revenge or some twisted kind of retribution.

He notices the newbie, and like he did when Adam was new, he singles her out in a way that she probably won't realize was him doing so until later, just like Adam had that first meeting.

"My name is Gabriela," she says. "I'm from Mexico. I came to New Jersey to get away from my life there--I couldn't take it."

The admission makes Paul smile softly, nod like he understands even though Adam knows, from his New Yorkian accent, that it's the farthest he's travelled between there and Jersey.

"And we're all here to support you through your troubles," he says. "Why were you tested?"

"I'd rather not--" Gabriela pauses. Adam looks at her, studies her, and sees a few scars lining her face. "I was cruel to him. I was part of the Pederson project and struggled with an addiction. He tested me and my friends at the beginning of October. Most of them died."

"The Pederson project?" Paul asks. "Whats that?"

"Something--" tears well up in her eyes, and Adam, on impulse, reaches a hand out and grabs hers. She looks at him then, stark brown eyes meeting his own. Adam has a thought that she looks like a deer in headlights. "I--I was desperate for money. I did what I thought I had to do, and then he made me pay the price."

"I lost someone too, I think," Adam laughs. "My trap mate. His name was Lawrence, and I can't figure out if he's alive or not. I watched him cut off his foot."

Gabriela smiles. Adam glances at Paul, briefly, and shrugs.

"Maybe she won't be as quick to open up as I was," he says. "Give her time."

Paul nods once, and their interactions end. Gabriela keeps a hold on Adams hand and Adam lets her, remembering what it was like in those first couple of weeks after--hell, he's still technically in that rough spot, but it's at least a little better than it was, even if it's still shit.

Yeah, Adam can't really take showers or baths yet, and yeah, that means he's had to use strawberry scented make up wipes to keep himself smelling not-rancid, and dry shampoo to keep his hair from being a greasy mop on his head, but it's better.

His shoulder hurts all the time, but it's not the pain he woke up with that first day. Every nightmare is worse than the last, but at least he's getting two hours of sleep a night now instead of a maximum of 30 minutes. He has to go against himself, go against his natural sense of pessimism and he has to choose optimism or he won't be able to keep going.

Optimism, taking the wins where he can, is what has kept him going for the past ten weeks. It kept him sane when he was trapped in the dark, and it's kept him sane ever since.

When the meeting ends, Gabriela stays close, which is something she's trying to be covert about but Adam notices. He doesn't let it irritate him as he gets more coffee, as he eats his carrot muffin and talks to Amanda Young, a girl who'd been in a trap only a few weeks before he had. He stays behind to help Paul and the others stack up their chairs and sweep the floor just in case, and Gabriela winds up staying.

She finally gets the nerve to talk to him about two seconds after he's left the church basement, has gone to sit in the pews that are empty of anyone. He hates churches, normally, but this one is oddly comforting when it's either nearly or totally empty. It's quiet in the same way the world is after snow has fallen, which is a quiet Adam has long appreciated.

"How do you deal with it?" she asks. She's sitting in the pew behind him, her hood tucked over her head to cover her hair. "I've been trying to since the start of October, when it happened, and I just--I don't know how."

"Well, first off, Jersey was about the worst place you could've wound up in," Adam laughs a little. "Most of his crimes take place in and around the general area of Jersey, but he's not the type to test people twice, as far as I know, so don't let my assholery get to you too much about that. Secondly, I'd probably argue I'm not much better than you. I was addicted to nicotine when I went in, and I've come out with something a bit worse for my liver and my lungs both."

It makes Gabriela laugh. "I'm at the hospital a lot for skin grafts," she says. "I got insurance, somehow, so I'm not drowning in debt, but I had to tell them I couldn't have any pain medication for after. I even thought anaesthesia was risky for some time."

"I had to call and get my medical bills reduced to a point where I could pay them off," Adam says. "I work in a bookstore now, and I have insurance from them as of the new year. It'll cover my meds, which I'm grateful for. We got some pretty short sticks in the game of life, but we didn't get the shortest ones."

"You don't seem like an optimistic person," Gabriela says. "You don't look like one, I mean."

"I'm not, usually," Adam says. "But until I hear that my trap mate is dead, I'm gonna choose to be optimistic because he would want me to be, dead or alive. Until I have proof that he's gone, I'm going to keep my optimism lined up with the idea that he's alive at the forefront of it's existence."

"What if he's not?" Gabriela asks. "What after that?"

"Then--fuck, I don't know. I become pessimistic and nihilistic, I guess? Jigsaw tests me again, maybe, if it gets that bad. I think, if he does, I'll fail on purpose that time. He'd better make damn sure that it's fucking fair that time around, though--no leaving the key to my chained up foot in the full fucking bathtub again, or I'll survive it just to spite the bastard."

Gabriela laughs again. Adam gets up and walks home, back to his sad little apartment.

He has to roll and smoke two over-the-top joints just to not spiral, conks right the fuck out at 9:45 on the dot.

--

It's the middle of January when Adam gets something in his mailbox. He grabs it along with the newspaper and doesn't really check the labelling on either, too caught up in the idea of checking his voicemails after remembering he has a landline that he hasn't used in five months, since he'd gotten a cheap Motorola and used that to make most of his calls.

So, he drops the mail on his kitchen counter top, grabs the landline and checks his voicemails.

The first couple are from his mother, one of which was back around when he was in the trap--sent a few days before, one he could halfheartedly remember giving a listen to before he was taken. His mother telling him his father wasn't angry anymore, like that would even begin to make up for a decades worth of anger from Adams childhood up until when he left.

It's the most recent one that gets his attention whip-quick. "Hi, Adam," it's Lawrences voice--not mid-nineties Lawrence, either. Lawrence from that day or at least a week or two after, the one Adam knows.

"I don't know if you were expecting this call, or if you'll even pay any mind to this voicemail, but I found your name in the phone book, and I heard you'd been rescued, and I just--I needed to call, okay? You don't have to understand, that's fine, but I just wanted to make sure you understood how sorry I am. I'm sorry to have left you to die like that, and I can't even begin to think about all of the ways you've been affected in the aftermath without getting anxious palpitations. I should've found a way to save you, and I'll regret not having done so for the rest of my life, okay? I just wanted to make sure you knew that I regretted it, and to make sure you understand that if I could go back and do it differently, I would do so in a millisecond without a moments hesitation."

Adam is so relieved to hear his voice that he almost cries--Lawrences voice is rough on the edges, ooey-gooey and warm at the centre, and it almost does him in completely.

"In another universe, I go ahead and visit you instead of leaving you a voicemail like a damn coward, but that's not this universe, and I'm sorry for it. You don't need to call me back, all right? I just needed to call and make sure I said my peace."

The voicemail beeps and ends and Adam hangs up the phone, fights the urge to lose his mind a little but keeps himself in check just long enough to check his mail, read the letter addressed to him.

It, shockingly, is from Alison, Lawrences wife.

I had a PI locate your address, it reads. He's in the hospital--his leg got infected and it spread like wildfire. I'd come and see him before the month was out if I were you, but if I'm being honest, I really don't think he'll make it more than another week. Come as soon as you can, to give him some peace of mind. He's staying at Saint Mercy-East, and the receptionist has been told to let you in when you come around.

Alison Baker (formerly Gordon)

Adam gives in. He lets himself cry until he can't, knows that he'll have to call into work just to see Lawrence. He has to do it. Lawrence is alive, if just barely, and he needs to see him in person one last time before the only rendition of Lawrence that he can see is a headstone.

--

Witnessing a person in palliative care is a lot more nerve-wracking than Adam first expects. Lawrence is barely awake, occasionally shifting in his hospital bed, and his skin looks grey and sullen. His breathing is laboured and a little loud, and when Adam looks at him, he feels himself cracking just a little. Adams heart breaks as he sits in the plastic chair to Lawrences left, grabs his hand and holds onto it as tightly as he thinks he can handle without breaking down.

"Hey," he whispers. "I just wanted to come down--Allison told me where you were staying, what had happened with your leg, and I figured I'd come and see you for at least half an hour."

Lawrence stills.

"I'm just gonna talk for a bit, okay?" Adam laughs at himself. "I've never done anything like this before, so I don't really know what to do."

Lawrence looks at him. His blue eyes are dull and gray and so sorrowful that it damn near kills Adam from the inside out. He realizes that Lawrence probably knows he's not got long left, if his infection has left him that lucid. Lawrence Gordon, someone who used to be sarcastic and quippy and so full of life, Adam heartbreakingly realizes, very likely knows he's dying.

"You seemed to want me to be okay in the voicemail you left," Adam says. "I just--I want you to know that I am. I'm on meds because of chronic shoulder pain and I deal with my earned amount of PTSD stuff, but I'm okay. I work in that cute little bookstore across the way from the Aldi near the heart of the city, the one that looks real small on the outside but inside is actually kind of huge? It's called Romeros, and I've got insurance and PTO and all of that shit."

Lawrence smiles gently. Adam keeps going.

"I take photos of stray cats pretty much exclusively now," he says. "And I go to a support group to help me deal with the PTSD stuff. If you've been worried, you don't need to be anymore. I'm on the path to learning how to be okay, and it was just really important to me for you to know that. I don't want to lose you when it feels like I've just gotten you back, but this is probably gonna be the only time I visit. I love you, dude."

Adam squeezes Lawrences hand just a bit tighter.

He stays with Lawrence from the beginning of visiting hours til Lawrences heart gives out near their end. Adam watches, in a panic, as the doctors go about protocol for a DNR.

In the end, Adam is still in the room when a nurse says the unthinkable.

"Time of death: 18:04 PM, January 15th."

And then, just like that, Adam has to face a reality he's spent the last several months not wanting to confront, hating the very idea of.

Lawrence Gordon is dead. He's gone, and there's nothing Adam can do about it.

--

Adam can't pull himself together enough to go to the funeral. He receives an invite in the mail initially, then a copy of Lawrences obituary and the address to where he's been buried a few weeks later.

Grief, he finds, is an ugly little thing. It makes him a bit more dependent on the weed than normal, closes him off at the support group and makes him volatile on his worst nights because he hates it. He hates that he has to grieve at all, really.

Lawrence had managed to survive that bathroom. He'd mustered up the strength to cut his own foot off, and God repaid him with an infection of what remained of that leg spreading through his body and killing him? He'd survived cutting off his own foot just to die four months later? That feels like bullshit to Adam, and he hates it.

Eventually, when the anger isn't all consuming, he leaves his apartment. He stops and buys a few flowers from a convenience store, and then he goes and visits Lawrences grave.

LAWRENCE GORDON

LOVING HUSBAND, FATHER, AND SON

He sets the flowers down, reads the lettering engraved on the stone.

"I've been dealing with a lot since you passed," Adam says. He sits down in front of the head stone, careful in the motions. He runs his hands over a newly buzzed head, the hair having grown out past it's due and the cheapest option having been to take a pair of clippers to it instead of getting it cut. "Uh--I just kind of wanted to stop by for a second. I don't know if I'll ever do this again, but I kind of thought I owed it to you a little bit."

Jersey is riding out the coattails of winter now, the grass dotted with snow, but Adam doesn't really care. It's sunny out and there's an icy breeze to go with it, but it's a nice day, everything else considered.

"I've been closed off from it all--I hate thinking about you right now because your death feels like bullshit," Adam laughs. "You survived everything from that day, just as well as I did, and yet you're dead from an infection in your stump that'd radiated through the rest of your body before you could stop it, and I'm still alive. You're dead and in the ground and I'm alive and borderline addicted to the pain meds I use for my shoulder and so dependent on weed that it's long teetered past a dependency. It feels unfair."

If anyone, Lawrence should be the one who got to stay alive.

"Up until you died, after the support group was done, I'd leave the church basement and go into the church itself. I'd always sit in an empty pew and just watch," he says. "They had a candle vigil at the front, and sometimes survivors who'd gone to the support group would light candles for their trap mates who hadn't made it. I have a friend, Gabriela, who lights candles after every meeting. She whispers their names, too. Valentina. Mateo. She even lights one for the only other not-jackass survivor, named Diego."

He feels really dumb. Like--the dumbest he's ever felt dumb, but he just keeps talking.

"I don't know if I'll ever do it, but I think someday I might. Alison hates you, even though she was kind to you in your last days, and both of your parents are gone, so it kind of feels like I'm the only person who knew you that can remember you without feeling disdain. If I light one of those stupid little tea candles, you'd better show me a fuckin' sign, even though I don't believe in that shit. I love you, Lawrence, but I'm not going to risk burning my finger on a Dollar Tree match if you don't make it worth it."

He laughs at himself, shakes his head. "I'm going to go to a meeting," he says as he gets up. "Maybe open up a little bit. Have fun doing whatever it is your doing on the other side of this God awful, relentless mortal coil."

--

Adam doesn't open up in support group that day--the wounds are still too fresh to bear, and he doesn't think he'll be able to talk about Lawrence for another very long while, but at least he admits it to himself.

He follows Gabriela to the vigil that night, though. She has an arm around his waist, holds onto him like she's scared he's going to fall apart. He's a bit scared of falling apart, too, if he's honest, so he just lets her.

She lights a match, goes about lighting the candles one by one. Valentina. Mateo. Diego.

She blows the match out, passes Adam the matchbox.

He takes it, strikes the match alight with the sandpaper on the side, and picks the candle closest to his right.

"Lawrence," he says gently as he lights it.

It doesn't feel like closure--not exactly, anyway--and he's sure nothing ever will. He knows that he'll feel pain every time he thinks of Lawrence for the next while, at least, but he has to learn to be okay with that or the pain will never go away.

That match, that candle? He knows they're just the first steps and that he has a long way to go, but he's fine with that. His grief and everything that's come of it can take as long as they need, he decides. He'll give himself a little bit of grace and allow at least that.

[buckyarchives]

The Domestic Life Of Living With a Runaway Assassin [chapter one.]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

summary: you hate many things in life. You hate soulmates. You hate the avengers. You hate guns. You hate lost snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can find yourself hating him

W.c: 6.9k

Author note: did not think this was going to actually get notes. I forgot how bad my wiring was back then and going through and rewriting all of it is just. Ugh. I’m too lazy.

masterlist

Today was going down as the most inconvenient day ever. 

It was 10:30 pm, and you were sitting in some stupid coffee shop, the only one that had free Wi-Fii in your area because yours is down for the next 24 hours. The coffee tastes like shit because of-fucking-course it does. This place closes in 30 minutes and you have all that time to send in all your week's work to your boss, which is also due in 30 minutes. You weren't even going to think about the fact you spent all day having to listen to ongoing construction outside and having to run your roommate all around Queens to help her get comfy and organized at her dorm. 

You wanted to kick someone, honestly. 

As you tried your best to focus and very frantically type away at your keyboard. You were probably going to break your keyboard at some point tonight, either by typing too hard or just simply throwing it across the fucking room in a fit of rage. 

A woman, maybe in her mid-30s – if it matters, walks up to you and reminds you that the place closes in half an hour and gives you a free, pity coffee. Probably noticing the growing under eyes bags or seeing you yawn into your hand every 7 minutes, give or take. 

You had chugged the coffee and put everything you had into the next 20-something minutes and you sat back after your third look over everything to make sure you didn't miss any mistakes that could possibly get you fired. You were finally done and could go home. 

Closing your laptop and packing your shit up, you wave to the lovely lady probably waiting for you to leave so she can close up. But because nothing goes your way and New York is just the most wonderful place to live, especially with the avengers. You don't make it out the door before you hear rapid gunfire rattle your ears and suddenly you’re ducking beneath the first table you find. 

Your day could not get any worse, you thought.

Maybe you could have just crawled up in a ball and accepted your fate of being killed midst the 7th random gunfight of the month, you could even make it on the news! Nope, fate had other ideas and someone just has to save you. 

Your ears filter out everything besides the sound of gunfire, glass shattering, and people screaming and yelling. It's too fucking late for this. A firm hand grabs yours and before you can get whisked away and snatch your bag because your life is worth risking for your laptop and books. You swear you got whiplash from how fast you moved away from the scene, only seeing a black blur of a human in front of you. 

You regain your senses, most of them. After being pushed and crouched in a back alley behind the now-destroyed coffee shop, you hoped the lady was okay. catching your breath and hearing frantic shuffling next to you. A man, tall and built, dressed entirely in black with a plethora of weapons attached to his body. He glances at you for a moment and you think he looks familiar, maybe he was an Avenger. God, you hate the Avengers. His eyes continued to scan the dark area, before settling down next to you, eyes trained on one end of the ally. 

He has a messy mop of a head, you can't really see his eyes clearly but you definitely notice the insane-Robert-Pattinson's-batman-amounts of black eyeshadow around his eyes. He has a black mask on too. Okay, so edgy Avengers. Haven't heard of him on the news yet. Like you even watch the news. 

You must have been staring for a little too long and too hard because the mystery Avenger takes notice of it and his bushy eyebrows furrow at you, looking at you like you had personally offended him. Then, you notice his eyes and are a little, only a little, taken aback by their intense blueness and beauty of them. You barely notice what he says. “I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

You scoff. “I don't even know who you are.”

The emo Avenger freezes and looks at you with wide eyes like you grew two heads. Or you were the crazy one between the two of you. “What?” you question him and he mumbled and sputtered under the mask. You motion for the mask, telling him to take it off. And he slowly rips it off his face, his very pink lips are parted and he's breathing hard and fast. 

“You.. what did you say, your words.”

Wait.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Your mouth falls open and you really want to kick something, or him. “You're my soulmate?” you said maybe a little too loud and it came out harsher than intended. He looks hurt by your tone and if it wasn't for the shock taking over your head, you would have felt bad. 

Today is the most inconvenient and the worst day of your life.

“Wow doll, you're the first person I've met that sounds disappointed to find their soulmate.” you ignore his comment and especially ignore the nickname, hoping that wouldn't stick. You wanted to go the fuck home. 

“Can I leave?”

Your soulmate narrowed his eyes at you. “No.”

“Why.” your eyes narrow back into his and just for a moment you realize you’re now in an impromptu staring contest with this man in some dirty back alley, hoping you don't get shot. “Listen, man, I have work tomorrow and I'd rather not get shot or dragged into some avengers bullshit.

He rolls his eyes, but you're not done. “I really don't like the Avengers. Seriously, you couldn't have chosen any other job? The number of cars I've seen the hulk throw and then miss–”

“I'm not an Avenger.” his bushy eyebrows furrow, plus the black war paint makes him look intimidating. If you weren't pissed,  you might have been a little scared. Only a little.

“You really don't know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you fire back. The ego of this guy!

He sputtered for a moment, “No, I guess not.”

your back hits the brick wall, sigh to yourself, and slump back down. You made yourself small. Now nursing a monstrous headache.

A frustrated grunt comes from the dark brunette. “Ok, ok, ok, ok… I'm going to walk you home.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he says, you just realize you don't know his name. “You said it yourself, you don't want to get shot. I’ll make sure that you don’t.”

You were really tired, letting people win wasn't something you did often. You'll make an exception. You huff and blow some stray hair away from your face. “What's your name?”

He pauses, “Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky.” you bring yourself to your feet. “You bring me safely home, quickly with no little side quest. That's it. And then you turn around and don't come back to my place.” you grab a hold of his hand to drag him along but you're met with cold, hard, metal. He flinches out of his skin, and metal. Your eyes travel up his arm. 

“You’re an amputee?”

Bucky looks confused. “What?”

“Nevermind.” you shook your head and continued to drag him along to your apartment. You were so ready to go the fuck to bed. You hoped this walk home wasn't painful, but when do you get what you want?

Bucky was confused. Your pace matched his as you walked side by side to your apartment. The gentle wind brushed against his skin and flew through his brown locks. He was walking next to his soulmate. You were his soulmate and it seemed you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Bucky knew very well he was way out of his time but he couldn't come up with a coherent answer to why. Was this new generation against the universe? Was this some weird trend? Unless you lied to him and did know who the winter soldier was, that would make sense. But, you seemed pretty persistent that you did, in fact, not know him (which the more he thought about it– he felt good that you didn't know). You must not read the paper, or watch the news. You thought he was a goddamn avenger!

He glances over to you, your lips. You were chewing on your bottom lip. It was painted red. You look beautiful with the dim yellow street light shining down on your face. “Don't do that.”

Bucky's voice is soft and gentle. He doesn't recognize it.

Your eyes trail to him. “Do what?” you ask

“That.” Bucky pauses in his spot on the sidewalk, takes a few steps towards you and he brings his flesh hand up to your mouth, slowly grazing his thumb across your split lip. “Don't chew so hard on your lip like that. I'm sure it hurts.”

Bucky's eyes are trained onto your lips, he doesn't dare look up at your eyes. But you are staring at him with widened eyes. You felt like you were on fire.

Too close. You pull away. “Okay, this is my apartment. Bye, Bucky.” 

And just like that, you're quickly walking into your apartment lobby, you glance back at him and give Bucky a sincere smile before leaving his sights. Bucky stood there feeling like an idiot, completely forgetting any government or hydra issues he was dealing with earlier.

Bucky was going to walk away but his intrusive, no,  protective – as he would describe it – thoughts took over. He jogged to the other side of the building, hoping he would be able to figure out which apartment you lived in without going too far. He saw a light turn on and noticed a figure walking by, your figure. This wasn't stalking, no. Bucky was just making sure you made it to your home, safe and sound, he was just looking out for his soulmate. As he should. So, not stalking. And maybe, if bucky only really needed it, he would remember that window so he could pay you a visit. Not stalking you, he just cares about you. For some reason.

Bucky can hear Steve calling him a punk in the back of his head. He missed steve.

On the other end, you dragged yourself into your apartment and dropped your bag the moment you reached your room. Not caring to clean yourself up you flopped on your bed, with a long and painful groan. You felt a small weight down on your bed and you turned your head to see our cat sitting down next to your head. 

You smile and bring your hand to pet his head. “My savior. You are the only man I need.”

A soft purr vibrates from the felines, followed by a meow.

You sigh. “You're right. I need a shower.” 

Your mind wandered in the shower, as the water trickled down your body you couldn't help but bring your hand to your shoulder blade. Your finger traced around the words on your back. Your lip tug at your bottom lip. You nibbled at the already raw skin. Don't do that. You could practically feel the warmth of his hand on your face as your mind flashes back to when he was standing so close to you just moments ago. 

Bucky. There was no way you were going to let him haunt your head now. You turned the warm water off and grabbed your towel in annoyance. Drying yourself off and heading the fuck to bed. Praying that maybe when you wake up this whole day would be a dream. No soulmates, no getting shot at, and absolutely no getting flustered outside your apartment by someone you met an hour ago. 

–

 Bucky couldn't wait to see you again. He has been on the run from Hydra and Steve Rogers for too long; bucky had a hint on who would find him first. One night everything got to be too much. Parts of what hydra did to him are still very much a part of him, it was tearing him apart. It was getting harder and harder to diffrerencate what was bucky, the winter soldier, or this third feeling of pure absence of someone he didn’t know yet. He needed someone, anyone. He needed you.

You heard someone call for your name, they kept shaking you. You just wanted peaceful sleep goddamn it. You needed it. You rustled in your bed sheets, waving your hand at your roommate. She said your name again, and again, and again and ag–

“What!” you look over to see her, barely, in the dark of the room. “I'm trying to sleep!”

“There is someone in our living room.” she barely whispers.

Oh. “are you sure?” you squint at her. You don't know if she can even see you clearly enough.

“Yes.” another scared whisper.

What does a person around here have to do to get a full night's sleep for fuck sake? 

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Pulling back the covers and throwing your phone at your roommate. “Call 911 if I scream or take longer than I should.” you grab the metal bat in the corner of your room.

 The fucker that decided to rob you tonight picked the wrong house, knowing the amount of pent-up rage you had; you were sure you could knock out fucking Capitan America if you wanted. Just imagine your boss's face. You sigh, loud and hard footsteps echoed through your apartment. Rounding a corner and pulling the bat high up and–

Cling!

You braced for impact. You don't get it. You look up at whoever, whatever you hit. “You!”

You are angrier than you were when interrupted from your sleep. What is he doing here? In the middle of your living room, at least he's not wearing his stupid, edgy superhero get-up. Just normal clothing and a baseball cap, but you could see the outline of a gun through his jacket. 

“Can you put the bat down?” Bucky’s holding the bat, stopping you from landing a hit to his head. 

“No. what are you doing in my living room.”

His face scrunches. Pulling the bat down and yanking it from your hands. That fake arm of his was stronger than you expected. Bucky lets out a pained sigh, “I don't know but will you just listen to me and not hit me, please?”

You feel bad. “Maybe.”

Bucky looks at you and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry. The moonlight shining through your windows makes his face look sharper, defining his features more. You think maybe this is a dream because he looks really good. Bucky looks at you like you are his whole world, or maybe you will be someday soon. “I just…”

You’re quiet, you listening to him. Bucky realizes that maybe he will cry tonight. “I just need to talk to someone, anyone. Be with someone right now or… or…” he trails off, not wanting to think about what else could happen.

you feel terrible. “Do you not have someone else than a soulmate you've only known for an hour?” you joke, but he looks at you like it's definitely not a joke. Bucky's eyes are trained on the floor as he shakes his head.

His head jerks up when your roommate walks into the room. “Do I still call 911?”

“No!.” you and bucky yelled at the same time. Eyes snapping to each other after the syllable left your mouth, eyebrows furrowed and spite heavy on your face. Whilst Bucky looked one wrong move away from a nervous breakdown. Weird dude.

You motion to your roommate to tell her to go back to bed but before you can get any words out she’s shoving past you to get too bucky. “Wait.. are you... I’ve seen you on the news.” her hand raises to her face to cover her gaping mouth. Her eyes go wide and she suddenly looks like a ghost. “Oh, my god.”

What the fuck. “Seriously, jasmine go back to bed and stop gawking at my soulmate.”

She shouts your name like your mother would when you started cussing. “You are not serious. Do you know who this is.” her pointer finger goes towards bucky aggressively. Bucky looks panicked, you wonder why but based on this mood earlier; it was best to ask questions later. It was time to play dutiful soulmate. 

“Look, jas.” you grab her by the shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Just go to bed, please?” you guide– no, drag her out of the room and give her a final nudge away, despite her weird shouts about a winter something. You couldn’t care to listen.

“I’m sorry about her. She gets paranoid.” you release a breath you forgot you were holding, followed by a plop of the couch. Bucky settles awkwardly next to you. “You really shouldn’t go breaking into people's houses, buck.”

Bucky gets whiplash at the nickname, his mind goes to Steve and suddenly he feels out of place. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, you barely hear him. “I should go, this was stupid.” Bucky goes to get up and head toward the fire escape again but you’re quick, grabbing his wrist. Bucky could have pulled away from you if he wanted, but he crumbled under your touch. Bucky holds his breath like he’s going to drown.

Bucky’s days kinda blend together. He likes routine, but there was no routine to have when you're doing what he does. You met him two weeks ago, it felt a lot more than that, or less. He couldn't tell but your touch made him feel like everything was so far away, he caught his breath for the first time in weeks. 

Bucky thought about spilling it all out, his past, his everything. But that would defeat the purpose of coming here. That talk could wait. “I'm sorry that you got me as a soulmate.”

You smack your lips and scoff. “As your body should say– uh, somewhere.” you wave your hands dramatically, “I don't even know who you are. Nothing to be sorry for, yet.”

His lip quirks up. “Except scare your roommate half to death.”

“Maybe wouldn't have happened if you used the doors.” you smile at him, Bucky’s sure he wouldn't be able to see it without the soft light of the moon shining on your face. And maybe it's just his super soldier-enhanced senses, either way, he’s soaking it up like it's the only time he’ll ever see it. 

“Doors aren’t really my thing.”

You scoff. “I'm not sure what that means but, at least go through my window next time.”

“Noted.”

“And knock!”

His lip quirk turns into a small grin. “Also noted.”

Bucky glances over at you, you’re biting your lip again. He wants to kiss you. He settles for pulling your chewed lip from under your teeth before it bleeds, just as he did that night outside your apartment. You smile, thinking that maybe you'll let him stay around for a while.

You realize that Bucky didn't walk you to your door that night, and didn't even make it inside the building. Your eyes furrow, and confusion and… amusement fills your body. “So did you stalk me the past few weeks or did you just kindly ask my landlord which unit I lived in?”

He pauses, hoping you wouldn't ask about that. “I wasn't stalking you, I just notice things.” 

You laugh out loud, and he's caught off guard by how nice it sounds ringing in his ears. “That's literally what a stalker would say.”

“I'm serious, I've been busy doing stuff these past weeks.” Bucky tried to reassure you he wasn't camping out on the roof of the building across your window like an actual stalker would. You haven't decided if you were going to believe him. You just laugh because you feel weirdly good with him in your presence. You curse to yourself, why did the universe always have to be right?

You don't care to respond so Bucky continues. “So you're not going to ask me about what your roommate was talking about.” he turns his head to look at you. He can practically see the gears turning in your head, and he gulps. 

You shake your head, eyes trained on whatever is in front of you. “Nah.” you look at him.

Bucky thinks you're the most interesting person he's met in a long time. He’ll test the waters. “What if I'm dangerous.” he narrows his eyes at you.

You narrow yours back at him. “If you're not going to kill me or you're not an avenger, I'm not too worried.”

“What do you have against the avengers?”

You groan. “It's a long story, but they are the reason I don't watch the news and why my roommate is a paranoid freak.”

Oh. so you really don't watch the news. Bucky thinks. He feels guilty when he feels a sort of relief go through his body, followed by more panic realizing he had to explain everything to you soon. Not now though, god no, not now. Maybe he could get by with not telling you at all. Bucky mentally punches himself in the face, no that wouldn't be right. Plus he was sure your roommate would babble to you about how badly the news painted him. Maybe him telling you first would be a better idea. 

“Have you ever heard of the winter soldier?”

-

The golden rays of the sun showed down onto Bucky's face, he looked over to the window hearing the loud bustling of city life below him. Your curtains are brown with white detailing. Bucky shifted on your living room couch, he gauges his mind for the memories of last night. Everything was still all so hazy. 

What day was it? Oh, last night. He tried, really, to get out the truth to you. Fumbling over his words and trying to even remember who he was, it was too much. But you, a god-given gift, told him he was too tired to talk, gave him water, and sent him off to bed on your couch. 

“You can give me your tragic backstory tomorrow, get some sleep weirdo.” you had said to him before literally pushing him onto your very comfortable couch, before returning to your room for the night.

Bucky didn't sleep, he felt oddly safe and comfortable. But he couldn't sleep. Honestly, he was close to dozing off before your roommate had woken up just before sunrise to quietly go off to work, he assumed. Bucky couldn't tell what time it was, he was guessing it was probably around 5 or 6 am. He ought to get up soon and leave. Should he leave without saying something to you? Is that rude? He was sure you'd be okay with getting him out of your hair, he was already enough of a problem to people around him. Bucky gets up to grab his boots.

“Did you even sleep?” Bucky flinches, confused as to how easy it was for you to sneak up on him. He looks up and sees you leaning against a wall, assuming you just woke up. You're still dressed in comfortable clothing, your sweater falling down, giving him a full view of your collarbone. Your skin glows in the soft sunlight. Bucky shook his head in response.

You hum, your feet shuffling across the wooden floor as you make your way into the kitchen. You start making your coffee and Bucky follows. His eyes go to the table, is he intruding if he just sits down? He stands in the doorway and watches you make your drink. You turn to bucky with an oversized mug in hand, deadpanned. “Can't believe I'm soulmates with a stalker. Sit down.” 

You motion to the seat next to you. “Not a stalker.” bucky mumbled, and you scoff.

“You want something to drink? I got tea, coffee, juice, anything your heart desires.”

Bucky pauses. “Water?” 

“Boring.” your eyes roll and you grab a bottle of water from behind you. Handing it to him, his finger brushes against yours. Bucky’s eyes dart to see your reaction, but nothing.

You get comfortable in your chair and open up your phone. Bucky is still sitting across from you, glancing between the door, window, and his water. He tries to look anywhere but at you. You quickly notice, a smart-ass comment comes to mind but you decide against it. Keeping the comfortable silence going for now.

You glance at Bucky, noticing the way his hair was still a mess from whatever he was doing last night. Quickly you realize this is the first time you've seen him in natural daylight, his eyes are beautiful and his usually dark hair looks closer to a light brunette. You could imagine going out on a date with him if he wasn't so dark and broody, but doesn't that just add to the appeal? Maybe.

You set your coffee down. “So…” trailing off, bucky finally makes eye contact with you. “You want to try again?”

Bucky's eyebrows furrow. 

“I still haven't told me who the winter soldier is and it's taking everything in me to not use the internet.” you wave your phone around in the air before setting it down next to your coffee. Bucky purses his lip. “But, I respect you and wouldn't do that.”

Bucky's eyes are trained on the table, his mind trying to find any starting point for this. Should he just tell you about hydra? Start from the beginning with the 40s, fuck, he barely remembers any of that. He's not good with words anymore.

“Can I just…” he pauses, tapping his finger on the wooden table. “Show you?”

It was a bad idea, a really bad idea. Bucky told you that but you'd instead not question him why, bucky wasn't going to elaborate on that either. With both Hydra, the US government, and Steve Rogers looking for him, being in public wasn't the safest. Especially at such a hotspot for Captain America bootlickers and history nerds. 

After many lazy complaints from you, you and bucky made your way out of your apartment together. Bucky wore the best casual disguise he could conjure up, and you and he stood in front of the Smithsonian museum.

Bucky glances over to you, a reasonably confused look plastered on your face. “Why are we at a museum?”

“Just follow me and don't draw attention to yourself, please?”

Instead, You roll your eyes and go ahead of him. “Stalker activity.” bucky hears you mumble before he follows you into the front door.

“What are you showing me, stalker.” bucky walks side by side with you, your presence is comforting in the crowded area. He noticed a group of elementary kids walking around, probably on a field trip.

“Stop calling me that.” he mumbled, “Captain America exhibit.”

Bucky looks at your hand, he could grab it. Only so he doesn't lose you in the crowd, just to keep you safe. Not because he wants to hold in, not because the quick graze of skin this morning left him wondering what it would feel like to hold you. Bucky decides against it and keeps walking.

“Isn't Captain America the like co-leader of the avengers or something?” you ask, bucky just shrugs? You see the large blown-up screens of steve roger and roll your eyes. 

Bucky's eyes lock on his memorial tribute. “Don't freak out and you can ask me questions after we leave.” 

Your face is littered with confusion again as you look at him, but you nod and turn to where he's looking at. 

“..Best friends since childhood, James ‘bucky’ Barnes and steven rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield…” the voice spoke, highlighting a memorial on bucky. Your eyes widen after realizing the bucky standing next to you was the one talked about.

Your eyes travel to the photos of Bucky. One standing next to Steve Rogers with big smiles plastered on their faces, and one of just him. His hair is shorter and he looks much younger. There is a shine in his eyes you don't see now, a bright look that hadn't been snuffed out yet. Bucky watches you as you process the information given to you, watching for any negative or even mad emotions. You lean closer, reading the sign. Bucky was from Brooklyn, a sergeant in the military, he had 3 sisters and he was born in 1917 and he died in 1945. Well, obviously he didn't actually die, more like presumed dead.

“That's…you?”

bucky nodded slowly, eyes trained on the photo of him. He couldn't even recognize himself anymore.

Bucky scans the area, looking for anyone that may have recognized him. he lets out a very shaky breath. “Okay, we've been here too long let's go.” he really wanted to grab your hand on the way out. You don't look at him on the way out. God, did he ruin this already? He wants to punch himself.

You both make it outside, the cold morning wind gives you whiplash. It feels good. You turn to look at bucky and he kinda looks like he's going to have a mental breakdown, you don't blame him. What you just saw explains so much yet, leaves you with more questions than before. You don't think. You grab his flesh hand in hopes of being some comfort, praying that it doesn't make it worse. It doesn't. Bucky doesn't flinch this time but feels his heart jump out of his chest. 

“Are you done with being outside or can we go somewhere?” bucky gives you a nervous and almost… pained look. “It's safe, hidden away and I know the owner,” you reassure him. Bucky reluctantly nods. I'll go anywhere with you as long as you keep holding my hand. And with that, you drag him through new york to your favorite-less-likely-to-get-shot-up coffee shop. It's small, always empty and the owner is an actual sweetheart. 

The bells ring as you waltz in, bucky very close behind you, still holding your hand like a lost child. “Gary! Honey I'm home!” you shout with a wide, playful grin on your face, bucky gives a sigh of relief after noticing that it was indeed empty today. 

An older man comes out from the back, along with a girl who looks like she should be in high school behind him. You wave and give him a warm smile, leaning over the counter slightly, “the usual, please?” you glance back to bucky, “.. and a water?”

You turn to bucky. “Sit anywhere, I”ll be right over in a second.” 

He hums, releasing him from your grasp and suddenly he feels a little empty and more awkward than before. He goes to the table in the farthest corner. Front door. Window. Back door. You. he checks off the list and settles against the wall.

You grin. “How’ve you been holding up, old man.” you tease. 

Gary, the owner. A wonderful and long-time friend of yours. When you first moved to new york years ago this was the first place you went to. You became a regular and you watches workers come and go, you came here when you needed quiet to work or sometimes just to snag a free drink from Gary since he just adored you so much. 

His niece, Emma, was in high school now and worked here for the past year. You would help her study during her breaks and in return, free coffee, and pastries. She was a good baker. You didn't have family here in the city so they were the closest you were going to get to anything like it.

“Not too much, dear.” Gary gave you a warm smile, his eyes squinting. He glances over at bucky in the corner. He laughs “Got a pretty paranoid date over there, I can see his eyes hitting all the exits.”

You scoff, not expecting any less from him. “Not a date, but sadly my soulmate.”

“Finally!” Gary’s eyes light up, and you give him an annoyed look. “Oh be happy about it! Emma won't stop nagging about how she hasn't found hers yet.”

“Have not!” you hear the girl shout from across the bar. You laugh and shake your head. 

Gary hands you your drinks and you bid him a quick bye, knowing he’ll just go back to his crossword puzzles in the back. Heading back over to sit next to bucky and hopefully find out he's not a zombie that's been raised from the dead.

“Your water, sergeant.” you joke, praying it doesn't hit a bad spot. Bucky was surprised by the name, he can't remember the last time someone called him that. His body feels weird.

You don't speak for a moment. You sip at your drink, hoping it will kick it as you didn't get your needed caffeine intake for the day as bucky was dragging you out the door to the museum.

You look at him through your eyelashes, he still looks like he's going to break down any second. 

“Are you a zombie?” 

“What?”

You set the cup down. “You died. So you must be a zombie. I can't believe I'm soulmates with a stalker zombie.”

Bucky's lip quirks up. You're such a dork, he thinks. He almost laughs, it more or less came out as an amused scoff. “I'm not a zombie, I didn't die.”

“Museums these days… always spreading fake information,” you mumble into your cup, taking a quick sip. Bucky smiles, slightly.

“No, I…” bucky trails off, you keep up with the jokes yet you give him a comforting, understanding look. “I fell off a train in the war, I was supposed to die.” bucky catches his breath, talking shouldn't be this hard. “I didn’t, Hydra found me and put me on ice.”

Your eyes perk up in understanding, “like Captain America, right? So why are you on the run then?” bucky looks down, and both of your hands are cupped around your drink. He wants to grab it.

“I'm not Captain America, I did a lot of bad things when Hydra had me. I killed…” Bucky trails off, and memories of Hydra came back to him. All he hears is the sound of guns, and all the blood, he can still smell it. The electricity buzzed in his head as Hydra did their best to strip everything from him, take everything out of him, and then put it back in. bucky can see it all.

You grab his hand and it stops, he just feels you. Your hands are so warm and he wants to cry suddenly. “You don't have to tell me, I do know about Hydra. They did fucked up shit, I know. I'm sure whatever you had to do, wasn't your fault.”

You lean in. too close. your hand raises to his face and you wipe away a stray tear. Had he been crying? 

Bucky lets out an unsteady breath. He can do this, you deserve an explanation. Bucky repeats in his head. He squeezes your hand gently. “They turned me into an assassin, they gave me a mission, and… I did it. I didnt know who I was before, but I didn’t... I didn’t know anything. I just knew my target.”

Your eyes are focused on him. “They had me on ice for most of it, like steve, that's why I don't remember anything. It's all so… foggy. I was sent on a mission and when I completed it I got put back under.”

“And when they needed me again, they'd just bring me back up again.”

“Like I was leftover food for them.”

You don't speak, you didnt dare to right now. Bucky's eyes were filled with anxiety as he watched you process the information. Your eyes fell, and you fiddled with your coffee cup. He saw you bite your lip again, he wanted to remind you not to. But the comment was lost in his throat. Bucky felt sick.

Say something. Please.

Your eyes glance at the silver metal shining between the cuff of his jacket and glove, something shines in your eyes, Bucky’s not quick enough to catch it before you're looking down again. Bucky is now convinced he ruined things on the first day of actually knowing you. He feels like he's going to throw up. Bucky is uncomfortable in his seat and suddenly the fresh warm air of the cafe makes him feel like he's suffocating. He goes to leave and never looks back, but your quicker this time. Grabbing his metal wrist before he gets the chance to stand. Bucky doesn't flinch this time.

“Buck, sit down.” you look at him now. “I don't hate you, calm down.”

He gulps. “You're scared of me though.”

“No.”

Bucky blinks at you, once, twice. “Why. I've killed so many-”

“Don't do that, bucky.” you shook your head at him. “Don't do that to yourself. I'm not dumb, you were a prisoner of war, a victim. You had no choice.”

A victim… he hadn't heard that word be used to describe him. 

Bucky's throat goes dry. His leg bounces under the table, he can't look at you. Bucky's eyes dart to the clock. Tick, tick, tick… the door. The other door. He feels trapped. 

You whisper, “bucky.”

Your name is the only thing that manages to escape Bucky’s lips. He sniffles, “Listen, I’m sor-”

“Hey, guys! Everything okay over here?”

 Emma's cheering voice interrupts Bucky, you both flinch back and your hand retracts from Bucky’s hand. He feels cold. Bucky's cold hand wipes away any extra tears left. You mumble a quick response, and a few thank you’s and she left a muffin in front of you. Bucky hears her footsteps receding. He should have heard her coming up, when did he get so useless? That could have been an enemy and, boom. He's dead. 

You push the blueberry muffin in front of bucky. “You like blueberries?” bucky looks at you, the muffin, back to you. Your lips are in a straight line, but your eyes are smiling. 

“Plums.”

You were caught off-guard. “What?”

“I like plums.”

You hum in response and split the muffin in two. One for you and one for bucky.

The next hour is mostly silent, bucky ordered a coffee of your recommendation. Well, more like you ordered it for him and guilt-tripped him into drinking it. It was sweet. You ordered another large cup and bucky takes a mental note to make you drink more water in the future. Your hands grasp your coffee and a book, he wants to hold it again. He wonders what it would feel like to hold you, all of you. 

He looks at the crossword puzzles you stole from the back for him. How could he possibly do a crossword puzzle when you're sitting in front of him? Bucky would glance up at you and he'd catch you looking at him, he looks away, and vice versa. Bucky is not shy, but sometimes he just gets nervous. How could you not? I mean, just look at you.

Your book falls from your grasp. “I don't want to intrude, but you are my stalker so I think I'm allowed to just a little.” bucky rolls his eyes. Your tone turns more serious  “Just tell me if I am intruding though…”

Bucky doesn't respond and lets you speak. You're hoping you are not going into a sensitive area. “How did you get out… is that why you're on the run?”

Bucky inhales sharply. His eyes flutter. A simple no was all he could push out. You don't know bucky well, but the look he's sporting is enough for you to stop asking any more questions. 

The clock reads 9:30. Shit.

“Fuck. work, I forgot about work.” you stand from your chair abruptly, the wooden chairs scraping against the floor. “I- we gotta go.”

I have nowhere to go, bucky thinks quickly. Before standing up with you, he doesn't say anything.

Grabbing both of your cups and chucking them in the trash, before returning the books to the counter. Bucky just stands there awkwardly, watching you. You notice and mumble a quick, “stalker” under your breath. Bucky pushes back a small grin. You gab his metal hand, covered by a glove, and push something into his hand. a key?

Bucky's eyebrows furrow but before he can get anything out. “You can't possibly think I’ll feel good knowing my soulmate is out on the run, probably sleeping behind some dumpster like a raccoon?”

“My roommate doesn't get home till tomorrow, and use the door his time!”

And with that, you’re speed-walking out, a soft jingle from the door as it closes. Bucky stands dumbfounded in the middle of the cafe as he blankly stares at the key in his gloved palm. His legs feel like jello. A soft cough from behind bucky brings him back to earth, it's the old man.

“Don't break their heart, I may be old and..” the old man, you said his name was Gary, looks bucky up and down. “...you may be big, but I'm sure I got a good right hook in here somewhere.”

Bucky feels warm and normal. Like he was a 15-year-old boy meeting his date's dad again. Bucky nods.

“I promise I will keep ‘em safe.”

tag list; @i-l-y-3000 @ivywasmaroon @waywardcrow @alana4610 @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

[bots-and-cons]

I feel bad that I've been venting so frequently lately, but I don't really have anyone to talk to irl right now. Feel free not to read, but if you do, thanks

I'm feeling so damn overwhelmed. I have so many things I'm supposed to be doing, but I can't seem to get started on any of them. I really should start my swedish course, because it's the last summer course I have. I finished the other two courses last week, but I don't really feel any sense of accomplishment and it fucking sucks. There's apparently not really much to do with the swedish course, because one of my classmates got it done in under an hour, which is fucking weird, because it's a 5 credit course and one credit is supposed to be 27 hours of work. I hope it's actually that easy.

I've been having a lot of really weird and violent nightmares, which is also not fun. Also my intrusive thoughts seem to be sort of coming true in my dreams? In addition to the nightmares, my intrusive thoughts have gotten pretty bad and very violent. That has been going on for a couple of weeks now, and I just keep trying to ignore it. The intrusive thoughts just give me a lot of anxiety, and they scare me pretty bad, especially when I'm around other people. Lately it's also been pretty bad with the whole "kill yourself" thought when something goes wrong. Like I drop a spoon and my brain is immediately like, "omg you're such a failure, kill yourself". I don't understand why, because I'm not suicidal atm, not even close, I'm just stressed and overwhelmed. (I put the tw in the tags anyway though)

I hurt my foot like a month ago, probably a stress fracture or something of that sort, but it's now starting to feel better. I refused to go to the doctor about it, because a) I would have had to walk there and b) they would've most likely blamed it on my weight and hadn't actually done anything to help. I'm not saying my weight has nothing to do with it, of course it does. I'm fat, that's just a fact, but often doctors blame everything on my weight and don't look any deeper. It's fucking infuriating, because I know there's something wrong, but the only advice I get is "you should lose weight". I'm sure that would help some of the stuff that I've got, but some people treat it as some miracle cure.

I'm probably not going to do practical training at all this autumn, because I honestly don't feel like I can. I'm wondering if this whole school thing is really even worth it tbh. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to hold down a full-time job. I would love to be able to work some day, at least part-time, but Idk how realistic that even is.

I've been able to manage school for a year and a half now, and I'm starting to feel pretty burned out. I don't know if I'll make it to next spring without having to take sick leave. I'm honestly fucking scared. I don't want to go into a depressive episode or trigger a more severe psychotic episode again. I've been having some hallucinations lately, and I'm pretty paranoid about a lot of stuff. It's not fun. One thing I've been wondering is what my psychosis actually is? My best guess would be psychotic depression, but I should probably talk about my psych nurse and psychiatrist about it.

I have a hairdresser appointment tomorrow, and I'm kinda nervous, because it's a new place, and I'm gonna have my hair dyed so it's gonna take a while. I'm not very good at spending time at places I don't know or where I haven't been before. The last time I got my hair cut was about a year ago so it's time to do it again. I want my hair shorter again and I decided I wanted to dye it purple. Probably a pretty dark purple because I don't know if I want to have my hair bleached first. Anyway, I feel a bit better having written this out, and I hope I can get an actual fic post out later this week too.

[benoitblanc]

hey arwen, long time no see!! hope you're doing well! 💜

i know nothing about txf besides what i've gleaned from this hellsite which is a) mulder is a lovable idiot, b) scully both loves him (almost against her will??), and c) they literally invented shipping BUT tell me about your top 5 txf episodes!!!

hi mitali i have been EXTREMELY patchy on here lately haven't i lol. local woman appears on tumblr to write ten meta posts about the x files and then disappears again! i'm doing okay; my real life has been kind of chaotic (had to last-minute cancel a trip i have been desperate to go on for years so :/ but! on the bright side it means i get to see my flatmates sooner than i thought and i miss them even though i've been gone from my flat for like a week and a half lol). how have you been???

those are very accurate txf vibes but i will say that scully is a very active and willing participant in being in love with mulder even though he can be very very stupid at times lol. i hope you watch it someday- i think it would be right up your alley! kind of similar doctor who ecological niche of being weird, heartfelt, politically relevant sci-fi with no consistent quality or tone.

ANYWAY. top 5 txf episodes, bearing in mind that i've technically only watched up until the end of the fourth season so far; i'm just a ho for spoilers:

pusher (3.17)... what can i say about pusher that i haven't said already. a lot, probably, because every single day i log on here and i see someone's written new meta about pusher that makes the entire show make more sense. it's just... it's txf distilled to its barest elements. it's about trust and codependency and a supernatural force that is made all the more unsettling by the fact that at its core it is just some guy. it's funny and terrifying and heartfelt all at once. the russian roulette scene changed television

clyde bruckman's final repose (3.04) is also just so txf. darin morgan (the writer) tended to write episodes that were so absurdist they wrapped back around to satirical, but this is far and away my favorite of his because it's not too bonkers. i love coprophages and from outer space especially, but clyde bruckman is a little more grounded, and it manages to be sarcastic and sincere in equal measure. and i love when scully gets to solve the mystery

irresistible (2.13), which is famous for being pretty much the only txf episode where there isn't actually an x-file. and it's SO fucked up. it is hands-down the most fucked up episode of the entire sh- well. besides the episode that they banned from reruns for like a decade for being so fucked up, it's hands-down the most fucked up episode of the entire show

beyond the sea (1.13) and paper hearts (4.10) are thematic sisters so i'm keeping them together. they're both about choosing to move past grief instead of wallowing in it and choosing the future over the past. so what if a criminal says they can give you the answers you've spent your whole life chasing? what matters is that you're at your partner's hospital bedside when he wakes up from an injury, or that you save a little girl's life

right now? probably ice (1.08), because i just rewatched it with my flatmate (who is going through s1 for the first time and is almost as obsessed as i am). it's like if midnight doctor who and the thing had a baby. normally i think this slot would go to duane barry/ascension/one breath (2.05/2.06/2.08) or nisei/731 (3.09/3.10), which are the tightest, tensest episodes relating to the show's overarching mythology

honorable mention goes to elegy (4.22) because the a-plot is a very 90s depiction of neurodivergence and it's not the best-handled thing i've ever seen, but the character showcase of scully in the b-plot gave me fucking brain worms. i cannot stop thinking about it. it's haunting.

also, memento mori (4.14). vince gilligan and gillian anderson you're splitting my therapy bill

ask my top 5/10 anything!!!

[rustbeltjessie]

It has been a hell of a few weeks. (Putting the rest under a cut because there's a lot of hard stuff.)

First I had a CoViD scare (was exposed, tested a bunch, never got it, thankfully); then I got some writing rejections/found out I didn't win some writing contests that were a big deal to me, and that made me super sad. (Sometimes rejections and losses just roll right off me, sometimes they hit me hard. This time they hit me hard.) Then I was busting my ass at my money-making side-hustle to make sure I could afford birthday presents for my youngest kiddo and Xmas presents for both kiddos + my partner, and I managed it, but I burned myself out. And then I basically had a nervous breakdown—it started on December 20, I had a really bad panic attack, the worst I've had in about 20 years, it lasted for over twelve hours. I felt a little better on the 21st and managed to hold it together for my kiddo's birthday celebration, but then the 22nd it started up again. I got the shakes really bad, like I could not stop shaking, and was also dizzy, and even though I was like 90% sure it was 'just' anxiety, I started worrying it was something neurological. Which of course made the anxiety symptoms even worse. So I went to urgent care. The doctor ran me through all the tests they do to check for neurological problems, and I passed them all. They diagnosed it as an anxiety attack and got me to a referral to the hospital system's behavioral health center. I haven't had an appointment with them yet, but hopefully I will soon. I was diagnosed with both Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Panic Disorder (or w/e it's called now) like 20 years ago, and did talk therapy + had a prescription for Xanax, but I haven't had any kind of anxiety meds or any kind of talk therapy in like...over 15 years. So it's probably a blessing in disguise that all this happened, because now I'll finally be treating my anxiety again instead of just trying to ignore it. Because that uh...doesn't work. In the meantime, I've been keeping my caffeine intake really low, because while caffeine isn't the cause of my anxiety, it certainly doesn't help.

Then on Christmas Eve, I had a flare-up of my chronic sinus issues, and I took another CoViD test, because a lot of my sinus symptoms mimic various CoViD symptoms. But I was CoViD-free, and despite feeling half-sick for it, I managed to have a nice Christmas Eve/Christmas despite it. Those symptoms cleared up on the 27th, and I was like: "Oh, good, maybe I can have a relaxing few days leading up to my birthday." And then I got into a big thing with my mom, it's a long story and I don't feel like rehashing it right now, but we were both hurt and angry. Fortunately, we worked through it the same day. Since then, things have been pretty good, but...now I'm having the anxiety shakes again. I drank more coffee today than I have been lately, and that's probably why. (Note to self: don't do that.) At least this time I know it's just anxiety, so I'm not spiraling thinking it's something else. I'm drinking a bunch of water, then I'm going to make myself a hot toddy and hopefully finally finish this fucking installment of my newsletter that I've been working on for a month now. It's been kind of hard to focus on writing with everything else that's been going on. And my birthday's in two days, and I'm tired. The end.

[saveugoodmadam]

Dear Hitch,

I've decided to write a letter or two while you're off tumblr. It's funny, and also I miss you, and maybe these will be nice to read when you get back. Expect some rambling, lol. As of writing this, it's been about a week and a half? since you last were on. Some stuff has happened since then.

I had my 17th birthday, for one. 17 doesn't feel too different from sixteen yet, but once school starts for me I think it will. At least one TGS update has been posted, I won't spoil any of them for you, though. I saw a fun animatic on Instagram Reels of Roman from Sanders Sides so now I'm watching through those videos. I've convinced another person to read TGS (tumblr user getyourpaybackwithsomepayback) and he's OBSESSED, lol.

I've done some writing, namely my first two TGS fics, which are on AO3 now. They shouldn't be too hard to find, since my ao3 account is linked in my bio, so if you want to read them, there they are! If you do read them, lmk what you think. I've also done some work on a vat7k fic that is slowly but somewhat surely progressing. I haven't written for my original stories much lately, not really sure why.

I started crocheting a cat blanket, it'll be a while before i finish but I'll send pics when I do, rest assured. I'm planning an Enjolras cosplay for Halloween, also, and I'll let you know how it goes. I hope you get a new phone soon, and I hope you're doing okay. I hope this isn't a super weird thing to do.

I've been re reading TGS out of order, mainly for fic research. It's hard to write fics in the canon timeline, while still adhering to canon, because so much happens, there's hardly room for background scenes. I think I'm being too meticulous about it, perhaps, as I also went on a google sidetrack for ten minutes trying to figure out what kinds of cookies were invented in the 1800s. Though, the research has always been one of my favorite things about writing, since learning random stuff I never would otherwise is really fun for me!

I miss hearing about your ocs, specifically Arthur Buchanan, and your blorbo posting, about Sinnet, and David Jakobs. And it's only been a week and a half, lmao.

Sincerely, Rook :3

Rook I'm going to be honest I did genuinely start crying reading this, thank you so much and a belated happy birthday to you!!! I saw your fics on ao3 and read them and they're so good (let's ignore the fact that i cried reading them because i missed you)

I've read all the updates and omg is jekyll fucked!!!! good news though I have volume 2 pre-ordered and I can't wait for my gifts!!!!

While I've been (not of my own choice mind you) unavailable, I've been more and more obsessed with david 😭😭😭 this has included obsessively listening to the cast recordings of der Glöckner von Notre Dame he's in lmaooo

I also went to Wales for a holiday and had lots of fun!!! I have piccies but I'll put them in a separate post or DM you if they have my face in!

I don't have a new phone per se, I'm using my mum's spare but it's now 'mine' so that's good and I have pretty much everything except my WhatsApp chats and music so all good and thanks be to the cloud lmao!

yours sincerely (and tearily),

hitch

[sudoscience]

Finished The Indigo Disk last night, so time for some more PokéThoughts:

For costing more than half the price of the base game, I feel like the story could have been longer. I'm certainly not done playing the DLC yet (still haven't caught the Loyal Three, for example), but I finished the story in ~2 days. The base game probably took me about a week? To be fair, I did start the DLC with a full team of Lvl 100 Pokémon, so that probably saved me a lot of time.

Similarly, for being called "The Hidden Treasure of Area Zero", you really don't spend that much time in Area Zero. Again, this is likely due to having a late game, high level build. Part of the reason it took longer in the base game is because you don't have Koraidon, so you can't just jump and fly to get where you need. Also, I just immediately used the warp point to get to Research Station 4 instead of walking through all of Area Zero again. I hope I didn't accidentally skip any fun interactions, but with how much Game Freak tries to railroad you into doing the plot how they want you to (see my previous post about the DLC), I feel like if there were any cutscenes there, then you just wouldn't be able to use the warp points for... reasons.

That being said, what time you do spend in Area Zero is just as awesome as the first time you go there in the base game. The new music is great, too.

Speaking of new music: Celestial (Remix by Toby Fox)?! Leave it to Toby to make an Ed Sheeran song actually good, I guess.

Performance wise, it's comparable to the base game, maybe slightly better? Only clipped into a mountain once. Haven't noticed any other glitches so far, but it does occasionally seem to run a bit sluggishly. (And it continues to suffer from a lack of voice acting.)

Koraidon can fly now!!! Wish there was an option to invert the y-axis, but it can fly!!! Also, you can BE your Pokémon now!!!

Spoilers?

I like how they tell you Blueberry Academy is in Unova, but it's not, like, attached to it at all. It's just an island. They could have said any region, and it would have had negligible impact, imo. (But I am saying this as someone who hasn't actually played Gen V, so maybe there were things I missed.)

Well, okay, I think it did have one effect. I haven't played B/W, but I know Unova is supposed to be based on America, so when one of the NPCs mentions "BBQs", I was like, "Oh, that's cool. They have barbecues here instead of picnics." Nope! Stands for Blueberry Quests.

Terapagos being tiny when Kieran first pulls him out was the funniest shit

It broke the fucking Master Ball?! It can do that?!

Still not sure I really understand how the Stellar Tera Type works. I know it's not every type at once. I'm not sure how that would work either. Wouldn't they just cancel each other out?

I don't feel like the game did the best job of communicating how much time had passed. Carmine (and later, Kieran) always being like, "You really kept me waiting". I literally did not??? But also, Kieran saying, "I looked up to [Player] for so long", meanwhile I'm pretty sure that, at most, one in-game week has passed since I first met him. I guess if I had played the first part when it first came out, it would've felt like a longer time. (It was probably supposed to be at least a few months in-game.)

Also makes it a little hard to buy into his motivation being his desire to beat me in battle. Wait, maybe that makes it more believable, actually. "You're still bitter about that?" "Yeah? It was just last week..."

But, again, I would be perfectly happy to let him have Ogerpon. He has a personal connection to it! If I keep it, it's probably just going to stay in one of my boxes. (It is pretty cute, though.)

Despite the lack of hugs, I found the ending acceptable. I do still wish you could have hugged Kieran, though. Or at the very least, when he says, "Can we be friends again?", you should have been able to say something like, "What do you mean 'again'? We're still friends!"

[megid0nt]

drew a blurger today

so actually, I've been playing with non-square pixels a lot lately bc I wanna do art on my VT320 serial terminal, so this week I did some calculating and some number crunching and set myself up with a GNU Image Manipulation Program template that would serve me well:

My bf challenged me to draw a burger with a specific palette bc I've been drawing some practice burgers to learn to draw, so I figured I'd do so in the domain I've already been playing with: terminal art!

when viewed with square pixels the entire drawing appears squashed. but when we turn *off* dot-for-dot mode in GNU Image Manipulation Program,

our blurger bursts to life :D

(also if your menu options are different than mine, I'm actually using preview builds for version 3.0 because older versions of GNU Image Manipulation Program use a version of GTK that doesn't support my tablet pen 😭)

But. getting the blurger where we want it was harder. See, I haven't yet written a tool to automatically process an image to a series of characters, so I instead had to do it the old fashioned way: paletted bitmaps!

With a paletted bitmap, we can reduce the bitrate of the image to let each pixel only take up half a byte! And then, with our handy dandy hex editor, we can see the raw data:

We take out a few header rows, and...

we get our burger, aligned properly and upside down! Funnily enough, bitmap images are stored bottom up but not left-to-right, and this is not the first time I've run into this.

A few more steps!

We copy each line from the hex editor, starting at the bottom (top of the burger) and work our way to the top (bottom of the burger), into a separate text document so we get our burger as numbers.

I am a fan of receipt printers and serial communication, and I have occasionally run myself into some situations in which I need to type a bunch of untypeable data or generate a stream of bytes real quick to do a specific task, so from here I actually had a tool on hand to make this a fuck of a lot easier: my markup language, aml! First I put the original at the top in comments so I had a template to work against...

and then we make a copy to which we add our colour information!

Each one of those tags (except the ones at the end of the lines, which are for new lines) is actually a macro for my markup language that I made specifically for this task to encode the ANSI control code for each of the colours:

and once all that was done and prepared, it was the simple task of running my interpreter over it (ami.py -u blurgercolours.json -i blurger.aml -o blurger.bin) and I had a binary file that I can send to a terminal that has ANSI 24 bit colour support and show off my blurger.

I hope you enjoyed blurger hour with ava, and here's one more thing before I go:

be careful not to spill kechp.

[deeisace]

Okay, 1. I forgot what a good film School of Rock is, and 2. Who the fuck made Wednesdays a day I have to get up at 5am, oh god

Also the ASM is gonna be a dick about me taking today off cs I'm sick, I just fuckin know it

Every time someone's been off sick he goes on rants about how they're lying to get a day off (or smth like, oh, isn't it a coincidence that today's really busy in store and the student who has mental deadlines took a day off - like, fuck, idk, maybe, but you don't have to be a twat every second of your life, do you? Maybe he does, idk. Seems like it), and his mother never took a day off from the post office in 40 years and the store should come first and we've been left in the lurch and blah blah blah

Maybe we have been "left in the lurch", but it's one day out of literally a thousand, but y'know we aren't all your mother, and people are fucking entitled to call in sick?! People shouldn't have to work when they're sick! Idk laws, but there's definitely laws

For how much longer, idk, but there's definitely laws

Also, people are allowed to have an actual life, y'know - just cs you are somehow proud of working 50 hours a week - which you also shouldn't have to do, by the way, working yourself to death isn't something to be proud of - dun mean that everyone else has to go by your impossible fuckin "million pound store" standards

Also I hate his stupid slogans

I do not care how much money the store makes, it goes to whoever the fucking CEO is since the last guy got kicked out for embezzling, not me - I'm not going to "smash it", either, I'm going to stand here security bugging t-shirts until I am allowed to go home, and don't fucking get on at me about how I'm yawning too much, I get enough of that from the horrid fucking old men customers

Also he calls us "staff" all the time, there's like five of us (there's not, but still), there's no fucking need

Also whenever some customer says like, oh you're not Scouse, he always replies in the exact same way, "I'm a London boy, me" - which like, I'm autistic, I know a script, but fuck me I just hate everything about this petty little man, I'm sorry. How can you be that proud of being a Millwall supporter? Oh, "we're not all the same", nah, you mightn't be a violent thug, that I know of, but you're sure as fuck a sanctimonious little cunt tryna lord your horrid self over everyone else - mightn't be violence, but it's not fuckin nice either

Anyway. Fuck.

Oh thank fuck I don't have to open with him tomorrow

Just the wet-noodle muppet of a manager who's somehow really fucking good at making me do extra days and stay late

He knows I have no backbone in person so he just waits until it's an hour before my shift ends and goes "really sorry, it's really busy, can you stay til close? Please it would really help"

The one time I said no, literally the one time in over 4 years, he asked again like half an hour later with an extra-pathetic noodle-y pleeease we haven't got anyone else

Like that's your fucking fault, dipshit, you fucking hired everyone. Hire someone who's not a fucking student, please, I swear it won't kill you. Y'know what else won't fucking kill you, having enough people on staff that it's not the end of the fucking world somehow if someone calls in sick. Lean staffing or whatever it's called is the worst, what fuckwit came up with all this awful shit and how can we stop it, please

But of course I said yes, because I always say yes

Tomorrow I'm rota'd til 4 and I'm leaving at 4, I swear to god

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Slippery Slope

You know ... we used to be adequately staffed. When people had emergencies, we used to be able to cope. I remarked on this at the time, how frankly this was really awesome and the way places should be run. Aaaaaaaaaand now we don't have that safety net anymore and we struggle to keep up even when everyone is here, and no one sees the problem with this.

See, Scruffman went on annual leave for a week and a half - came back Wednesday. We somehow managed to curb some of the most egregious bullshit that our on-site typists have going on and kept up with things despite them covering other stuff. I mean, sort of. Thing is, our doctors are putting out over 200 dictations a day, and it's kind of an issue to even keep it so that we're less than a day behind. Especially when the little twerps come in on the weekend.

I got an email from Scruffman this morning going, "Oh, hey, by the way, [New Girl] isn't in today and [Temp] is on a half-day. Just to give you the heads-up. Which ... I mean, I get that emergencies happen, and I figure they must have been emergencies due to how little notice there was, but fuuuuuuuuck.

Ironically, though? My actual number of cases typed went up. Why? Because New Girl and Temp weren't around to pinch all the short cases. I can blow through those in no time at all, so numerically, I came off better. On the other hand, I also had to type up at least ten cases from Placenta Guy. Also some other stuff from Placenta Guy, and he and the new junior doctor who sounds like she should be auditioning for the Chipettes from Alvin and the Chipmunks both need to learn how to flag a case as urgent on our transcription system. Eight liver and kidney cases, two breast cases, and a fucking lung biopsy, which everybody avoided because even though they're short, they're also dictated by two of our Annoyances. So I got them and even if there hadn't been a big ol' URGENT sticker on the request form, even I know that core biopsies from those particular organs almost always get highlighted in red in the queue.

I haven't mentioned this to Scruffman, mostly because the one issue I did point out to him - namely how two of our Annoyances don't ever bother doing an actual block key - has gone unresolved. I guess he knows the feeling of "complaining about something and no one doing anything about it", since one of the other issues is that our transcription software fucks up an awful lot, dumping things from months ago back into the queue for no apparent reason, and IT apparently can't or won't do a damn thing about it. So I just dump them into the archive and have done.

Don't even get me started on the server.

Basically, we were doing really well for awhile, but one thing apparently led to another, and we hit the slippery slope down to "just as frankly shit as everywhere else". We need at least one more typist for the number of new junior doctors we've got in lately, but we aren't getting one, no matter what we talked about in our first staff meeting. And now I am fucking exhausted and still have to cook dinner. Woe.

[rezdragon]

Project Updates (August 8th, 2024)

Art Show So the BIG news with RezDragon is that YES! My art has been accepted into a fine art show. Like a REAL fine art show, with judges and WINE. It's to promote the local artists of the Inland Northwest, which includes ME THIS YEAR! I tried to submit to this last year and I did not get in, but that's changed this year and I am VERY EXCITED AND HAPPY ABOUT IT! So what does this mean? Well, it means I'm going to be HARD focusing on preparing for the show for the rest of August (aside from one project, you know what it is). I have to get everything ready by September. One of the pieces I put in is an installation piece and that is the biggest prep I have. So kinda expect me to maybe go more dark than usual? I dunno, I might post pics as I work on shit.

The One Other August Project (You Know What It Is) It'll be out tomorrow.

TDA - Everyday With how shit my mental health has been lately, I haven't had the motivation to work on this. Rez keeps trying to drag me back in, but it's just not coming back to me yet. I want to start writing the script and I was GOING TO in August, but then the Art Show Acceptance letter showed up and WELL. Sorry Rez, best wait till September. I have been taking notes occasionally when I think of something new. She's on my mind, I swear.

Running With the Devil (what the fuck is this) RWTD is Ash's story that started out accidentally. I was writing up a lot of facts about Ash herself and then the next thing I knew, I started writing scenes and then a month and a half later, I had an 87 page novella. Oops, how'd that happen. This has VERY much been a comfort project to help keep my spirits up while I've been so unhappy lately, and it's been doing a good job of it. It is not meant to be good, it might be, I dunno. It's me giving in and writing cute romance between a demon girl and her lesbian girlfriend. But uh... you won't see it, at least not all of it. I'll be real with you as to why: it's an erotica story and I don't want erotica associated with the RezDragon name. It's not that I'm ashamed of writing it, I'm not, but once you start down that path, that's all you're known for and I do. not. want. that. So I will only be showing the non-horny chapters, or perhaps the story censored. Anyways, chapter 1 (30 pages, yes 30, 20,000+ word count) is available on Sheezy if you so choose. I didn't advertise this because I was a little too depressed to when I posted it.

Next Album Project(s) I have two new albums to place on the stove, or at least their concepts. First one I plan to have it be as raw and uncomfortable at Kintsugi and Tasukete- DE aka more depressing harsh noise crap. Working title right now is "Nothing Has Changed." Second one is another "story" album, i.e. like Horizon. Instead of space, this one takes place in the woods and back in the 80's. I won't talk about its full concept yet, giving myself a break from music work (and also I can't really work on music right now)

Not a Project, but a Health Update So I've been griping about it lately, but my left hip/pelvis/leg area has been in a lot of pain since April of this year. It went away near the end of May and I was able to return to work, but then it came back after a week. I tried to work through it, which only seemed to make the problem way worse. Since June, I have been in non-stop pain, with barely anything relieving it (it's why I've had a lot of extra time to write as of late). I've actually been in a lot of money trouble because of not being able to work and disability being a nightmare, but I've avoided talking about it on my RezDragon accounts (except for Sheezy) to keep that kind of stuff away from my art. I've started physical therapy, which has been going well in giving me some relief. I've been using a cane since April just to get around. I can't say I've noticed any improvements and I'm afraid I might be out of day job work until at least October. I can't even get a new job where I sit all day, because if I sit up for too long, that spikes up my pain; I have to sit reclined or lie in bed. I missed the whole summer, I wanted to go swimming :( So anyways, that's why I've been mostly focused on writing, it's the easiest thing for me to do atm.

[norcalbruja]

Laptop issues averted, thanks to... Tony Stark?

My laptop got fixed in half an hour yesterday, so I didn't have to drop it off at the store or pay anything!

This folds into my delayed updates, because you know how Loki keeps telling me he has "Marvel connections" because HE is a character in Marvel? Iron Man / Tony Stark showed up around the first week of March and he's just... hanging out with Mythical-Loki.

Either Tony was called up by me listening to "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath for a while (because I don't mind pop music in general, but there's only so many times I can listen to THE SAME FIFTY pop songs from some CEO's nightclub playlist for eight hours a day), or Loki intentionally called him over.

--

I have met Tony and the other Avengers before, but I haven't actually asked them for HELP before (what with... being normal and not needing any life-threatening emergencies). But around the 10th, I was just REALLY fed up with work and its inconsistencies, so I was like "Oh mannnnn, I hate this place really bad today. Tony or whoever has the necessary skills, do you think you can get me off work ON TIME instead of 30-40 minutes late?"

He was like "SWEET, you're asking for things!"

GUESS WHAT, I was only about fifteen minutes late when I left work! Considering my workplace can never figure out whether I'm actually supposed to help close or not, 15 minutes is extremely quick.

Unfortunately the next day, my cash register at work started glitching out and rebooted for no reason.

I can put the cash register down to "the workplace computers are ancient, and it's not a secret that they don't work right half the time," but then MY electronics started getting buggy.

My laptop wouldn't turn off until I held down the power button, and then it wouldn't turn back on properly. My phone was also lagging a lot and tended to freeze sometimes.

I was like "Tony!!! If this is you, please stop messing with my electronics!!! If this is someone ELSE, same thing--please don't wreck my stuff JUST YET! I paid $700 for the laptop!"

--

The next day was Monday, and the bowling alley was basically a ghost town, since weekends and holidays are our busiest times. I was doing unnecessary checks on the lanes just to WALK AROUND because I only made about three transactions that weren't paying for my own lunch, so I was like "Fucking hell, they don't even need me here. ...Tony? Can you get me off EARLY this time?"

So Tony went, "Ohhhhhhh yeah, time to turn up the juice!"

In the most Iron Man way of getting me out of work, the managers had me finish my ALCOHOL SERVING TRAINING after lunch. So I officially got off an hour early, but I also spent the hour before that just legally stuck in the office. I love wasting company time, lol.

So I was like "Thanks Tony, you alcoholic motherfucker. But now I’m done with all my employee training!"

He went, "Honey, you know I’m a SMART alcoholic, right? This place is a mess! The possibilities for getting you out of this joint are endless!" And now I need to make a note to BE VERY SPECIFIC about those possibilities. Eek.

While I was panicking about my laptop on Facebook, I wrote "Tony Stark, please make sure I don’t need to get a new laptop JUST yet."

I make a lot of sarcastic pop-culture "prayers" on social media, so I don't think more than like, two people who already know about my pop-culture paganism would realize that I have ACTUALLY been talking to Tony Stark (or "a spirit who identifies as him," for my followers who might find pop-culture paganism weird).

And uhhhhhh... yesterday, my laptop got fixed in half an hour for free.

Granted, my original Windows OS got corrupted somehow, so they had to wipe everything and re-install a new OS, but my important stuff is backed up to Dropbox and Microsoft! All I really need to do is log back into my main websites and re-upload my games and programs. I'll definitely take needing a few days to "refurnish" the laptop in exchange for not buying a new laptop, or paying for repairs.

THE KICKER: While I was driving home with my Fixed Laptop, I saw some huge graffiti on a billboard with MY FIRST NAME ON IT. It is specifically only visible when I'm driving HOME that way, so that gave me a small heart attack.

Tony and Loki thought it was hilarious.

Now, aside from the snarkiness, Tony is actually pretty fatherly towards me and like... he HAS been asking me to ask him for help since he came around.

I think part of it's because he knows I'm ALSO depressed, and I have a complicated relationship with alcohol/drugs because... you know, I'm depressed AND anxious. I don't want to end up self-medicating, especially since I REALLY like the taste of cider and mead and wine.

This one time, Tony told me, "Look honey, I am NOT a god. I am a person. When someone asks for help, I help them. More importantly, I try to help them in the WAY THEY ASK. You asked the gods for help a million times already! DEAD PEOPLE hear it! The FOREST hears it! Sure, the gods tried their best, but it was not the help you need. And most of your own people's gods just aren't showing up. All you want is a house and an art career, and I'M FUCKING RICH. If I can't help you myself, I can find someone who does!"

And then he was like "New laptop, new year, new life! As His Highness keeps telling you."

Anyway: Thank you again for helping with my laptop, Iron Man. I shall keep away from spiders for the near future.

[wheel-of-hyperfixation]

Every couple of months this concept for a fic (a whole damn series tbh) pops back into my mind

I really want to make myself write it. Reasons I should give it a shot (this list is kind of just for me, lemme convince myself)

I used to start writing stories as a kid (many a few pages that I started but never continued) and even though I never finished them, it made me so happy. I think I'd like to explore the storyteller in me from a new place; not as a dancer.

All the writing that I end up doing now is for school. I'm typically not one to boast but I will say that my written responses and essays are reallll fucking good. And even with fighting my own brain trying to write for those assignments (anxiety, depression, adhd yall do NOT make it easy) I still Love writing those essays. I have Fun writing those essays

I say I don't have free time but I do manage to find time to rest. Usually though resting just ends up being laying in bed all day watching some show on my laptop. And then I feel shitty (physically and mentally) that I haven't done something more productive. Not productive like "you should've deep cleaned the entire apartment on your first day off in three in a half weeks" but like "hey girl could you just maybe do something that involves some healthy brain stimulation? pls??" I think this would be a good outlet yk healthy for my brain and my body

I'd really like to be able to share something of mine with the folks here I admire

Going off of #4, I have such a hard time sharing my art online but sadly my career path kind of depends on my ability to do that. I have yet to a really clean, simple answer of how to overcome that--at least they haven't been routes I've felt I could make myself do (I'm very stubborn). This however might be a good way for me to practice and build this skill, in a place where my career, My Dream isn't at stake.

_______________________________________

so the plot..

Eddie Munson x (lemme be self-indulgent and also add to our minimal representation on here) BlackFem!Reader

Will the upside down be a thing that happened? I'm guessing no. But if it is then ofc this man survives -as he should as he should-

Eddie has finally graduated ('86 baby <3). He has another 6 months-a year afterwards working every moment he can and saving every penny. He finally leaves Hawkins (would need to write some sad shit with leaving Wayne ofc but yk maybe in a later chapter as a little flashback) for [SOME BIG CITY - i have some choices but it depends on details about Reader i haven't given thought to yet]. He's trying to get into the music scene-- make friends, find some footing, get a consistent gig somewhere if he can. There's a rock night at a local bar he sees a flyer for and there he meets this percussionist who's drumming with a band playing that night. BAM! They're instant friends. IMPORTANT: i headcanon that Eddie also managed to learn to play drums sometime in late middle school/early high school, he doesn't have formal training but can work his way around a drum set. Plot things plot things plot things -> New best friend percussionist has a job with this proffesional dance company as an accompanist; they play for classes and rehearsals and has recently been in talks with the director about their upcoming season because of a new work one of the choreographers will be building. It'll be a lot of workshopping but just conceptually it seems great. The other two accompanists who usually work with the company don't drum though and the choreographer really wants a musical focus on percussion. BestFriend calls Eddie while he's still at the studio speaking with the director and choreographer :)

WELCOME READER!! I'm not sure who exactly she'll be yet but currently mulling over some possibilities: a friend of this choreographer from a previous job who they've asked to help with the choreography? a brand new company member? someone who's danced a couple seasons with the company (corps dancer) and is getting her first larger role? Lots of possibilties but the point is that she's part of the new work too.

And they meet when Eddie comes for his first day-- it's company class in the morning and rehearsal begins later after their lunch break (again it's lots of workshopping, collaborative space, freestyle amongst the dancers as they just get to play around with the music). Eddie is a little entranced by Reader the whole time, and Reader tries to not get flustered and distracted in the middle of learning these movement phrases when she catches him watching her specifically.

Pretty, lovely, dream-like things ensue for them <3

_________________________

That "quick rough summary" turned into a word-vomit brainstorm with a lot more detail than I anticipated. Cool.