#FOREFRONT AND SPIRALLING. YAY!!!!!

[wernerherzogs]

[majestyeverlasting]

A Little Less Restless

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (friends to lovers)

Summary: As Bucky finds himself within the still familiarity of Brooklyn, he comes to realize that he deserves nice things. And, most of all, that he deserves you.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I haven't posted any new writing in a bit, and it feels good to be resolving that (yay me). Please enjoy this piece I wrote today. Lot's of fluff and very obvious feelings. It's been a while since I wrote something for him. <3

Three knocks sound on Bucky’s front door as his reflection stares back at him in the bathroom. He's leaning close to the mirror in careful criticism. Enough to see the green flecks in his irises. The freckles on his cheeks from being in the sun. The pricks of hair making up his scruff. Then he eases back and squares his shoulders. They fall after he releases a breath. 

He prays he doesn’t look as restless as he feels. 

The smile you give him when he answers the door carries a warmth he isn’t sure he deserves. But he takes it because that’s all he can do. Enjoy it like a man who’s been cold his whole life. By some miracle, he feels himself smiling back in that small, weighted way of his. It was a trade off of sorts, and now you’re even. No outstanding debts. 

He motions you inside with a soft please, and you study him once you’re in the foyer. In the few seconds that you’re silently observing, Bucky wishes he knew exactly why. As tender as your gaze is, heat was already rising to his cheeks. But like everything else when it comes to you, he takes it. Looks right back at you shyly, pushes his hands into his pockets, and waits. 

“Your hair’s shorter,” you finally say, smile growing wider. “Did you cut it?” 

“Cut it,” he repeats like a question, hands moving to run through it. The previous night creeps back to the forefront of his mind. 

When he’d gone for a walk to get some air and inadvertently found himself being drawn in by the red, white, and blue barber’s pole spiraling on the next block. It’d been ages since he’d gone to a professional, but walking inside to the faint scent of tobacco and aftershave made him feel as though he’d never stopped. 

“Mhm,” you hum, certain. 

The stumped look on his face vanishes like it was never supposed to be there. “I went and got it trimmed at a place called Ricky’s last night.” 

“And you forgot that quickly?” Next thing he knows, you’re wrapping him in an embrace, peeking up at him after a few seconds, “I’m teasing.” 

He squeezes you back tighter. 

It’s you who eventually pulls away, and he finds himself trailing you as you venture deeper into his apartment, eyes roving thoughtfully. A coffee table now complements the couch in the living room. The walls are no longer bare. At long last, the space was beginning to look more like a home. 

For the longest time, Bucky had only seen it as a place to rest his head after countless assignments that took him miles away. It didn’t need to be anything special, or so he thought. One of the first things you told him upon coming into his life was that he needed a constant. A place to come back to that he could make his own. That was his. He’d spent so much of his life serving other people and belonging to other people that he was finally learning what it meant to be his own. 

It was exhausting not being halfway across the world with a task to busy his mind. Brooklyn was still in comparison. A place where he could recognize street names, faces, point out buildings that used to be something else when he was a kid. And now there was you, who made being stateside worthwhile in a way he didn’t think was possible. He realized then, how much he’d deprived himself of meaningful connections outside of work. 

“It looks great in here, Buck. What’d I tell you?” Your earnesty is genuine. Makes him, as old and borderline cynical as he is, feel special. “You’re gonna have to start inviting me over more.” You shoot him a wink, and he freezes because of the weight of the implication. If you notice, you don’t say anything. 

A few months ago you’d been strangers crossing paths. Then acquaintances. Now friends who cared about each other a whole awful lot. Only, it was more obvious on your end. He kept most of his sentiments guarded, not yet ready for them to bleed out like an open wound. It didn’t help that you were always wielding a knife, coming closer and closer to cut through the wall he built around himself. 

“You can come over whenever you want,” he says. “I’m always here.” 

“When you’re not on assignment,” you add. “And I know. I just don’t want to scare you away.” 

Bucky frowns at the suggestion, but his lips eventually turn up. “Good thing you’re not a scary person,” he says, counting on earning a laugh. Something. 

And you do, right before shaking your head. “I’m serious.” 

“You couldn’t scare me away,” he assures. 

You nod slowly. “So how’ve you been?” There’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue, so he waits it out. It ends up punching him right in the gut. “You look…I don’t know.” 

It hadn’t been all too long since he’d come back from Morocco. Only a week. And it would be a while before he was sent out anywhere else. His mind was in the constant process of drifting to the type of thoughts all men sifted through when they have nothing but time. Those regarding purpose, belonging, and meaning. Not to a deep, crippling degree, but enough to make him want to spring into some sort of action. Find something to indulge in that wasn’t saving the world. 

Bucky swallows and shifts his weight. “Restless,” he offers. “Didn’t think you’d notice.” 

“I’ll always notice.” Silence stretches between the two of you and a siren wails in the distance. “Maybe we can go out tonight, just you and me. Is that something you’d wanna do?” The question sounds shy. 

What you didn’t know quite yet is that he’d probably do just about anything if it was with you. 

***

At the end of the night, it’s Bucky who pulls out his card and pays for dinner. Not even giving you the chance to think about digging into your purse. As an old tune continues playing overhead, your grateful eyes sparkle at him from across the table. 

Neither of you had dined here before. It’s one of the places Bucky said used to go by a different name and was run by a different family, Italians. You liked listening to him talk about what once was because it made you realize just how much he knew. Just how thoughtful and reverent he was when it came to the good memories he had. 

Being listened to so intently was new for him. But he enjoyed it. Especially when you’d ask questions or bring up a point he made further back in the conversation. By the time the waiter comes back around with his card and his copy of the receipt, the two of you are basking in the memory of the evening and thinking about what the rest of the night may hold. 

“This was really nice,” he says, folding his napkin and setting it aside on the table. Then his expression becomes consumed by a certain solemness. “I don’t know how well it comes across, but I need you to know that I appreciate you. A lot.”

Your heart nearly bursts. “I know, Bucky,” you promise. He still looks unconvinced, so you extend your hand face up on the table for him to take. “I know.” 

The cab ride back to his place is quiet. You hold onto his hand the whole way, relishing the feeling of his thumb tracing back and forth over your skin. It’s a gesture that says I’m here with, I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me. Brooklyn passes by in rushes of darkness peppered with light. Pedestrians walk alongside the streets, some holding hands just like the two of you. It isn’t long before the driver pulls up alongside the curb of the complex. 

It isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you’re sure that you want to stay. 

The two of you get off at the fifth floor. 

“Is it okay if I spend the night? If not, I completely understand. I know it’s such short notice,” you ramble as he’s turning his key into the door. He hopes you don’t notice the way he falters. But part of him knows you do. You don’t miss anything. Luckily for him, you’re just as fazed by your own question, holding your breath. 

It’s not until you’re inside that he graces you with an answer, “‘Course you can.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. What you’re not expecting is the laugh he tries to bite back. Maybe it was mean of him, but he liked knowing he could make you sweat. Sometimes it seemed like it was only ever you who made him openly anxious. 

“You’re terrible,” you accuse, failing at restraining a smile. “Absolutely horrible.” You’d forgotten to throw away an empty water bottle before you left, and it’s the closest thing you’re able to throw his way in retaliation. He catches it and tosses it in the trash himself. 

Mischief written all along his smile when he starts towards you. 

Partly scared and partly excited, you think to flee at the last second. After a few measly steps, you’re being pulled back into the firmness of his chest. He’s sure enough laughing now, the vibration rushing straight into your back right along with the warmth of his body. So are you. He only has one arm secured around your waist and, despite the fact that he’s not even trying, it's enough to hold you. 

“Wait, wait, wait—hold on a second!” your words come out giggly both because you’re anticipating some sort of attack, and because he’s never held you quite like this before. Unlike a normal hug, this feels like he has you rather than you having each other. It’s vulnerable. Dizzying. 

“You win, you win!” 

“What?” he laughs in surprise. His mouth is so close to your ear that you shiver. “Thought you had more fight in you than that,” there’s a playful warmth to his words. 

You shake your head in denial and relax back into him. You didn’t stand a chance of winning unless he let you, and you were more than willing to tap out early. Because even so, you were still in his arms at his mercy, and somehow that felt like the safest place to be. By the time you realize both of your laughter has faded to a thoughtful silence, he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to the shell of your ear. 

When he lowers his arm from around your waist, you turn around to face him. 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. He suddenly looks boyish, younger. Having crawled out of whatever shell of crushing expectation and responsibility he usually resided within. 

When he cups your face and presses his lips to yours, his shoulders relax and his breaths slow. And for once, he indulges. In you. In the prospect of having someone to lean on and being leaned on in return. It’s a reminder that he’s allowed to experience nice things. To have a life to look forward to outside of lending himself to cause after cause. 

You’re soft, and warm, and everything good a person could be. He pulls away slowly after a while, blinking down at you with heavy eyelids. You’re looking right back at him like he’s the world itself. 

“Maybe you’re not so terrible,” you whisper, smiling. 

Of everything he was feeling now, restless wasn’t one of them. 

_

Thank you so much for reading! I promise I see every like, comment, and reblog and appreciate them all very much. 

To join my “taglist,” follow @taleseverlasting

[causeimcrayzeebee]

Spoilers for chapter 4 so far!

okay ik everyone and their mother is probably talking about this but monomoko seems to be becoming more and more sympathetic for the students and it kinda scares me for her future, considering what just happened w dr kan (KYS!!!!!). im not particularly sure as to why this is happening, maybe the black spots have to do with the memories or the feelings from the deceased students??? i feel like that has to have some significance. also she went and talked to people that were pretty significant to people who died or got killed, like sasaki and okazaki, so i find that intriguing. im still so confused as to how any of monomokos abilities work but hey ojima got a glimpse of the sky! yeah open sky screamed death flags ojima pls stay true to your word. also the yanagi analysis by monomoko was wild lmfao but i did really like seeing that, it was good to get a better idea of who yanagi really wants to protect,,, hes grown on me so much god i love him

TAMBA MISSING KAMIMURA I AM IN TEARS F UGH KKJSJAJEJE sweetie you DO deserve to be alive but this dialogue is so real i can totally see why tamba is spiraling out. her survivors guilt is really getting to her n how she was so careless before n still survived while someone like kamimura who took a bunch of precautions was killed. obviously tamba deserves to live; the question of who deserves to live is as hayashi said, it’s not something anyone has to prove, you just make the most of it. i really love hayashi and tambas interactions ESP in this chapter.

watari adding patches for the people who died in gonna CRY. i wonder what she would’ve said if she had the time to respond to monomoko, that definitely put Okazaki onto the forefront of her mind.

now onto some actual analysis

I think the why do you mourn them question is answered well with tambas sentiments before; they were so young and just died because of the situation they were forced into. Danganronpa is so dangerous too when the people in the killing game are teenagers, who are still learning to make rational decisions, so putting them in a kind of environment that puts pressure on them to make this kind of sacrifice to get out alive and save themselves, a very human instinct.

i had something in my drafts that I was gonna post desperately but might as well talk about it here cause it fits! i think a lot of why the pink cast is in such mourning goes to the kind of lives they live normally. many of them are more isolated, like kamimura or wada, or surrounded by people but not truly by people they can be themselves around, like hiroaki, chiba, and harada. especially considering them being the best in their field, they have lives where it’s hard to make connections with their peers and it’s a genuine one. that’s why hasegawa n kamimura become attached at the hip so quickly; kamimura was able to actually have a friend. this applies to pretty much everyone, and i think that is what is at the heart of the quick connections. they have the ability to be with their peers and don’t have the outside worlds social pressures on them. it’s a horrendous situation ofc, but if it weren’t for the killing game, they wouldn’t have talked to each other even if they did live near each other because of various reasons. i think the original danganronpa was trying to get to this point and it did in some cases, but in others it didn’t and that lead to a lack of mourning from the cast towards the people they lost except maybe one or two people.

tetro casually making me lose my mind yay hope all that made sense

[beanarie]

some more stars in your inbox because i want to hear more about 1. head checked by a jumbo jet and 2. the first time you called me baby actually also let's have a 3. the fic with the yellow paint on tommy's boot you know the one i'm talking about. YAY!

thank you for the additional stars you're the best 😘

jumbo jet

“Forget about your man for a minute," Eddie yells. Tommy gives a start and swears at the phone. "This is my time. Buck, grab the shake then take a shower. You look like hell.”

http://archiveofourown.org/works/61215358

so i really love eddie and buck's friendship. they have very specific and complementary roles they fill in each other's lives. buck is eddie's mom friend, who listens and advises and makes peace when he can. eddie is buck's safe space and kick in the ass. he's done that numerous times, laying out harsh truths or making light of the worst case scenario buck was fixating on, which helps shut down buck's anxiety spiral. eddie might look a little like an uncaring dick when he does this, but it's because he's also been that safe space for buck, keeping his home and life open for buck to invade whenever, accepting his quirks and, in his own way, loving him anyway, that buck accepts these moments for how they're intended. i think a lot of us have someone we trust to be clear-eyed and rational and unflinching in their honesty when it matters.

the boots fic

Then Buck spies the splash of yellow on the bottom of the right boot, and the sirens increase in volume even though he's pretty sure they were shut off.

also

Buck closes his eyes and sees Tommy's boots knock into each other as his gurney was taken out of the ambulance.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/62037388

american fiction has a scene where a character watches a loved one die and all you can see is their bare feet pushing back on a bed. after a second you pick up the rhythm of the pushing and realize it's from chest compressions, so when the movement stops completely it's clear what happened. focusing on one body part and the movement it makes as a result of some other force acting on it really stuck with me.

"why didn't you pick another body part like hands, beans?" well, one time i had to go to the ER for an injury and whenever they moved me around in the gurney my feet felt enormous and in the way. they were just very much in the forefront and it's also the first thing that comes out of an ambulance. i imagine tommy has massive stompers.

also. not long before tommy lost consciousness (and his pulse) he took his mask off. the oxygen tank was kicked anyway and the feeling of the straps was just driving him crazy. of course his team could hear the difference in his voice during his last message, and they started pushing harder to get to him.

and some more about the angst week fic

After finding out about the ambulette debacle, Eddie said Tommy could join dispatch. Lucy's reaction when Tommy shared that, however, was interestingly conflicted, hinting at a story that wasn't hers to tell.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/63891040

lucy thinks it's incredibly sus that eddie would recommend tommy take a job that led to eddie having a mental breakdown. but she isn't thinking about how eddie wasn't a dispatcher. he was just a social media/PR rep, and he and tommy are different people. eddie knows better than anyone besides maddie what their actual job entails. tommy might be suited for it. or having to deal with emergencies remotely might be too painful and frustrating, idk. lone star did it with judd's kid and he seemed to do fine. he was like twenty and had never really worked before. like eddie, there's a bunch of variables there.

[mysticalsoot]

halloween costumes & anxiety

part 1 of 'glances of love'

➸ note; I bit the bullet. alright so context, glances of love is a fic series based off my chaos dr which is basically just a streamer dr hybrid. some details, like the dynamic between reader and Wil, readers behaviors and anxieties, experiences like this fic, are all pieces of my dr. so if it's unconventional, I'm sorry but it's my Dr, my blog, my writing. i choose to share this bc I want to and I want other people to enjoy my work. anyways! on with the reading (please don't throw stones at me, my bones are like brittle glass)

➸ pairing; male!reader x cc!wilbur, he/him

➸ summary; reader avoids going to wilbur's shows for one reason--the fans. he has no qualms against them, they just scare him. he decides to go for the second Halloween gig, dressing up as a humanized tardis as wilbur is the tenth doctor. everything goes smoothly until it's time to meet fans. Wilbur then comforts reader yay!

➸ warning; uses of babyboy including other nicknames, one use of daddy but in a sfw/jokingly sweet context! maybe swearing? mean depiction of some Lovejoy fans-- sorry! wilbur dresses up as the tenth doctor.. nerdy and dorky shit. reader has much panic and anxiety, some hints of an anxiety attack mixed with an autistic shut down (haha me-- /lh)

➸ age-rating; 15+

➸ wordcount; 3.2k

main masterlist

glances of love masterlist

you love wilbur, that was something you were sure of and wholeheartedly so. you supported him, mostly from the safety of your shared home. making posts online basically being his biggest cheerleader, helping him calm down from panics or spirals, smiling and cheering whenever he shows you something knew. you love him. you support him. you adore him.

but his fanbase scares you. it's nothing against them, really. maybe it's the daunting size and intensity of the group of people. maybe it's the negativity that manages to be at the forefront of your mind. whatever it is, they scare you.

you haven't been to one of Lovejoy's shows in ages, and you really hadn't planned on it. you still sort of don't yet Wil's been talking about the next big gig; the Halloween show in Brighton. he wants you to be there, wherever comfortable of course, all dressed up in a matching costume, cheering him on and right there so he can kiss you the second he steps off stage, utilizing that adrenaline to his advantage. he wants you by his side through everything, and while he'd never push you to something you don't want to do, he can't help but be a little pushy about it. he isn't mean or harmful, he just mentions it more. he talks and he talks about it, bouncing and stimming in joy at the mentions of it and the plans he has for it and how cool it's going to be. he wants you there so bad, and it's painfully clear.

"so, what do you think, baby?" he asks as he spins around in front of the TV, showing off his costume in all its glory. you made a joke a few months prior that he reminded you of David Tennant's doctor who, and he took it and ran with it. he's clad in his old converse, some of his funky socks, a pair of brown patterned pants. he tucks in the white shirt a bit more, adjusting the tie before putting the trench coat on. he smiles widely, hands in his pockets just like Ten.

you smile and nod, clapping softly, "you look lovely, darling!" you try your best to sound as excited as possible, giggling when you see him try to stick his hair upwards, but it flops down over his forehead and he sticks his lip out in a pout. "don't think your hair is made for that, bub."

you shake your head with a smile as he shrugs, striding over to you and plopping down beside you on the couch, tossing his legs up on the coffee table in front of you. he tugs you into his lap, "c'mere," and you oblige with a giggle, settling between his thighs comfortably, your legs around his waist as you rest your hands half on his chest half on his shoulders. he holds you by your lower back and hips, hands flat out on your body.

"why don't you come, just this once?" he speaks barely above a whisper as he pushes a bit of hair out of your face, a kiss placed on your opposite cheek.

you think for a moment, you need to go sometime. being on the sidelines won't cut it for much longer, and going means more time with him, less time spent alone. but that also means being near a lot of people, or being in a crowd. or meeting fans--

"yeah, why not?" you smile softly, part of you immediately regretting your words but holding up to your word anyhow.

the following week is spent in preparation, costumes, after show plans, travel, rehearsal, set list writing-- most things Wil handles alone. alot of time spent tucked away in the office in the flat, or on the phone or in the studio. but you both manage time to spend together, and to work on your costume. you both decided on a simple costume, a flowy shirt, a leather jacket, some boots and a tardis key around your neck.

a simple omage to the doctor's forever partner, the tardis. you both thought it was sweet, a nice way to say "forever?" in a rather dorky and cute way.

the day of the show snuck up on you both much quicker than expected, Wil was scrambling to leave early and you were trying to calm your nerves the moment you woke. of course you'd be home on your own for a bit, until you went to the venue a couple hours before it started. you'd help out in whatever way you could and then help wil with makeup if he decided he wanted to add some, just for a special touch.

"if you need anything from me, don't hesitate to call okay? or text. I'm right here, baby. I'll make sure you're okay." he smiles, kissing your forehead as he goes through his mental bullet points of what to remind you on.

• I'm here

• you're safe

• text me

• call me

• I love you

• goodbye/see you soon

the way he had this little pre-venue routine was sweet, and it helped calm your nerves even for a bit. it brought you peace of mind and helped settle that fire that always lit in your stomach in moments of anxiety.

he was like a natural anxiety remedy, and you loved every second of it.

"I know, I know. I'll tell you if anything's wrong. now, go have fun at soundcheck. i love you, bee," you lean up to try and reach his lips to kiss, yet you don't quite reach that height. he leans down and closes the gap for you, your lips moving in sync with one another as you sigh into the feeling. it's nice, it's warm and it buzzes your skin. he pulls back, smiling before biting his lip. he brushes some hair out of your face as he admires you.

"I love you so so much, thank you for coming tonight.." he peppers kisses all over your face, holding your head in his hand as you giggle, holding his arms gently.

you giggle, smiling sweetly as he kisses all over your face and then he kisses your nose and stops, pulling back to smile down at you.

"I love you soo much more!" you giggle, kissing one more time as you both bid one another a sweet 'see you later'. you drop down onto the couch the moment the door clicks shut. you take in a deep, shakey breath, spending the next few hours wondering and pondering on how you expect to handle being at the show.

a few hours pass and you're on the walk to the venue, it isn't far from Wil's apartment building so you manage a swift 10-minute walk, wilbur's acoustic guitar slung on your back. you managed to avoid the crowds lining up and queuing for the show, slipping into the venue through the backdoor, sighing in relief once the door was shut and locked behind you. you hurried over to the green room, holding the guitar strap on your chest and putting the guitar down in the corner. Wil walks in a moment later, hurrying up behind you and wrapping his long arms around you. he rests his chin on your shoulder and you sigh happily. turning in his grasp, you shove yourself into his chest and keep close.

"I'm glad to see you, honeybaby.." he moves to rest his chin on your head, his hand on the back of it, scratching at your scalp with his fingertips and he presses kisses onto your hair.

"'m glad too.." you mumble against his chest, hands grasping at his back, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt.

"how was your walk, baby?" he picks you up by your waist, placing you gently onto his lap after he finds his spot on the couch. you rest your hands on the bottom hem of his shirt. his fingers and thumbs rub at your thighs, trying to soothe you.

"good, I got to come in through the back," you shrug, leaning yourself down to press against his chest. you nestle your body between his thighs as you gently whine in content. he presses a hand against your back, as his other grazes your cheek gently.

"mm, good, baby," he smiles, kissing your nose. you both stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's limbs. legs tangled, arms around one another, fingers fidgeting with each other's. your head is nestled on his shoulder and his head on top of yours. it's sweet and it's warm, and your anxiety slips away with every breath of his you hear. every tingle of your skin at his touch.

"I have to go soon, hun," he whispers against the shell of your ear, placing a kiss there as he rubs your upper arm. you whine at him, hiding your face in his chest, head tucked under his chin. he giggles at you, kisses placed on your hair before he gently pulls you back.

"I have a show to play, baby boy," he smirks, kissing your forehead. he's so.. sweet, you think, kind and gentle and you love his touch and affection.

"how much longer?" you hold a gentle pout on your lips, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"mm.." he pauses in thought, not actually thinking but pretending to, only to make you laugh, "five minutes? is that good for you, baby?"

you nod, resting back on his chest as you rest your legs on either side of his thighs, cuddling close to him and letting your eyes rest. wilbur draws shapes on your back with his finger tips. his other hand plays with your hair, twirling strands around his fingers before letting go and massaging your scalp. you let out soft, contented sighs with every touch, simply taking in every feeling and savoring it.

the five minutes pass and he's putting you back to stand, hugging you and kissing you as you help hype him up. he runs on stage and you head into the crowd. you thought it might help your anxiety, to be around everyone. you easily slip into the crowd, finding a spot off to the side and clapping and screaming with the crowd.

you blend in easily, getting drawn into the music and enjoying it just as anyone else. you eye wilbur lovingly, watching him bounce around and perform in his costume. he looks so silly to you, adorable and lovely. you smile so widely and he glances over to you every once and a while, a smile and a wink thrown in your direction.

the show moves along smoothly, he talks in between songs when he's tuning his guitar. he's careful not to point you out, but he talks about you. gushing over his boyfriend, how sweet you are and how you're the reason he has a costume this year. he smiles so wide, and his eyes sparkle. he really loves you.

once the show ends, they go out to the back, and you slip back through the backstage door. the crowd finds their way out to the back, ready to meet the guys and your heart starts to pound at the idea. you fully plan on going out with Wil, wanting to be beside him despite your fears. surely it'll be fine? no one will bother you and all in all, he'll be there so you'll be okay.

he meets you in the hall outside of the green room, picking you up by your waist and spinning you around before kissing all over your face. you giggle, humming and grabbing at his shirt.

"hi, baby-" he coos, pulling back and resting his forehead on yours.

"hi, wilbee.." you let your words fade, sighing and shutting your eyes. he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs as he looks down into your eyes.

"ready, lovey?" he smiles, pulling back and dipping his head to meet your eyes.

you nod and he puts out his hand for you. you wrap your hand around his finger, not bothering with holding his whole hand as he leads you outside through the backdoor. you keep your hold on him, hiding in his side or behind him. you're sure to hold onto him, so you don't lose him somewhere in the crowd. there isn't a barricade outside like there sometimes is, so fans crowd around and cluster up in his (and your) personal space. you stay quiet about it, keeping your fast breathing and spinning mind under wraps. wilbur tells a few people to back up just a bit, for safetys sake as he speaks with a few fans. he lets you keep that hold on him, only letting go when he takes photos.

your mind wanders until a few voices catch you. they're simple whispers, ones that surround you and come from behind you. you don't turn around to see the source of the voices but you hear what they say as clear as day.

"does he really have to bring his boyfriend everywhere?"

"we're here to see Lovejoy, not wilbur's lost puppy."

they laugh together, and wilbur doesn't even hear, and you don't bother to speak up either. you try your best to zone out, to pull those voices out of your mind and crush them, but they seem to consume you.

"everyone knows he's probably just a gold digger. someone like him can only be a gold digger."

"wilbur's too old for him anyways. we all know wil would be happier with someone older."

you lean your head on wilbur's side, whining softly as your brain spins and drowns in fear and anxiety. he doesn't stop his conversation for a bit, not until you grab onto his shirt and tug it slightly. your head is tilted back and your eyes are sad as they look up at him.

he pulls you aside gently, crouching just barely so your eyes are at the same level. he holds your face, kissing your lips once before pulling back to smile at you.

"what's wrong, baby? do you need to leave?" he asks in a gentle tone, you shake your head gently. you know you aren't convincing but if you can be just enough, maybe he'll go back out again. maybe you won't ruin the night.

"no, no, I'm okay. just tired. um.. let's go back? i don't want anyone to be upset." you hold a soft, yet fake, smile on your lips. wilbur frowns, not believing your facade for a second but taking it knowing how stubborn you are. you grab onto his belt loop this time, following him back over into the crowd of fans.

he continues going about interactions, signing things and talking amongst everyone, he takes photos and he hugs people.

you tune yourself out of what he's busy with, not wanting to be bothersome. but as always, you regret that decision.

more people start talking about you.

it's driving you crazy.

"such a pitiful guy, his boyfriend protecting him- Jesus, wilbur deserves someone better."

tears start to prick at your eyes due to the words thrown at you. you bite your lip and let go of wils jeans, walking away and wiping tears from your cheeks with your sleeve.

you hear more comments, most are seemingly happy about your absence and you don't get a cool breath until you're back inside the venue. you decide packing up would be your best bet, putting away what wilbur brought. his laptop and charger, a book and guitar picks. you pack everything you can, letting sobs rip through your chest as tears pour down your cheeks. you're a mess and you feel it. you aren't even sure if wilbur had noticed your absence but you sort of hope he didn't. you didn't want to steal him from everyone anyways.

a few minutes pass of frantic packing and burning tears before footsteps are heard. wilbur opens the door to the green room gently, walking over to you and pulling you into his arms. he's silent, not a word needs to be spoken for you to know how okay it is. you let it out, crying into his chest as sobs ripple out and you grasp at his shirt. he rubs your back with one hand while the other pets your hair. he kisses the top of your head, shushing you sweetly.

"shh.. shh, baby it's okay. I'm here? okay, I'm here." he mumbles between kisses to your head. his fingers rub and press on your back to help ground you. eventually you're able to catch your breath, voice still shakey but at least you aren't crying. the tears have been shed and all that's left is a broken voice and stains of sorrow on your cheeks.

he holds your face, rubbing away the tear stains with his thumbs. you sigh, holding his wrists with your hands, rubbing the inside with your thumbs.

"what happened?" he asks again and you want to brush it off, but instead you spill. you tell him of all the horrible things you've seen and heard, how you feel like the only one that experiences it. you ask why you're so hated, and he doesn't have the answer. he can only see the beauty in you, he sees no reason for one to hate you or even dislike you one bit. he nods and sighs, kissing your forehead before pulling you into his lap and placing soft kisses to your neck and jaw.

"you're okay now, baby. I'm here, I won't let anyone hurt you. i promise, none of those things are true and I promise I love you, and I love you for who you are." he smiles, watching your eyes sparkle with an admiration at his words. you feel the sobs build up in your throat and you want to cry again, to sob hysterically just by hearing such sweet words.

"i mean how can someone be a gold digger if they insist on helping pay bills on an apartment they're not even on the lease for?" he chuckles, kissing your forehead as you find giggles escaping you instead at his silly words. it's true, if anything you're farther from a gold digger than anything, "they don't know you, hun, so don't let them get to you."

he kisses your forehead one more time, before pulling back and letting you tuck into his lap for a few minutes rest. he lets you lay there, rubbing your back until he has to pick you up. he does so, and you both begin to pack the van up, ready to go home as soon as possible.

he stops you by the back door, holding your hand and looking down at you, "home, my tardis?"

"home, doctor," you smile up at him and he kisses you once, twice, three times before hurrying you both to the van. he helps you in first, buckling you in before he slides in next to you.

"what was that for?" you inquire gently, his hand reaching out to you, insisting you wrap your hand around his finger and you do so, but keep your gaze on him in order to keep his attention.

"I wanted to show extra care, that's all."

you nod softly in agreement, resting your head against his shoulder as he sighs.

"g'night, baby," he kisses your temple with a sweet smile.

"goodnight, daddy.." you smile to yourself as sleep takes over and you finally feel a blanket of peace over you.

it wasn't the best experience, but at least you had wilbur along the way.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @ughtreyparker @whos-nicooo @zebonos

© 2023 mysticalsoot

[shadowuserannie]

Demigod Mercenary?

im so sorry i haven't sent an ask sooner i didn't see the notif

go read what's already published here

done? Yay! :D

(below spoilery info is not going to make sense otherwise)

By accident, I've had to give personalities and backstories to extremely minor characters that show up in The Hidden Oracle, because they appear in Demigod Mercenary and while Aiden is far more eager to leave compared to Apollo, he doesn't have the barrier of "literal god" and, unlike Apollo, is actually 16/17. Which means he bonds easier with the filler.

Alice and Julia: the two were more or less interchangeable as filler Hermes characters in THO. When Aiden first meets them, I do something similar, then over time there's a slight difference in their way of speaking. The two girls are trying to be the new Stolls, so they're attempting to be hyper-similar but eventually some differences bleed through.

Alice; (16/17 years old) curses more, quicker to anger, can hold a decent grudge. Her upset attitude towards people (Aiden) leaving is due to an abandonment in the past. Came to camp while it was still recovering after the Second Titanomachy, a few weeks before Julia. [Not fully confirmed: accidentally wrote a piece of dialogue too Singaporean and am now internally screaming as to whether I should. make her from there.]

Julia; she's the "nicer" one, lets go of grudges more easily and smooths out Alice's rough edges (PLATONICALLY. THEY'RE HALF-SISTERS.) in which she's...the one who runs interference when Alice is pissed off. Not a pushover by any means, just more accepting in general. Came to camp just a week before the Lost Trio, meaning mere days before Percy disappearance and everything going to shit. She's...well...think anger vs silence when it comes to trauma.

Damien White; (16/17) came to camp in February of the Second Gigantomachy year. I tried to fit him in as having been at camp a reasonable amount of time, since DemiMerc actually takes place fall-ish of the Second Gigantomachy year, a few months after the war. Damien wasn't at the counsellors meeting in TLH, though, which ruled him out for arriving around the same time as Alice and Julia.

SPOILERS :DDD

So Damien's going to be Aiden's half brother, and that meant I had to improve on his canon personality. Damien is someone who feels very strongly and is very passionate, but has to step into a role where he's got to teach Aiden about Nemesis' powers. I also wanted to explore more of his antagonistic relationship with Chiara...which accidentally spiraled into a separate thing...because GODS

That's all! Bonus character that will make an appearance? *drumrolls* Hestia! Aiden assumes she's more than a background character and is fully ready to attack her!

bonus BONUS excerpt;

He spotted Kayla a mile away and weaved into the Greek Omega-style formation of the cabins, between a poorly painted warpaint red cabin and another one covered in flora. Aiden paused before taking another step to glance over the ground. There’s the land mines! Finally something like a camp.

He stepped easily between them and hid in the shadows of the red cabin, glancing out over at Kayla. She was hidden behind one of two posts of a rickety wooden cabin, which…Aiden squinted at the number. That looked like 11. Hermes, then.

Time to go check somewhere else while waiting for her to leave. Aiden pursed his lips. But where?

Abruptly, the little girl flashed to the forefront of his mind. She hadn’t been at either night’s campfire, but he’d seen her stoking the flames while on his tour and during his first escape attempt. Was she a demigod, related to fire perhaps? Everyone seemed to ignore her, or look past her, which rang a small alarm bell in Aiden’s head. There were so many possible threats here, and one everyone thought nothing of? Could be deadly.

Amphitheatre it was.

[dramarising-replacement]

post/721119387881553920/so-about-that-holes-confession

No salt back! just trying to help explain!  This is my experience however, not everyone's.

Short, TL:DR answer: because phobias are irrational and not everyone's brain works the same.

Long answer BUT BEFORE YOU READ know that I am in no way saying that Flightrising should cater to phobias. It's a website for more than just me and people with phobias, it's for people without phobias too and people who enjoy this content. We need to do our part to tailor our experience to the best of our own ability. It's totally okay for us to be upset when we encounter our phobias but forcing others to adapt is not. I'm totally on the side of the argument that FR owes us nothing.

I've had this phobia (hole phobia/trypophobia) since I was a child, I won't go into too many details but let's just say something really awful happened that resulted in me seeing the worst possible thing related to it.

My brain latched onto that and while I'm in therapy, medicated, and have spent years trying to manage it the best I can I'm still not okay. I try really hard but if I see a beehive for example, I go through all the fun stuff of not being able to breathe or rationalize, I full blown panic and I'll never return to that place again even if the beehive is taken away. I've missed school, work, once in a lifetime opportunities etc because of it.

Yay phobias! /s

The real awful part is that my brain doesn't let me forget what I've seen. And relates stuff that is similar to it. So for example, I see spots on a Dalmatian.  Instantly my brain goes through a pattern of SPOTS--->HOLES--->INJURIES--->TRAUMATIC MEMORY. It connects the objects just because they are similar. It's messed up, irrational, it makes everyday extremely difficult to get through.

Bubbles set me off. Too many O's side by side in a text post set me off. Spots, chocolate in a chocolate chip cookie, peach fuzz on a person's face, the list goes on and on. All because my brain connects the things. 

And I know at the forefront of my mind that these things aren't what messed me up and aren't actually holes where they shouldn't be but my thoughts spiral back to those memories almost instantly and the cycle starts all over again.

So this is why I personally struggle with stuff like some of the genes. I know they're just drawings but they bring my brain back to that awful time and place. Hopefully, one day, I'll get better and find a technique to manage this that works for me.

In the meantime, I'm just blocking everything that triggers me with adblocker on FR and trying to enjoy my funky little dragons.

[escape-rock-bottom]

Journal 30 (1/2) - My Biggest, Meanest Negative Thought

I think we all have our own unique negative thoughts that just continuously circulate in our heads. These vary drastically between individuals, some are related to your perception of the outside world, your appearance, your relationships, you name it. There’s usually one that seems to dominate and bleed into all aspects of our lives too. I call these “chronic recurring negative thoughts”. 

These are the ones that are so habitual they become a part of your personality without you even knowing it and control your choices. They’re rarely in the forefront of your mind, but they are omnipresent in your day to day life. They gnaw at you but you barely pay them any mind. They are the slow, barely seen killers of our self esteem and confidence.

During this whole self-development thing, one of the constant journaling exercises I hear gurus and coaches recommend time and time again is to identify and unravel your negative thoughts. I thought I got every single one of them out on display and ready for extermination but I didn’t realize this one, the one that hides so well but comes up much more often than the others.

The thought revolves around the fact that “I am not enough.” I am not man enough. I am not enough for the people I love. I am not disciplined enough. I am not determined and driven enough. I am not talented enough. I am not fit enough. I am not attractive enough…

And so on. These thoughts pervade nearly every aspect of my life but they’re so constant that my brain just filters them out. I didn’t even realize I was having these so much until I started this journey and began reeeeally digging in and improving my mindfulness. 

It all came to the forefront when a specific incident caused an influx of these thoughts. I’m not going to fault myself for having them, but they kinda crushed me and caused me to spiral into these “not enough” thoughts. Then it hit me, a lot of my insecurities and goals are directly connected to this “lack of being enough”. I need to knock that off big time.

My situation is weirdly complicated. I have a literal split in my sense of identity (yay, weird neurology!) that causes me to basically have two varying views of myself. I think I’m a cool and interesting guy. I think I’m talented. I think I have what it takes to get where I want to be. Then, there’s a part of me that’s stewed in this idea that I need to be more than I already am.

It's counterintuitive as hell honestly. I think its a matter of I managed to be truly confident and love myself, but haven't fully disrupted the thoughts. I don't always listen to them nowadays, but I guess they became habitual.

I can’t tell if it’s a result of me wanting external validation, or if I feel I have to meet certain expectations of human-ness that I have not yet achieved, or if it’s a cause of some trauma stuff I long since forgot but held onto. Whatever caused it, they’re there, and they contribute to a slew of problems I have in areas of my life. 

Now that I am aware of them, I can work on them. I need to remind myself that improving myself isn’t about becoming more for other people or to prove myself to others, but rather to prove myself to myself and grow into a person I’d like to be. 

In reality to society, we will never be enough, but also be more than enough, but also be just right to the people around us. It’s funny how I can be both too energetic but also kinda silent and boring depending on who you ask. It’s contradictory to be very attractive and charismatic to my girlfriend but ugly af to another woman. 

If we uphold our sense of self worth to others’ perceptions, we will constantly rely on other people’s validation. We will also put far too much legitimacy into people’s criticisms, jokes, and negative perceptions of you. If we uphold ourselves to societal norms (which only a small handful of us can fit into to a tee) we feel inadequate and worthless if we don’t fit in. 

To be confident in yourself, you need to validate, love, and respect yourself. You need to hold the power to uplift yourself and hold your beliefs of your worth over others’ expectations and criticisms. Improve for you, not for what people expect from you. You need to believe that you are enough for yourself because you have nothing to prove to the world around you.

[hmgfanfic]

Hm, maybe an unpopular opinion, but I don’t feel like Quentin’s reaction to Eliot’s spiral is all that different from Margo’s? At least in spirit, if not in kind.

Quentin starts out by ignoring the issue and focusing on other things (which is his basic M.O. throughout the show; he does it with his dad, with Alice, with Julia…), while Margo tries to keep things Normal (a recurring motif for her and El) until she lashes out and breaks down on repeat. And at this point in the show, she and Eliot are already way closer to each other and know each other better than anyone else in their lives, yet she still handles things pretty damn imperfectly. For example, taking Eliot with her to solve the problem with the Margolem, then getting mad at him for not giving her the right amount/kind of support—after she definitely knows the Mike story!—and when she says things like, “yay, you live to drink another day,” etc. We know how much Margo loves Eliot, but in a vacuum these… aren’t great.

This is further compounded by how Margo is arguably the least invested in what’s going on with the Beast, while Quentin is arguably the most. He’s distracted both by The Plot and, yes, his brand-new, exciting, yet already unsteady relationship with Alice, while Eliot is Margo’s unambiguous main priority. Still, she doesn’t quite “get it” the way she “should," right? It’s only after the emotion bottles that her honesty and fear and even her love come out. And this, crucially, is also exactly what happens with Quentin’s own tenderness. When his feelings are at the forefront, he cares, both when he’s talking about Chatwin’s Torrent with Eliot (and they manage to laugh together!), and when he promises Margo the two of them will do all they can to help Eliot through this. For a plot-driven show with very little room for character development and one that relied heavily on small moments, this holds a lot of weight with me, especially given what follows.

Because does the aftermath of the threesome actually ruin their friendship? Nope! Less than two days later, Quentin crowns Eliot with bursting, literal CRYING affection. Then, Margo crowns Quentin, which includes apologizing to him and telling him he’s INSPIRING. And then, later, Quentin and Eliot embrace after Eliot shares his fears about being abandoned (and manage to laugh together again — a pattern!) Sure, none of them may say The Perfect Thing to each other at any point, but 1) that’s more realistic and interesting, and 2) I struggle to hold a flawed handling of a competing Major Issue against any of them and/or let it define what they mean to each other. They’re all young and messed up, and they're dealing with serious life and death stakes.

Plus, as sort of a tangent, I think when most people are talking about romantic Queliot in S1, they're usually talking about AUs. There might be a fic or two out there where Quentin and Eliot actually get together in a canon-divergent S1, but they’re rare because they’re hard to pull off. The trauma and fast-moving plot and Jane’s machinations do, in fact, get in the way. I always say Timeline 40 is Quentin and Eliot’s hard mode, and if they can make it there (The Mosaic), they make it anywhere.

But with No Beast AUs, the simplest of the options, taking out the timeloops and the threat of the Beast should logically impact the mental state and circumstances of all these relationships, usually for the better, though not for the perfect. For instance, Julia is at Brakebills, there’s no Book VI for them to have a blow-up fight over, Quentin doesn’t kill anyone during his first month at school, the Beast-as-Mike can’t irrevocably destroy Eliot’s fragile, yet growing sense of self, and all of them are at least given the chance to settle into a new routine, complete with breathing room for their pre-existent fucked up selves. (I think of the way Quentin smiles when Eliot and Margo call his name in 1x02. No Beast AUs often imagine a world where he could have that consistently, and how that would affect him.) And finally—and most importantly, at least for this discussion—most S1 AUers posit that without the Beast, Quentin and Eliot would be given meaningful time and space to spend together, and get to know each other, without constant, massive, traumatic interruptions. 

Just like in The Mosaic.

one reason i eventually came around to They Were Not In Love Pre-Mosaic is that eliot spends half of season 1 having a very obvious total meltdown after a clearly and expectedly traumatic event and quentin does not demonstrate even one time that he notices or gives a shit. this is to be clear valid of him and super fucking funny and to ME extremely sexy re: the queliot of it all. but it also makes it hard for me personally to view their season one relationship in a romantic light.

[supernatural-firstwatch]

Season 4 Episode 22: Lucifer Rising

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S THE END OF SEASON 4!!!!! That took me less than a month to get to. 

- Hmmm... Really fucking powerful demon just possessed a priest in 1972 and now is giving homilies “blah blah blah” LOL! HAHAHA! “Sometimes it feels like I have been wandering the desert for years looking for our father. Well, not our father. MY father. You see, he’s in jail. Your dad put him there.” HAHAHAH!!! Love it. 

- Ruby is such a shit. She’s purposely changing Sam into a demon and she talks to him like there’s going to be an “after.” Like Sam will still be himself enough that he can patch things up with Dean. And Sam knows he’s changing. He just said that he can feel it and that he knows there won’t be an “after” for him. It’s like he’s resigned himself to dying. Except that it’ll be so much worse because death is likely preferable to becoming a demon. 

- DEAN!!!! NO!!! “Sam never wanted part of this family. He hated this life growing up. Ran away to Stanford first chance he got. And now it’s like deja-vu all over again.” Sam never felt like he belonged because that’s not what he wanted! That doesn’t mean he didn’t want to be part of the family!!!! “I’m not even sure if he’s my brother anymore. If he ever was.” FUCK!!! The demons have done a real fine job in tearing the Winchester family apart!!! 

- Bobby is about to blow a gasket! Throwing everything off his desk! “They’re supposed to make you miserable! That’s why they’re family!” HAH! “You sound like your dad. And your dad was a coward. He’d rather push Sam away thahn reach out to him. Well, that don’t strike me as brave.” 

- Hello what? Was Dean just teleported somewhere else by the angels? Hi Cass! You asshole who let Sam out! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! All the beers and burgers!!!! Also, it just occurred to me that Dean pledged to follow God’s orders. Except that if it’s someone like Uriel who is on Lucifer’s camp, then Dean is not bound to follow their orders because that’s not really God giving the orders. Also, if Cass gives him the orders, that’s also not orders from God. They’re orders from Cass. Right? That’d be a pretty big loophole there... I wonder if that’s where things are going... 

- Zachariah!!! Hi Woody!!! Ok, Jensen Ackles really does have very pretty green eyes.... Lilith has to break the final seal, sure, by getting Sam to turn into a demon!! And they think Dean will be the only one who can stop it by killing Sam before he turns into a demon! But I bet he won’t be able to because even after all this, Sam is still his little brother. YOU HAVE TO SAVE SAM, AND IF YOU CAN’T, YOU’LL HAVE TO KILL HIM!!!!!! Cass looks so meek behind Zacharias. Like, he knows things and he feels ashamed of things, but his lips are sealed.

- Sam has gotten really good at torturing demons. Oooooh!!!!! Demon went down under and brought back the human to the forefront to make it harder for Sam to drink her blood. Well, at least Sam is still hesitating about killing and sucking blood when the humans are at the forefront. 

- IT’S AZAZEL!!!!!!!! THE DEMON INSIDE THE PRIEST!!!!! IT’S AZAZEL!!!! AND LUCIFER NEEDS A CHILD! THAT’S SAM!!!! A SPECIAL CHILD!!!!

- Awh Sam!!! The poor nurse. 

- OMG Dean, I love you. “I need you to take me to see Sam.” “Why?” “I need to talk to him about something.” “What’s that?” “The B.M. I took this morning. What’s it to you? Just make it snappy.” LOL!!!!! 

- OMG SAM!!!! PLEASE DO NOT TURN INTO A DEMON AND DESTROY THE FINAL SEAL!!!! PLEASE!!!!! 

- HAH!!! ZACHARIAH WANTS THE FINAL SEAL BROKEN!  HE’S PART OF THE ANGELS THAT THINK LUCIFER HAD IT RIGHT! Oh noooooo!!!! He just wants the apocalypse so they can battle it out with demons and wipe out the demons? Is that what’s happening? Now I’m back to thinking that Lucifer is going to possess Sam and Dean is going to have to kill him... FUCK YOU SHOW!!! YOU MAKE IT FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO GUESS ANYTHING!!!! 

- HAH! “God has left the building.” THERE’S THAT LOOPHOLE!!!! Dean swore allegiance to GOD! Not just upper management!  

- NO!!!! ZACHARIAH YOU GIGANTIC FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!!!! YOU CHANGED THE MESSAGE DEAN LEFT SAM!!!!! HOW IS SAM SUPPOSED TO DO THE RIGHT THING WHEN HE’S BEING MANIPULATED BY ANGELS AND DEMONS ALIKE TOWARD BECOMING A DEMON AND BREAKING THE SEAL??? HOW??? AND RUBY’S FUCKING FACE!!!!! POOR BABY!!!! YOU ASSHOLES ARE BREAKING HIS HEART!!!

- YAY CASS IS BACK!!!! AND CHUCK THE PROPHET!!!!!

- FUCKING RUBY CLOSING THE DOOR ON DEAN BECAUSE SHE’S BEEN IN ON IT THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME!!!!!

- DEAN SCREAMING SAM’S NAME!!!! AND SAM HEARD HIM!!! AAAARGH!!!! SAM’S EYES DO TURN BLACK!!!!! HE’S TURNING INTO A DEMON!!!!!! SAM STOP IT!!!!!!!!!! Oooooooh... “And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal.” 

MAN!!! Ruby really played the long game! Only Lilith and Azazel knew what was what! And Sam spent the entire demon blood psychic powers on killing Lilith so at least he’s normal now? But why did it have to be Sam??? Did I miss something?? What made Sam so special that it HAD to be him???

What made him so special??? I love how Ruby was all “I gave you choices and every time you chose right!” God! Her whole schpiel was just sickening. Poor Sam. It’s totally not his fault. This is just like the experiments with the addicted rats where if you leave them in a cage by themselves, they’ll choose the drink with the cocaine/heroin until they die, but if you get them addicted and then put them in a happy place with a support network of other rats, then they can cure their addiction. The entire season every time Sam tried to do the right thing they just cut him off again, and again, and again. And then once you’re spiraling it’s so hard to come back! And if they hadn’t doctored the voicemail Dean left him then he likely wouldn’t have gone through with it. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!! I just can’t win at the guessing game with this show!!!! Which just proves how amazing this show is!