#but I had to get the idea out of my system

[submastrain]

Connecting my last two braincells-- Tenna Emmet....

[harrisskah]

Just a silly Idea I had to get out lol Some littles sketches of Pretendy, he probably has some lightly crossed eyes

Had to get this one out of my system lmao. Meant to draw a reaction shot of Perry and Doof but got tired :') Anyone feel free to do that

[amadinan]

TADC episode 5 analysis

I will collect here my thoughts that appeared after watching the 5th episode of TADC. And there are many of them, the episode is really rich in revealing the backstories of the characters and even lore. But I will mainly touch on Caine and the lore of the circus.

But first, some small thoughts before I move on to the Intermission time.

Jax is an NPC?

To be honest, I never believed in this theory, it is interesting in a vacuum, but nothing more. However, at this point we have not one, but three hints about this: Jax's number in episode 4, which refers to the Blender program and how copies are named there, the fact that Caine was able to make Jax a vegan (although Caine stated that he cannot influence the minds of players) and the fact that Jax himself was sure that he had a tail.

This would already be enough to consider the theory probable, but perhaps this hole is a little deeper. In the end, Caine was also able to influence Ragatha, although not directly.

But what if we combine this with the main theory of the circus, that all people are digital copies of minds? Then, Caine can theoretically control them, because from his program point of view, they are no different from very complex NPCs, which Caine churns out himself, like on a conveyor belt. Let's remember that Caine deleted Gummigoo because he was afraid of confusing him with a person (after all, even then there were thoughts that Caine accidentally deleted someone) and probably Caine deleted the original Jax, and then replaced him with a NPC copy that differs from the original only in the absence of a tail. After all, even in the episode with the evil team, we were shown that Caine can easily create humanoid personalities by copying them from players.

Caine and Gangle

In the fifth episode, I noticed two actions between them and both were not entirely direct. First: immediately after exiting the portal, Caine noticed Gangle's broken mask and fixed it without a word. Second: Gangle was not on the evil team, she was replaced by Orbsman. I think Caine realized that Gangle almost abstracted at the end of episode 4, so Caine decided to be a little more attentive to her. And he did not add an evil clone, because this clone ... would have been Gangle from episode 4 herself, which could only upset her.

"Sarcastic eye-flying" after Zooble's sentence.

It's only one phrase, but it's clearly a lore bomb, although it is not entirely clear without context. For starters, Caine does not call Zooble by name, not "player", "guest" or even "human", he calls them "toy-box character". This may again hint at digital copies, but not necessarily. And then Caine says "other intelligent AIs" and this is even stranger, who did he mean? People like him and Bubble, simple NPCs or  like players? It's unclear, but interesting, and Caine seriously doesn't like this idea from Zooble and again it's unclear why? The overload on the system? A possible NPC revolt? Caine is afraid that if there are too many characters, he will completely get confused who is who?

And finally, The Intermission time.

Get ready, there will be a complete searching for meaning where there may be none at all.

To be honest, I didn't understand everything, but some things may well have a context, so I'd be glad to hear your thoughts.

So, right after the intermission there was a bar where almost all the characters shared their past, and what if Caine shared too, just before this adventure? But purely in his style.

Right after the  start scene, we are shown Bubble and how three jaws overlap each other, and then also three Caines, each larger one holding the smaller one. This may refer to his development, how starting with something simple like Bubble, he first became "jaws" (probably an alpha version), and then more and more complex, until he became what he is now. This also corresponds to the fact that at the end of the scene, Caine sort of folds himself, and then a small splash screen plays like in the 2000s games and the computer monitor turns on/off.

Why in the next scene Pomni is not clear to me, but here's why exactly cubes suggested by @poprocksriot. Perhaps there were three parts or even three AI that became a single being: two eyes of Caine and Bubble (possibly a third eye, as in the concept art).

Gangle, Zooble and Jax are sucked into the void: a metaphor for sucking people into the game.

A bunch of eyes in the void and Caine in the light in the middle. I think this is one of the most important scenes, which shows that Caine "came to life" and is no longer just a program. Firstly, the official music, secondly (thank you, @puddingandp1) he breathes in this scene, which may just mean that he is now sentient. In addition, the eyes. There are indeed a lot of eyes, but NONE of them are looking at Caine himself, which could mean how he became an "rogue AI".

Then we see the chessboard floor and the characters. Their world is literally turned upside down. A bowling ball falls on Pomni and Jax, which may indicate their condition as they were affected by getting into the circus. Moreover, we even saw Pomnis' condition in the first series. The situation crushed her, like a bowling ball. With Gangle and Ragatha it is a little more complicated, cakes fall on them. This means that for them the situation in the circus is "sweeter" than what was in reality. We heard about the abuse in Ragatha's family right in this episode, so in the circus, where her mother is not, she could get better. And with Gangle it is even easier. She worked at such a hateful job that even simulating these memories for just one day almost killed her. In the circus there is Jax, as a minus, but she does not have to work and she can draw as much as she wants. And Kinger. He catches the ball, which seems to say that the situation has not crushed him, but then he is not just crushed, but directly knocked off the board (mind) by a black figure, the loss of Queenie.

Then it is more figurative. Caine literally holds everyone in his hands. The characters in Caine's "hat" and they are clearly being watched, then a bunch of mannequins, which can also refer to the fact that Caine, as a puppeteer, holds them under control.

Then Caine stands on the floor and the camera approaches him. Note that this is the same chessboard floor on which the others were standing, and a bowling ball can approach it, as if the camera was attached directly to it, but Caine manages (for now) to not let himself be crushed.

Then a corridor and abstractions. Well, here it is quite clear, the attitude and the display of lost players.

Then Zooble interrupts Caine and he hangs. Perhaps we should have seen something else, from which even Caine hung, but alas.

Of course, there is also a mysterious mannequin that follows Pomni and is possibly Gummigoo, but little is known about him yet.

That's all for now, I really liked the series, I'm sure it will only get more interesting.

[gnc-shadowcat]

I keep getting annoyed by things so. (Disclaimer that my knowledge level is “read through some websites.”)

Some adoptee rights organizations with lots of information: American Adoption Congress, Bastard Nation, AdoptionTruth, Against Child Trafficking

Birth parents: Concerned United Birthparents

Good beginner’s guide to adoptee rights

“The Adoptees Bill of Rights” and “The Birthparents Bill of Rights”

Some articles on open adoption

Good intro to economic exploitation and adoption

Article on for-profit adoption agencies and privatized foster care feat. interview with activist Krista Bowman

This page encouraging people to take out adoption loans. Yes you read that right. A loan with which people pay money to adopt a child.

International adoptee whose records were falsified (she wasn’t actually an orphan) writing about the issue, links a ton of articles

FAQ of a nonprofit working to end adoption trafficking

Adoption is often talked about as “baby minus pregnancy!” Kill that idea. Every adoptee came from someone who had a baby they are now not raising. If we lived in a magic world where people only got pregnant when they intended to, infant adoption would be practically unheard of.

Foster care!

Separating a child from their family is traumatic. Yes even if the family was abusive. Kids should only be removed from their homes when the harm of not removing a child outweighs the harm of removal.

Intro to foster care

Difference between foster care, legal guardianship, and kinship care

Difference between legal guardianship and adoption + same thing

Defines kinship care, links tons of resources

Reunification is the primary goal of foster care

Article “Co-Parenting With Birth Parents In Foster Care”

“The Reality of Reunification” by Sweetiele Moon, about her experience returning to her family after being in foster care

“Reunification From Foster Care: A Guide For Parents”

“A parent’s guide to working with child welfare”

Resources for parents with kids in foster care from Parents Helping Parents + their guide “You Are Not Alone: An Empowering Guide for Parents Whose Children are in DCF Foster Care”

Some birth parent voices on the system

Reasons kids can be taken into foster care

About ICWA: one, two

[nerdyscouttribute]

First Look (Modern Au Smoke x Annie)

Summary:Smoke see's Annie for the first time at the club

Warning: none ,just something cute and short

An: I might come back and add more to this ,but I just wanted to get it out my mind, so it's a little rushed. I got the idea from @partylikemajima

“Man, why you brought me here?”Smoke said. Irritation was written all over his face,as Stack was dragging him through the loud club. Lights flashing everywhere, people skin to skin dancing, drinks in hand. Music blasting through the speakers.

We said now drop it like a thottie, pop it like a thottie

Church girls acting loose, bad girls acting snotty

Let it go, girl-let it out, girl

“You too damn stuck up,need to get you a girl to dance with”, Stack said , a wide smile on his face.

Before Smoke could say anything back Stack said"I'm about to talk with a few people I see, I'll be back”. Walking off leaving an irritated Smoke standing in the middle of the club.

If he was going to make it through the night, he needed some liquor in his system. Fighting through the crowd to get to the bar. “Aye get me old fashioned”, Smoke said to the bartender.

He hated environments like this. Too loud , and too musty. Seeing the bartender set his drink down , he passed her the money ,and turned to look over the club.

Surveying the area, looking for exits -incase shit popped off. That's when his eyes froze on her . She was in a white corset that put her breast in the perfect view. A brown skirt that hugged her in all the right places.

She was dancing in the middle of her friends. Bending over as they hyped her up. Smoke was too caught up in staring at her that he didn't notice Stack standing next to him.

“Damn, you staring hard nigga”, Stack said laughing , snapping Smoke out of his trance.

“Nah just looking”, Smoke said , but it wasn't true. He wanted to know more about her , what her name is , maybe if it sounded good with his last name.

“ oh so you wouldn't mind if I went to talk to her”, A sly smirk set on Stacks face. Smoke shot a glare towards Stack,” Nah, don't go bothering her”.

But that went to deaf ears ,as Stack still made his way towards her.

———————————

Annie was having fun for the first time in a while. She was stressed with running her restaurant, she hadn't taken time to hang out with her friends. So when they called ,she answered,no questions asked.

She had few drinks in her , cause that was the only way her friends were going to get her to dance like this. Her hips moving wild , ass moving right along with every movement.

Until , he walked up trying to get her attention. She was trying to ignore him , but her friends weren't trying to do the same. “ What you want”, Grace said ,raising her eyebrow at Stack. “I wanted to know if your friend right there wanted to dance with my brother “, Stack said as he pointed at Annie. She didn't even get a chance to answer for herself when Pearline spoke up,”what does he look like”? “ Just like me ,but I'm cuter” , Stack said with a smirk on his face.

“ Mmm-go get him”, Mary said, eyeing Stack up and down. Stack said he'll be back , before running off. Annie spoke, reminding them she had a voice, “ how y'all gonna decide for me “.

“Girl you need to get you some ,and he might just be right for the job”, Pearline said.

—————————————

Smoke watched the whole thing. How she didn't speak ,but observed. Stack ran back over to him , once again a big smile set on his face. “If she says no you got three other girls to choose from”, Stack said trying to convince Smoke to follow him. Smoke didn't agree with that statement ,but he followed anyway .

Making it to where the girls were standing ,he kept his eyes zoned in on her , the one whose hair was pulled out her face. Letting him get a view of her big brown eyes, pouty lips,as she stared back at him.

Stack talked first as always, “ This my brother Smoke”. All the girls introduced themselves to him , saying their name . That's when she walked up. Gold heels adorning her feet. Making her eye level with him. When she spoke Elijah thought the time froze. “ I'm Annie , what's your name”, she said in a soft voice. It sounded so sultry to Smoke.

He didn't know how she did it ,but she got him to reveal his birth name with only one sentence. “Elijah”, he said almost breathless.

“We'll you wanna dance Elijah, this my favorite song”, Annie said head tilted to the side. He didn't respond, just held his hand out for her to take.

He forgot about everyone else, just wanted to have her near him.

So this must be something special

'Cause you could be anywhere you wanted

But you decided to be here with me

No coincidence, it was meant to be

Don't be shy, come let your boy get in

So you can tell all of your friends

Annie turned around in his arms. Swaying back and forth. His arms gripping around her waist, a bit tighter. Moving side to side with her.

Annie tilted her head back on his shoulder, breath hitting his neck. It made Elijah shudder, grabbing her hip bringing them even closer.

She knew what she was doing, and she wanted him to loosen up. Grinding back on him harder, left arm reaching back to grip the back of his neck to lean down. He allowed her to bring his head down into her neck.

Lips hitting her soft brown skin. Leaving soft kisses until he got near her ear. “You know you can capture someone's attention in a crowded room”?. A smile appeared on her face. Lifting her head up to turn around in his arms.

Arms now resting on his shoulders, his arms resting around her waist. “No I didn't know that, I just came to have fun with my girlfriends”.

“Well I'm sorry for my brother, for interrupting yall night”, Smoke said. He wasn't really sorry, he was glad his brother had the courage to do what he couldn't . “It's alright I want to get to know you more Elijah”.

[linkenthusiast]

Hello!!!!!! So I had this idea a couple of days ago, and I can’t get it out of my head, so here it is: the Chain reacting to Guide! Reader cry. I’d love to see this in your works, but please don’t feel any pressure. Have a fabulous day!!

No pressure at all!! Always up for brain storming these days <333

Splitting this to 3 parts cuz I can’t keep up with all 9 at once.

I cried just writing about this y’all I need some comfort.

This part contains Time, Twilight and Warrior.

Guide!Reader tears

Pt 1

Time

- Time wouldn’t really call himself much of a comforter— he’d be at a total loss when someone breaks down crying in front of him.

-he’s not completely helpless though! When he manages to find his words, he can offer solid words of wisdom from his experience.

- however, when he found you —his guide— crying softly in a quiet area in the woods, he helplessly watched.

- he didn’t know what to do— you’re his guide! You know his adventures more than he does, how does he expect to have wisdom that tops that??

- However, now that he’s seen you, he can’t leave you alone.

Your sniffling can be heard in the rustling leaves, the tears continuously falling down your face with each time you try to wipe it off. You’re sat beside a tree, hugging your knees tightly.

Time had found you not too long ago, but it seems you have yet to notice him.

He’s at a loss. You, his guide and support system through his adventures—broken in sobs.

His next step created a loud rustle, jumping you out of your trance. You looked in the direction of the sound and was greeted with a slightly awkward Time.

“Hi…sorry, didn’t want to scare you…” he softly spoke. You aggressively wiped the rest of your tears as a response to his appearance. “It- it’s fine. Uhm… did you need something?” Your voice was quiet, slightly cracking. You even avoided looking at him.

He simply just shook his head, “I was just walking around…do you…need some company?” They were really simple words, respectful to you even if you had rejected it. Fortunately, to his pleasure, he received a nod.

He went to sit beside you, leaning on the same tree you did. “Do you want to talk about it?” He hesitatingly questioned. He looked over, feeling and seeing a shake in your head. No? Okay, that’s fine, he can work with that.

The silence picked back up once again, your occasional sniffles breaking it.

“Y’know…it’s nice to cry. I myself find it hard to do but…it always feels like a rain shower, like the world is going to end…” he spoke softly.

“But, if you take a second to look at the sky, you’d always find a rainbow when the clouds disperse.” He continued.

“It’s okay to cry, it will always be a better tomorrow.” A sob broke from you. You leaned onto Time’s armoured shoulder, letting more held back tears spill. Soon enough, you found the pain numbed and your eyes tired, and Time still there with you. Silent but observant, and always there for you.

Twilight

- designated big brother.

- knows how to calm plenty of children down— who’s to say those tricks wouldn’t work on anyone older?

- he becomes really concerned whenever you seemed down.

- he’s always seen you as the singular optimistic hope in a rather dark and horrifying world that he lived in.

- he’d always want to see you smiling. He’d pull every trick in the book to cheer you up.

No good. Nothing was working.

He’d noticed the loom and gloom that followed you the whole day. The silence that was carried by you and the way you always seemed to look at the ground. You followed whoever’s shadow was in front of you in a trance. He tried asking you what was wrong before, but your response was a simple “I’m fine” and moved on.

He had tried a couple things that would usually work with the kids in his village. Any sweets? No, trying to get you to talk about your interests, you just shut him down instantly. He would’ve tried giving you a little gift to get your mind off of things to help improve your mood even a little.

Nothing worked, to his luck. The rest had noticed your mood and didn’t ask too many questions when you went out.

Twilight decided that there’s one thing he’s yet to try—Wolfie. Then he slapped himself, instantly forgetting that you already know that it’s him, you were his guide for goodness sake!

“Hey Rancher? Mind taking these for a good wash?” Wild spoke up from behind him. A ton of time had passed and Twilight didn’t hesitate to agree, wanting to at least check on you. He can’t help it, he’s worried.

He showed up near the river, surprised to spot you crouched down and sobbing. You used the water to try and calm your puffy eyes and covered your face a little.

Twilight stepped out to approach you. His steps were heard by you, pausing for a minute, you looked up at him.

Your eyes were puffy, feeling both your warm tears and the cold river water littering your face. “Oh…Hi Twi…” you looked over at the basket of clothes, realizing what he was there for.

“Do you…uhm…need some help with that…?” You asked, wanting to avoid talking about your tears altogether. Twilight couldn’t buy that.

He set the basket down and knelt right in front of you. “Can I hug ya?” He asked simply. Shocked, you kind of looked at him. The request itself broke you to tears again. You softly nodded, trying to wipe your tears away again as you felt his arms wrap around you like a warm blanket.

The water works wouldn’t stop, your own arms wrapped around Twilight and clutched him tightly. Your sobs muffled into his shoulder and your tears coating his tunic.

He stays there until your tears died down and you fell asleep on him. He laid you down and wrapped you with his wolf pelt until he had finished his chores, to which he then carried you back to camp.

Warrior

- him living in war gives him a very different experience compared to the rest of the Links.

- most of their tears came from the urge to survive, to live, and to mourn the loss of loved ones.

- so when he catches you crying, he’s kind of coded to think the worst.

- someone’s dying or you’re in danger, just to the very extreme.

The chain was in town, restocking and getting ready to depart once again. Wars went ahead to try and remind you of their soon departure.

Coming to your room’s door, he knocks on it. Staying put for a minute for any response. He invited himself in, thinking that you had maybe fallen back asleep, only to hear sniffling.

Instantly alert, he sees you at the table in front of the mirror— you looked horrible. Your eyes are puffy, you kept wiping the tears from them. Your hair was an absolute disaster, a bird’s nest if you will.

“Hey— hey hey, what’s—what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Wars rushed to your side, trying to lift your face up to look at him. Questions spilled from him, looking around to see if you were hurt in any way and such. You looked almost silly, your cheeks were squished because of his hold and your eyes were tightly closed, your brows frowned. Wars wiped your tears carefully with his thumb.

You hiccuped out—“N-nothing— nothing is— working with me.” Breaking every now and then.

“What? What’s not working?” Wars urges you to continue. “A-all week, nothing was okay— stupid wild shoved me i-in the river! My clothes kept g-getting cuaght and— the needle kept—poking and and…” you took a breath, “I got a bug b-bite and— I just— my hair doesn’t want to work—” Wars shushed you softly, finally understanding that your frustrations throughout the week had got to you.

He kept holding your face and shushing you, trying to lessen your tears. A couple minutes later only sniffles can be heard from you. Wars took a breath, relieved that you were getting a little better. “Do you…want me to help you with your hair?” He quietly asked you. You, tired from crying, softly nodded and turned to face the mirror and Wars went to behind you to brush your hair out piece by piece. He’d take his time to try and make it look the way you wanted.

[preserving-tiktok]

…When I first registered to vote - I was a registered Republican for 8 to 10 years and i will never go back to being a conversvative under any circumstances, and I will tell you the number 1 reason. Every conservative ideology I have ever partaken in-whether it be an online space, a local discussion, or tons of conversation with my very conservative friends and family-miss the mark of humans are and how they operate.

I'll illustrate this best with a story. So, one of my dear friends works in marketing. her only job in marketing is to make sure that grocery store products end up on grocery store end caps. Sometimes it's a product that's on sale; oftentimes, it's a new product that's being featured. Anyway, her only job is getting products featured on that end cap. Her job is actually negotiating what payment is going to take place. Brands like General Mills, Pepridge Farms, name any huge brand-Coca Cola, pay huge dollars to have their products featured on the end cap. The reason they shell out this enormous amount of money is because the end caps is where the most money is made. It turns out grocery store consumers aren't complicated people; they reach for what's easiest and what's easiest, is on the end caps. Corporations understand this and understand it really well so they fight tooth and nail; they pay for grocery store chains to feature their products, and they have entire marketing teams dedicated to getting their products featured there. Because humans aren't a product of individual choices. They know oftentimes, mostoften times humans are defaulting to something that's easiest-the end cap.

This is also really well illustrated in tons of studies that have been done on Americans who struggle with obescity or weight. Without any weight enhancement drugs whatsoever, when you take Americans that are struggling with their weight and you plop them in Japan, in cities in Spain, [place] that is walkable and the food system is better, those Americans automatically lose weight. Those Americans automatically begin to meet all kinds of healthy benchmarks-blood pressure, diabetes-all those things improve, without any drugs.

And the reason it improves isn't because Americans suddenly developed discipline. It's not because those Americans suddenly became better with their own habits. They just joined a place that had designed infrastructure, for humans, to naturally make healthier choices. The lived environment is designed for human thriving. Suddenly those Americans who moved very little at home are taking 10,000-20,000 steps a day. Somehow those Americans who ate very poor diets in America are now living in places where processed foods are harder to find and fresh foods are easier to find, so they're eating better.

But they didn't develop individually more disciplined. They're just in a place where making better decisions is easier.

And this is why I will never be a conservative again, because all of the conservatives I interact with, all of the discourse in online conservative spaces completely forsakes this absolute truth in favor of the delusion that human beings are a product of their individual choices. It completely forsakes the idea that we are all, like seedlings in a soil, and our health is most accurately determined by the health of our surroundings, by the health of that soil. And as a result, conservatives spend very little time making sure that that environment improves."

[bewitched-hours]

Hello! Yeah me again asking abt the noli and 07 yandere thing (lord I feel weird asking again I don’t want to be a bother) It’s just the last one you wrote was really and I mean really WELL written and I was hoping to ask for a part 2 of how things go? Hacking together, speaking, debating life—just quite cool! I already sent you the link of the past one I was talking about so I hope thats alright!

HI- YEAH- I SAW IT LOL I only saw it at school tbf so I'm starting it with this and have the story opened in another tab to make sure I don't forget anything (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

The reader's pronouns are once again She/They-

Pre-Forsaken

All three of you sat on opposite sides of 007 as you looked at the child in his arms.

"It's kinda cute..." You tried to end the silence comfortably as you could see the man soften. Noli didn't look so tough either for a change.

Though the red bundle of joy was giddy now, you knew it was only a matter of time until it got hungry...

"What are we meant to do with it..?" Noli asked quietly, watching as the baby held onto 007's fingers with glee. It honestly melted your heart a bit.

"I say we keep it." You state bluntly, surprised eyes meeting your own as you went to quickly explain yourself. "Think about it. If we drop it off somewhere else it would probably reach the same path as us if it survives anyways."

The two of them gave each other an unsure look before you gently lifted the child out of 7n7's arms with a huff. "I'm not saying we'd be great parents or anything but it'd definitely be better than the foster system or death." Your tone was firm but they could tell you were empathising with that little red face giggling up at you.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself. That you were better than your family? Maybe that you can actually take care of something meaningful?

Whatever, it wasn't like either of them could say no by the time you started cooing at the baby all motherly.

"Heh, guess you're right." 007 perked up first, getting you to smile a bit more.

Wether it was to make you happy or they actually liked the idea, you couldn't care less. What mattered was that this child was safe with you.

"We should totally call it after the c00lgui." You commented with a chuckle, having Noli cackling and 007 trying to suppress his laugh.

"Yeah- no- this is good- So c00lkidd?" He suggested, letting out a laugh at your grinning nod. It was silly, it was unusual...

It was perfect.

"It'll be the perfect addition! Plus, I have some experience back when I had a babysitting gig to save up some money as a kid myself. We'll just need to get a few things and c00lkidd is gonna be spoiled with love!" You practically beamed and placed a gentle kiss on the little one's head, going back to cooing at it as it giggled in your arms.

Being a family might just be easier than you thought...

Post-Forsaken

For once, 007 probably appreciated being an outsider.

It meant more time with you. More time with Noli.

You were quick to figure out a spot to all meet in where neither killers nor survivors would even hear you.

It was perfect, especially whenever Noli decided to bring along c00lkidd and you could just talk for a while.

CK loved you. He loved the idea of having a big family like this where you could be his mom. You played nice and fair and actually managed to tire him out at times.

Though he didn't understand why it was such a taboo to play tag outside of rounds, he trusted your explanation that it was because it was less fun with only you four and the other survivors wouldn't be willing to listen to you or 007.

And CK knew the other killers were even less willing so...

But you'd always promise that once you get back home, you'll be the best mother to c00lkidd. And he took it as a good promise to make before saying his goodbyes and waiting for the next round.

You were committed to being the mother c00lkidd needed and the 'wife' that 007n7 and Noli deserved...

A bit disappointed with how this turned out but I tried my best-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

dark lord im haunted

i dont even care about loz, WHY ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT RN IS YOUR GRAVITY FALS LOZ AU

i read the comments and the idea of stan and ford just. Infinitely reincarnating. One doomed to die and other to kill that one.

im feral about this FORD JUST HAVING TO KILL STAN AND THEN BE LEFT ALONE WITH NOTHING BUT A BODY TO HOLD. FIDDLEFORD WHY DID YOU LET THE RUMORS GO ON FOR SO LONG

and like there is no other way this couldve gone, because the way everything was, NO ONE wouldve helped stan. Ford will probably think about ways this couldve been solved in the 10 years but the thing is, no one woulve helped stanley

maybe if he had a support system, maybe then his death wouldve been avoidable. BUT LITERALLY EVERYONE HATED HIM, AND AS FAR AS HE KNEW SO DID THE FORDS (neither did anything about the rumors)

plus 10 years with bill, even as just a voice wouldve been shitty. and adding burn scars and public resentment? he basically was isolated

all of his card were laid out in front of him, and the only way for him to win in any capacity was just that, get killed by his own brother

AAAAAAAAAAAAA FERAL ABOUT THIS. BITTING, CLAWING, SCREAMING (affectionate)

Glad i could spread the worms!

In my mind, the reason the Fords didn't stop the rumors was a combination of being young and traumatized, trying to wrangle the kingdom together, and not knowing how bad it had gotten until Stan was back and they looked around to see the hatred in everyone's eyes. For Fiddleford he was pro Stan enough that nobles trying to curry his favor during the turbulent times would either not mention Stan, or would down play their own feelings so the King wouldn't catch on. So right up until Stan showed up again he knew there were rumors but thought they were just background, not serious grumblings and not what everyone thought actually happened. For Ford the kingdom was just a sound board for his own dark thoughts. He'd grumble about Stan, someone would grumble with him, and then Ford would feel like his feelings were being vindicated and go into grouchy rants about Stan which just fueled the fires, even if in Fords mind he was just venting. Fords not political enough (despite being raised in a castle) to realize what his words were doing to Stan's reputation, he was just bitter and was happy to have willing ears that agreed. Then he saw how Stan was received and on one hand felt it was deserved but he was also horrified by how violent the reaction was. Sort of 'saying things out of anger and not realizing the impact they have' kind of thing. Fiddleford didn't make an official announcement of what happened due to inexperience, trying to manage a kingdom that had just been through a crisis, and not realizing it was something that needed to be done, as he'd told people his side of the story unofficially and thought that was enough.

Here's this for you :)

Stan held his brothers sword to his chest, sure and steady. All his brother has to do is push it forwards, and everything will finally be fixed. Ford will finally do what Stan took from him, all those years ago.

There are two ways this story could go.

In one Ford stares deep into Stan's eyes, searching, looking for a sign that this was a trick, a sick prank. Some unfunny attempt at humor gone wrong.

All he sees is his brothers expecting gaze, waiting for him. Sees the yellow grow and creep, erasing the warm brown of their childhood away. Black making its way across Stan's face, and if he doesn't do something soon this moment will end. Billl will regain control, and he won't be as willing to let Ford drive his sword through his heart as Stan is.

Stan's asking him to do this. For the first time in ten years, Stan is asking Ford to be the hero, and its the worst thing Ford could ever do.

But its Stan. His brother, his twin.

His best friend.

The trembling stops as Ford closes his eyes. Water pools in the corners as he grits his teeth, adjusts his grip, and shoves the sword forwards with all the strength the goddess has blessed him with.

Stan doesn't even scream, just grunts as the sword goes through flesh, digs in deeper and deeper and Ford yells at the top of his lungs and drives a sword through his own brothers chest until he can't do it anymore. Not because of his grip or waning strength, but because he's driven the sword all the way through, and its hilt won't let him go further.

It's a killing blow, no way to have missed.

Ford let's go of the hilt and grabs Stan's collapsing form before he can topple to the ground. He's whispering something as the blackness fades and chips away, eyes brown and light in them fading. Ford guides his brother to the ground, one hand cupping his head and the other clutching his cloak as all signs if Bill disappeared, as the sword went from a demonic nightmare to glowing dull grey. It didn't regain the light of its blessings, and the pommels eye was closed instead of gone.

Fiddlefords master piece would never- could never be used as it was supposed to again. It was a vessel of evil, had been tainted by Bills touch.

Just like Stan.

Ford choked on his tears as he stared down at the still smiling face of his brother. A blow like this- straight through the heart, where Stan had guided it, it was- there was-

Stan was dead before Ford could find a breath to scream.

He could hear Fiddleford say something, but the ringing in his ears drowned out the words as a heaving sob worked its way out of him, face damp and whole body shaking. He couldn't lay Stan flat with the sword sticking out, so in one quick rage filled move he grabbed the hilt, slid it out, and threw it to the side.

"Stanley," Ford whispered, looking into his brothers eyes. No clever spark twinkled there, no mischievous glint or hardened glare.

Just brown. Brown and lifeless.

He didn't know how long he laid there, crouched over his brothers body. He gently closed Stan's eyes, then brushed away any lingering signs of corruption. The blackness was gone, his arms both human, and what teeth poked out of his still smiling mouth were flat.

Like this, it looked exactly as it should. A man grieving over his dead brother.

Eventually arms pulled him away, and he screamed and thrashed as Stan's body was covered and hidden behind a wall of bodies. Fiddleford's voice cut through the noise, and he turned to see his friend, standing tall and face stained with tears. His mouth was moving, but Ford couldn't make out the words.

All he could hear was his own heart, strong and beating like Stan's would never be again.

Time blurred and the world grayed. They laid Stan to rest back at their small home village, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. He had a distant memory of them coming here, long ago when the world made sense.

Stan would like it.

It wasn't long after that the whispers started. Ignorant folk, talking about how evil Stan must have been, how lucky they were no one was hurt.

How thankful they were that the Hero was there to deal with him so swiftly.

It only took Ford overhearing such talk once for them to learn never to speak of Stan in front of him. Not with such poison. Not with such disdain.

Stan was a hero after all.

Ford was just his brothers murderer.

As time went on and Fiddlefords announcement did little to sway public opinion, Ford found that he could no longer find it in him to care for the troubles of Hyrule. Its evil was vanquished, and every forest and town was filled with his brothers ghost.

He needed to leave. To find someplace where people wouldn't look at him with hope and pride. Find somewhere that needed a man who could wield a sword, could face the dangers ahead and never flinch.

So one night, a year after he'd killed the last Hero of Hyrule, he drove the Master Sword into its pedestal for the next Hero to find, turned around, and left, taking what was quickly becoming known as the Blade of Bill with him.

He said no goodbyes and left only a single note to the one person who really needed to know where he was going.

Stan would get lonely while he was away, but it was fine. They'd see each other again sooner or later.

Stanley Pines was born the younger twin of Stanford Pines, in an era of peace. They were as thick as thieves, running through the forests and fields of their home.

Life was perfect, except for the voice in the back of his mind that whispered at him to kill his brother.

Then they grew, and as they did Stanley found he knew things he shouldn't. Knew secrets others hid, knew monsters others hadn't seen.

Knew how to make them bend to his whims.

Knew he had to die.

Knew Stanford had to be the one to do it.

Stanley Pines was born the twin brother of Stanford Pines, and-

Stanley Pines was born the older twin of Stanford Pines and-

Stanley Pines was born the twin of Stanford Pines but-

They were separated-

They drifted apart-

They were pitied against each other-

-in the beachs, darting through the surf-

-over the dunes, feed sure in the sand-

-up and down the mountains, stumbling into each other by chance-

-and one day Stanley Pines realized he needed to die by his brothers hand, or he would unleash a demon that would ravage the land.

Stanley Pines stared once more at the blade in front of him. A screaming voice yelled at him to draw it from its red scabbard, to finally start what he'd been waiting to do since time began. It writhed and clawed for control, urging him to start the slaughter. Stanley shoved it away, picking the dusty blade up and attaching it to his belt.

Stanford wasn't ready to kill him after all. Stanley wouldn't draw the sword until he knew for sure his twin of a thousand lifetimes had the strength to push it through. It was risky grabbing it so soon in the cycle, but circumstances had lead him here, and he knew from experience leaving it behind once he found it always led to worse odds.

"Shut it why don't you," Stanley said, rolling his eyes at the twin screaming from Bill and the blade, "you act like we haven't done this a hundred times."

With that he turned and left the crumbling temple behind. He'd left a good trail for Stanford to follow, and he didn't want to get caught too early. Best to hold off until he'd planted more seeds of his betrayal, get the Hero's blood boiling. Stanford always had an easier time the longer Stanley waited to draw the blade after all.

This time would be no different.

In another Ford does not close his eyes, cannot look away from his brothers accepting face. Cannot stop himself from looking deeper and deeper, from trying to find some evidence that he doesn't have to do this.

Stan watches as Ford's eyes harden, and his smile grows. Its getting hard to focus, hard to hold back the tide of a demon's mind. But now Ford is ready, and this'll all have been worth it.

He's learned his lesson, he's ready to make amends.

Which means the moment Ford reaches forward to pry Stan's human hand off the Master Sword, Stan's smile twitches, and his control starts to slip.

"What- What're you doin'" Stan says, words slurring slightly and stuttering as Bill claws his way back towards the front of their mind, "Ford-"

"I won't." Ford snaps, voice clipped and eyes bright with the light of determination, "I won't kill my own brother. I'll find a way to save you Stanley, I'll rip Bill from your body if its the last thing I do. I'll-"

"We'll." Fiddleford cuts in, stepping forwards, eyes just as determined as Fords, "This is our fault. We shoulda never let this get as bad as it did. I'm sorry Stanley."

And thats the last thing Stan hears, As Bill tears him away and shoves him back. Their body jerks forwards, Ultra Master Sword swinging down where Ford was standing a moment before. His brother and the King have retreated slightly, and Ford is yelling, Hero's Spirit glowing brightly at the words, but Stan- He can't-

He can't hear what his brother's saying.

Stan feels the heavy weight of Bill crushing his mortal spirit, and Stan rages as much as he can. He forces their swings to go wild, slides their feet out of alignment, makes them lose their balance. If Bill thinks Stan was screaming before, then what he's doing now must be the commands of the greater spirits themselves.

It's one thing to let Ford kill him, its another horror entirely to see his body get used to kill his twin. This wasn't supposed to happen, Ford was supposed to drive the sword through, to use the rage Stan had been fanning since their reunion to power through and trample whatever bonds they might have had.

Bill was never supposed to have a chance.

Instead, due to Fords stubbornness, Stan was watching as Bill's corruption spread across his body. Saw glimpses of his transformed body when Bill turned to follow Ford's movement, saw his worn travelers clothes warp and change into the demons preferred black and yellow noble's apparel. Saw pitch black and gleaming pauldrons manifest on his shoulders in the corner of his eyes, sharp and engraved with demonic symbols. Matching greaves kicked at Fords rolling form when his brother got too close, and then Stan's other hand came to grip the Ultra Master Sword, clawed and black, golden lines flickering as Bill completed his takeover.

Ha! Bills voice rang out in their mind, even as he said something else, something taunting based on Fords expression, out loud, Thought you could pull one over on me did you!

BILL! Stan thought snarled, clawing and writhing at the demonic spirit crushing his own, I WON'T LET YOU-

Won't let me what, kill little Fordsy here? Bills laughter rang out in their shared mind, each cackle a stab as Stan's meager control was wrenched out of his nonexistent hands, I'd like to see you try and stop me. Now shoo, your screaming is only entertaining for so long.

The weight of Bill's spirit became unbearable, and Stan yelled out for Ford, his brother's determined face the last thing he saw before the world went dark.

He wasn't asleep, not with the way he was aware of himself. There was a distant feeling of sensation, sounds muffled and far away, flashes of scenes come and gone too fast to make sense of. At one point he was struck with the knowledge that his hand was wrapped around something delicate, and he used what little power he had to loosen his fingers and drop whatever they were holding.

The burning rage that filled Bill was a triumph, even as the demon pushed Stan further into wherever he was. Something sharp and not there dug into his not thereness, like the demon was grabbing his spirit and digging his claws in. It made Stan writhe as much as he could, and he was pretty sure he'd scream if he had a mouth or thoughts to fling at the demon.

Maybe he was. He didn't know.

What he did know was that Bill couldn't crush him. Or wouldn't. He didn't know why, but every time he came close to feeling like he was going to crumble to pieces the demon would ease his crushing grip. Maybe Bill needed his spirit to control his body? Or the magic that had sealed Bill's mind inside his own had linked them in some way Bill couldn't kill Stan without killing himself. Maybe the demon just like torturing him.

Whatever the reason, it meant Stan was sort of alive in the dark not thereness. Any attempts at clawing his way out was brushed aside, any screams he might have made unheard.

There was no way to know what was happening outside. No way to know if Bill had-

No. Ford was a hero. Ford was The Hero. There was no way Bill could have killed him. Ford was out there, and someone would smack some sense into him eventually. Any moment Stan would feel the Master Sword through the chest, and then...

Wait. If he died, would he still be stuck here? Deep in what he suspected might be Bills overwhelming spirit? That sounded awful actually. Everything was dark and flickered yellow, there was a constant feeling of being watched, and the squished feeling wasn't any kind of pleasant.

What was even less pleasant was the sharp pain to their shoulder. It was the first time he'd felt his body so clearly in... months. Maybe.

However long it had been, the pain radiated through the darkness, and Stan sort of not really saw a warm glow cut through the blackness around him. It soothed the ache to his spirit, even as it really, really, hurt his actual body.

Another sharp pain hit his side, and a few minutes later it his his leg.

Then Stan was hit with agony, as Bill's grip on his spirit disappeared. The heavy feeling that had wrapped around him and shoved him deep into the dark was gone, no longer there to block off the feeling from their body.

Bill was growling something, and their chest and limbs throbbed, not just from the sharp warm points of pain, but from several other cuts and injuries. It took Stan a second to orientate himself, so used to the nothingness, but eventually he realized they were no longer in the plains surrounding the castle.

They were in some kind of grand temple, one Stan was amazed to find he didn't recognize. An image of some kind of pink lizard was on several glass stained windows, casting pink and blue light into the large room. The pews were flung into the walls, the giant doors across him shut and sealed with green and blue light.

In front of him was Ford, wearing the stupid Hero outfit Stan had spent their whole lives laughing at. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and that determined look hadn't left his eyes. Behind him, reloading his crossbow, was Fiddleford.

Stan watched, dazed as Bill exchanged blows with Ford, then felt another sharp pain hit his left arm.

He snapped his head down to see a blue, red, and gold glowing bolt sticking out of his bicep, then looked over at Fiddleford in shock.

"You just shot me!" Stan shouted, confused and trying not to collapse from the agony spreading through him, "Why did you shot me?!"

The realization that he just moved and spoke hit him just as Bill snatched control back once more. The demon screamed and swung again, but all Stan could see was Fords face.

It looked triumphant .

"Its working!" His brother shouted, dodging a swing and slashing at Stan's right arm, where he was holding the Ultra Master Sword, "Keep shooting FIddleford!"

NO?! Stan though shouted, DON'T?! JUST STAB ME ALREADY!

Another bolt hit his other leg, and Stan cursed and slammed the Ultra Master Sword into the ground so he wouldn't fall over.

"What is this?!" Stan yelled, looking up to glare at the excited faces of his brother and king, "What even is the plan here! Can't you just-"

"SHUT UP!" Bill finished, standing up and pulling the sword out of the floor. Stan hissed at the demon for interrupting him, then froze as he caught sight of his arm, where the bolt was still lodged.

A glowing light was spreading out from the bolt, turning Bill's yellow sleeve back into Stan's red one. They made a mad swing at Fords head, and Stan forced them to stumble and glance down at their legs.

Just like his arm, light was radiating from where each bolt had hit him, pushing the corruption back and bringing the feeling of control with it.

"What is wrong with you!" Stan yelled as Bill swung the sword at Fords neck, then tried to shoot a bolt of magic at Fiddleford with their sword. Stan smacked it with their other hand, disrupting the spell and wincing at the screech that rattled their mind.

"A bolt!" Stan continued, after Bill parried a blow from Ford and side stepped another bolt, "A Bolt?! Why couldn't it have been anything else! This hurts!"

"SHUTUPSHUTUP!" Bill screeched, and Stan stuck a spirit tongue at him when the demon tried to squish him down again and he bobbed away. The overwhelming power of his spirit was being pushed back with each wave of warm magic that made Stan want to scream.

"We didn't have a lot of options Stanley!" Ford shouted, rolling away from a swing and doing some kind of weird spin move that hit Stan's-

"Is that another arm!?" Stan screamed, staring at the demonic monster arm that looked like it was growing from his back. Ford slashed at it again, and the entire thing exploded, leaving nothing behind.

Thank the goddess. He wasn't sure he wasn't to figure out how to use extra-

Wait no.

"Just stab me already!" Stan yelled, trying to jerk his swings wide and mess up Bill's dodges, "Why are you dragging this out!?"

"I'm not-" Ford grunted as he rolled (and seriously, what was with all the rolling?), "-Not dragging this out!"

"We're going to save you Stanley!" Fiddleford shouted, and Stan screamed as another bolt embedded itself into his right shoulder. The bolts seemed to pulse together as one, sending a wave of comfort through his spirit while it ripped his body to shreds. The contrasting feeling made him want to throw up.

Then Bill was torn from his mind, leaving a gaping void behind. Stan gasped at the feeling, his mind too empty and silent after ten years of constant chatter.

"NO!"

The Ultra Master Sword screamed, and Stan screamed with it as Bill tried to claw his way back inside. He blinked down to see his arm, still demonic and the pommel eye staring at him, full of rage and hunger.

"This is my body now!" Bill screamed, dragging himself up Stan's arm, "You had your chance, and now-"

"I'm sorry Stanley," Ford said softly, just as the Master Sword flashed in front of him, blocking Stan's view of Bill as it separated his arm from his body.

If the bolts had been agony, tearing him to pieces as it pried Bill's spirit from his own, this was excruciating. He barely paid any attention to Ford slamming his sword through Stan's former arm, too focused on the space where it once been attached to him. Blood was already flowing from the wound, soaking his side and creating a puddle on the floor.

Between one blink and the next he was on the ground. Fiddleford was holding his face with one hand while the other held down his- where his-

It hurt.

Searing pain on top of everything else, worse than the feeling of a demon digging his claws into his spirit. No part of him was free of pain, each bolt still a blazing beacon, each scrape stinging, and the- the- his arm- it-

This time the darkness wasn't the result of a demon, and Stan welcomed it as Ford's panicked face came into view.

It was very cold, and- and-

The ceiling was very blurry and fancy. Too fancy. Stan stared at it for a while, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be staring at anything.

Everything felt fuzzy and far away, hazy like... like...

But Bill was gone, leaving nothing but the nothingness where the demon had carved a space in Stan's mind for himself. He poked at the spot the demon used to occupy, and shuddered at the feeling of loss.

He exhaled slowly as he looked around the room.

It was his room. His old one, the one he'd lived in a lifetime ago. His tapestries were still hanging on the walls, depicting various historical battles, while his drawings and doodles filled the spaces in between. Someone had cleaned up his surprise clothes pile, and a part of him ached at the loss of mystery. Never knew if he'd grab something clean or stained, and now it was gone, tidied away.

There were a few other things that had changed. Someone had replaced the curtains (understandable, they'd been yellow before), had added a weapons rack and armor stand (the armor looked much better than it had in years, and the sword on the rack was a plain guardsman's), and finally a few chairs were next to his bed.

Ford was sitting in one, arms crossed and head back as he snored. Judging by the light spilling in through the window it was probably early morning. Nerd probably fell asleep sitting there.

Weirdo.

"Time to blow this joint." Stan mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. The world went in and out of focus a few times, so he stared at the far wall until it stopped. Getting the blanket off was another battle, one arm clumsy and the other-

Stan stared at the stump, wrapped in crisp white bandages, perplexed. Any attempts at moving his arm sent prickles of pain up his shoulder, and no arm materialized to help him.

Hmm.

"Ford," Stan said, turning to pull at Fords shirt, "Ford."

Ford awoke with a shout at Stan's touch, and he watched as his brother fell out of the chair and slammed into the ground. Ford shot to his feet a second later, eyes wild and on edge, before meeting Stan's own and freezing.

"Ford," Stan said again pointing at his missing arm, "Ford, my arms gone? Where- have you seen it?"

The expression of Fords face went funky, before landing on some kind of sad.

"Stanley," Ford said, stepping forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, "you're... you're awake."

"Arm." Stan said sadly, and he reached forwards to grab Fords sleeve, "m'arm."

"Yes," Ford grabbed Stan's hand, holding it in his own, "I had- I'm sorry Stanley. We were out of bolts, and I- I couldn't."

Stan blinked at Fords crumpling expression. After a moment he nodded, and Ford slumped, pressing Stan's fingers to his forehead. The grip wasn't tight, and Ford let go when Stan tugged.

What was tight was Ford's grip on Stan's shirt when he tried to get up.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, pulling him back into the bed, "What are you doing?! You need to rest!"

"I needa... gotta go." Stan mumbled back, trying to wiggle out of his shirt, before flopping down and turning to face his brothers' newest funky face, "Gotta- s'was somthin' I have to do."

"What, what is it, I can-"

"Gotta get stabbed." Stan said eyes wandering over to the sword. It wasn't the right one, but maybe it'd do now that Bill was gone, "Gotta- there was- yeah."

He'd get stabbed, then everything would be better. Fords newest funny face tickled the back of his mind. It looked maybe bad, maybe sad.

"Don't be sbad." Stan said, patting his brothers face, "Gonna hero s'mthigyea?"

Ford pulled his hand down with a sigh, "Stanley, I know you're still recovering and probably won't remember this, but I need you to know."

With that he let go of Stan's hand and leaned forwards, twelve finger's cupping his face. Stan wanted to melt into the feeling, but Fords mean eyes helped him focus.

"I'm not going to stab you, and if you do something like this again? I'll tell Fiddleford to add barbs to the bolts."

"Jerks."

"We were short on time, we didn't-"

"Mean to me."

"The situation was-"

Stan didn't catch the rest. The twelve fingers were pressing into his skin, each firm and tingly on his skin. One of them was rubbing his temple, and it was the nicest thing he'd ever felt. The darkness was like a blanket, gently tugging at him and pulling him far, far away.

[fafodill]

Heyyy how are you doing?? How are you feeling??? I hope good :3 yu need love too

*Kisses hugs 👽👅*

And I just gonna leave this here for you to squeeze 👽

You're so sweet, thank you for the little Sneep.💚I'm honestly not doing good but I'll put it under there so TW everyone, sickness, old age, family and death of a parent. I will share some difficult stuff so please, take care of yourselves and scroll away if you need.

My dad is not doing good. And I mean he's not going to get better. He's 82 and they found cancer in his head and his health is dwindling rapidly. I had to fly back home last week to see him and support my mom through everything. Every day has been so packed with bad news or stuff to deal with that I feel like I've been there almost a month already.

We also found out he had other health issues he kept from us for years. As of now he still recognises us but yeah, the person he was is pretty much gone. A month ago he wasn't doing good (we saw some things were wrong) but he still had autonomy. Now he can't even eat by himself, make a sentence or even understand what's happening to him. Right now the idea is to make him as comfortable as possible, which isn't easy since he's very confused. A week ago they tried a treatment that was helping him and we saw him Sunday and he was doing pretty good! Two days later it's a catastrophe. He has no balance anymore and is hurting himself when he falls so, yeah, yesterday when we went to see him it was extremely rough.

He recognises me when I smile at him and smiles back. So I keep smiling and try not to tear up. But he's mostly gone. I just want him to stop being scared. Fortunately he doesn't realise much anything anymore it seems...

But yeah, no idea how this is gonna go, we're pretty much living from day to day.

Also money is tight and working right now is quite the struggle. I have barely energy to process everything that's happening and staying afloat.

On good notes, my mom and I are strong and pushing through this together. Also I was super anxious about my cat being all alone at home (except from my neighbor feeding him and a friend coming by from time to time) and my drummer 🥁 (yes I'm dating a drummer) is going to take care of him starting next week. I have a good support system even though most of them are far away. My best friend is in Switzerland tho and I see her on Friday, it's going to be nice. But yeah, my drummer and my cat are far away and I really need a hug.

So yeah, things are rough.

But I'm thankful to this sweet community.

Thank you. 💕

[abarbaricyalp]

From that list “I got you a present” Sambucky. Please?

Not me having so many ideas about this I kind of threw them all together and still didn't cover everything

Like The Birds Do

It started off with fast food. Sam was working late on some strategy planning, which was mostly poring over old debriefs and trying to find a connection. Joaquin had long since gone, out for the kind of weekend Sam was getting too old to enjoy. So he wasn't expecting anyone to come through the door just after ten and turn on one of the tall lamps.

"Hey, I brought you a present," Bucky called, appearing around the small half wall that led into his office. He was carrying two large bags of fast food and Sam's stomach growled before the smell even reached him.

"It's late. Where're you coming from?" he asked. He stood, pulled over a chair to the small table and couch on the far side of the wall and took a bag from Bucky.

"Threatening people is scarier in the dark," Bucky said with a shrug. "No, actually, I was working too. My assistant texted me and told me to stop uploading stuff to the cloud folders. She gets an email when I do, I guess."

Sam snorted and sorted out fries and chicken and burgers. "Look at you, holding down an office job."

"Yeah and what's this place?" Bucky teased back, swapping one of the burgers in front of Sam for one with a 'spicy' customization sticker on the front of it.

"Hey, I still get to jump out of planes, if I want to," Sam defended with a laugh. "If you're still in the working mood, I could use your help with something."

"Eat first, Wilson," Bucky ordered around a mouthful of fries. "Then we can talk about getting in the mood."

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the spicy burger.

. . .

The next time, Sam was monitoring bugs from a temporary safe house when he was interrupted.

"Got you a present!" Bucky greeted again. Then, "Stop kicking me."

Sam pulled the headphones off and turned around in time to see Bucky dragging one of the Serpents into the room. The man had his hands tied behind him, but his feet were loose and he was, in fact, kicking Bucky's ankle with every step.

"Are you following me?" Sam asked skeptically.

The Serpent scowled, but shook his head. "Not you," Sam corrected. "Him."

"Me?" Bucky asked, far overshooting innocent. "I've got better things to do with my time. I just happened to be in the area. I knew you were looking for some of these assholes. Sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Copperhead," the man hissed, like he'd already said it a few times.

Bucky grimaced. "I don't like snakes."

"You've mentioned." Copperhead turned his attention back to Sam. "I'm not working with Sidewinder no more."

"That's not what your comings and goings suggest."

"I ain't," the man insisted venomously. "I'm working with a new crew. We're..." He looked around conspiratorially. "We're going after Sidewinder too."

"Do they usually just give you their plans?" Bucky asked Sam.

"I'm telling you, Buck, if you talked things out, you'd avoid a lot of black eyes," Sam said. "But I still don't believe you. You've been slithering back to the den while you're trying to depose him?"

"Cute," Bucky complimented. "How long have you been waiting to use that one."

Honestly, long enough. It was starting to annoy Joaquin. Sam had to get it out of his system now. "Tell me more. What did Sidewinder do?"

. . .

"I bought a present," Bucky told him, coming into Sam's bedroom without knocking.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, shifting how he was kneeling on the other side of the bath tub.

"Because you've been all grouchy and upset about getting hurt," Bucky answered.

Sam looked away from the ice bath he was holding his arms in, over his shoulder towards the door. "Is it a topical anti-venom?" he asked drily.

"Better. It's homeopathic."

"Bucky, you know I don't--"

"If he's sick, am I gonna get sick?" another voice asked.

Oh. That kind of homeopathic remedy. Sam stood up from beside the tub and patted his swollen arms dry gently.

"Nah, he's not sick like contagious sick. He got a little bit poisoned."

"That's why you should be careful running around barefoot outside," Sam added as he came into the bedroom.

Cass and AJ both beamed at him and ran over for hugs. For the first time in four days, he didn't mind the additional pressure on his arms. This was much better than bandages and shots and trying to go about daily life.

"What happened?" Cass asked. "Did you get bitten by something? Here?"

"Was it a poison frog? Did it jump on you?" AJ continued.

"How come you didn't have your Cap suit on?"

"Yeah, or the shield? Was it a snake?"

"Did you know it was poisonous?"

"Someone had poison tipped darts," Sam hushed quickly. He sat down on the edge of his bed. AJ climbed up next to him and Cass remained standing, but leaned against the baseboard of it, leaning closer. "But, yeah, it was snake poison."

AJ gasped and leaned on Sam's shoulder as he jumped in excitement. "Like in the movie!"

"Do you feel weird? Did you feel weird? What was it like?" Cass asked. He was peering at Sam's face, which was probably better than staring at his bruised arms.

"Are you writing a book about it?" Sam shot back, amused.

"Maybe! I could!"

"Was Bucky there?" AJ asked. This was mostly directed towards Bucky. "Did you get bitten?"

"I wasn't bitten," Sam repeated.

"I wasn't there," Bucky answered. He was leaning against the dresser, watching everything unfold with amusement. "Do you think I could've stopped it?"

The boys thoughts about it, then Cass said, "Probably not. Uncle Sam's smart all by himself."

Bucky clutched at his chest. "Ouch, kid."

"Well, maybe!" AJ added. "If they'd shot you with the dart instead."

"Ouch-er," he added.

"Are you gonna get snake powers now?" AJ asked, turning back to Sam.

"No," Sam said firmly. "And that's why you two should be careful outside. You don't get powers from snakes, alright? Just look out for them and leave them alone."

"Okay, but what if--" Cass bargained.

. . .

"Okay, so, I got you a present," Bucky said, sounding like he was defending himself.

Sam looked up from the side fastens of his suit. "What?" he asked. "Now?"

Bucky was already dressed, but, to be fair, this was how he dressed at least thirty percent of the time anyway. He looked fidgety and nervous, which was pretty out of character for him right before a fight. He zoned in faster than anyone Sam knew.

"Well, since you keep insisted on wearing the new suit and haven't asked for full sleeves yet, I got these made." He held out dark red wrist gauntlets. They weren't vibranium, Sam could tell, so he hadn't gone to the Wakandans for this. Which, fair, Sam had seen first hand the stink eye Shuri could give for a stupid suggestion during the design process. Still, they were a good material. Body armor grade, and the good stuff, not the market stuff.

"I don't need you getting bitten again," he added. "Your arms are the only things uncovered, and that's right where they aimed last time. I can't..." A muscle jumped in his jaw and he looked away.

"Hey," Sam said softly. He stepped over to Bucky and put a hand against his cheek. "Thanks. I'll wear them, okay? They look good with the blue, huh? You could be a costume designer if the whole superhero thing starts to bore you."

"Or you could just wear the suit I designed," Bucky added.

"It's a stealth mission. I'm wearing a stealth suit," Sam sighed.

"There's no such thing as a stealth Captain America suit. You've got a giant star on your chest."

Sam sighed again, long suffering, but slid the gauntlets on, then held his hands out. "Come on, charming. Help me clasp the necklace."

Bucky didn't say anything, but he was preening in a quiet, self satisfied way. He did up the fastens quickly, like he'd been practicing, then pulled the edge of Sam's sleeve down over the top. It was a perfect fit. Sam shouldn't have expected anything less.

He turned to look at himself in the reflection of a glass wall, curling his arms in front of himself, then stretching his fingers, swinging his arms, and throwing slow moving punches. "These look really good," he conceded, throwing a grin over at Bucky. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Bucky agreed, a blush dusting across his cheeks. "Try not to get poisoned this time."

. . .

Sam still wasn't used to the adrenaline crash. In his head, he was still twenty-two and invincible. Back then, a win meant days of partying. Unconsciousness was a far flung thing.

But his body continually reminded him he wasn't twenty-two. Hell, it had been reminding him of that since he was twenty-seven, if they got down to it.

He hadn't been able to eat more than half a sandwich one of the medical teams had handed him after putting neat little bandages around his eye. He'd barely been able to shower and every temperature was too much. Too hot on his sweat soaked skin. Too cool in the frosty AC of the hotel room. Too weak in between. Crashing into the bed had been the only thing he'd done well since the media debrief.

So he wasn't really surprised when there was a knock on his door approximately ten seconds later. Timid and too well timed, like the person on the other side knew he'd just finished falling apart.

He shoved himself up again, didn't bother with finding a shirt or appropriate pants because he knew who would be on the other side of the door, and opened the door.

Bucky had already taken off the bandages that had been put on his face and arms. He argued about it every time they wrangled him near a medic, but the medics were pretty used to him and they sealed up and covered his wounds while he told them he didn't need them to. He also looked like he'd already showered. His wet hair was held back by a small clip that Sam knew he pretended to hate but kind of loved.

As usual, it took him a few moments to react to seeing Sam. He always had to stare for a few seconds. Let his eyes track down Sam's body until he was sure Sam was still in the same amount of pieces he'd left him in.

"What's up?" Sam asked, to draw Bucky's gaze away from the bruise on his chest from someone's mechanical tail.

Bucky dragged his gaze away like it actually weighed something. "Can I stay in here?" he asked sheepishly. "The AC creaks in my--"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam accepted before Bucky could get far into his meandering rabbit hole of excuses. He stepped back and let Bucky take the door. No use telling him which locks to use. He'd use them all. "I almost expected you to have brought something," he added, teasing. "Seems to be the only reason you show up anymore."

"That's not true. I also kidnap your nephews."

"Willing victims that they are," Sam agreed. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," Bucky assured. He sat on the second bed, stiff, kicking his heel against the bottom frame of it. "They gave you a double? They told me if my sheets weren't clean, I could pull out the couch."

Sam laughed in surprise. "Well, I guess being Captain America has its perks sometimes."

"Sometimes," Bucky agreed without any real conviction in his voice. He kept picking at the scrapes on his knuckles that had already scabbed over. Then he stood again and reached for Sam's wrist.

Sam blinked and stood as well. It felt strangely formal for them. Like an old romance movie. Compared to the nights they'd lay on the floor beside each other, or keep up a conversation on the phone while both doing something else, or be poring over intel at separate desks, always talking until they fell asleep finally, standing to talk was weird.

"I did," Bucky said. It sounded like a scratched record. An abrupt stop to something that should've continued. "I mean, I did bring something for you. I just...don't know if I should give it to you."

"If it's snake fangs, I don't want it," Sam defended quickly. "I don't need any trophies."

Bucky rolled his eyes and his shoulders relaxed by about twenty percent. "It's not snake fangs. I've never even heard of people doing that until your friend Darriel asked if I kept any teeth from that gator I wrestled out of the pool."

Sam hummed fondly at the memory. "Then what is it? If it's not important, we can just wait until tomorrow."

"No it's...it's kind of important. To me. I've been meaning to give it to you for a while."

Sam's head ticked to the side a little, stealing a mannerism from the man in front of him because Bucky's eyes had suddenly darted away and Sam wanted to be in his eyeline. "It doesn't have to do with tonight?"

"Well, no. Not really," Bucky admitted. "It's not that." Sam realized Bucky was still holding onto his wrist because now he was holding Sam's hand and he was shaking. Just a little bit. Barely perceptible. But Sam knew Bucky well enough to notice something like that.

"Buck," he started to say, putting his hand over Bucky's to stop the shivering a little.

Then Bucky kissed him, fast and unsure, more of a collision than he assumed it was supposed to be. Then he pulled away, just as fast, looking for all the world like a little kid.

"Oh," Sam breathed.

"Oh?" Bucky repeated, strangled.

"That's what you were waiting on? Why?"

"Why?" he repeated again.

And they'd get nowhere if all he did was keep copying Sam. So Sam copied him instead, holding Bucky's face this time so they didn't break each other's noses, and kissed him softly, but firmly. "Why would you wait?" Sam clarified when Bucky started to make little needy sounds against his mouth.

"Uh...I don't know? I had other things to give you first."

Sam smiled and shook his head. "You're kind of an idiot," he said. "Come give it to me again," he suggested.

Bucky smiled, like raincloud parting around the sun, and gave Sam another kiss. A few more actually. It was a good present.

. . .

Hello, did you know that Kingfishers, great grey shrikes, and jays will bring food to prospective partners during courtship rituals? That penguins and albatrosses give pebbles as gifts? That several birds partake in allopreening? That crows bring interesting objects to people who take care of them, and cedar waxwings will do so with each other? That building nest structures, or exchanging nest materials, will sometimes come before mating? I just think it's interesting.

[rhettrosunsets]

Papers And Pad Thai - Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem!Teacher Reader

Category: Fluff!! Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You've had the worlds longest day, between grading papers, a spilt lunch, and not having heard from your girlfriend in almost a week while she was deployed? You just wanted to get home and drink some wine so you could cry while wearing an oversized hoodie and watching some bad tv re-runs. But little did you know what would be awaiting you when you got outside, and how much better your day would get.

Based off this ask

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: Mentions of a child throwing up, reader is having a very shitty day, mentions of deployment, Natasha does pick reader up and reader wears Natasha's hoodie but there are no descriptions of the reader outside of this, no use of Y/N, use of pet names for reader.

Notes: Eeee!! This was my first ever ask, based off this ask here and I was so excited to get to write this, anon that requested this I hope you enjoy it. I had so much fun getting to write this!

Your brightly decorated classroom was silent for the first time since 7am,

Your shoulders slumped forward as you clutched your pen loosely between your tired fingers, your head throbbing as you stared down at the last math test in the pile, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

Somehow, a simple batch of easy subtraction problems that was supposed to be an easy test for the kids had managed to create at least six different new number systems that even Isaac Newton would have to sit down for, three small doodles of frogs, one child just writing sorry next to every answer with a frowny face, and one heartfelt love letter to your class guinea pig.

You let your head fall to the desk and groaned muttering “I love my job. I love my job and I love my kids” you repeated muffled against the wood desk. “I love my- okay, you know what? Maybe not today, and that’s okay.” you sighed out heavily to yourself, your body deflating as you tried not to cry.

You had stayed after school yet again to grade papers because the idea of bringing home another binder full of pure chaos made you want to sob. Fridays were supposed to be for movie day and early dismissal, something you reveled in every Friday, for the fact that you could finally get a small break. But Instead, today, three kids had cried over what pencils they got to use during the test, a kid threw up all over the classroom floor and had to go to the nurse while you tried to console the other kids, and you’d spilled your yogurt all over your lesson planner leaving you without lunch, and without a lesson planner.

And to make it all sting even more? Natasha still hadn’t messaged you. You didn’t blame her though, she was still deployed and you knew better than anyone how spotty their comms were when the squad was off on a deployment. But it’d been a week since her last message “We’re all okay, Miss you, Peach.”

No FaceTime calls, no bright smile and warm eyes, no warm voice whispering “Hey, baby” like she always did when she knew you needed it the most, you hadn’t even realized how badly you were missing her until today, when all of this rained down on you at once.

You tossed the finished paper on top of the pile with a huff before you gathered your bag, did a final check of the room, flipped off the lights and locked up your door, before stepping outside where the sun was just beginning to set, the golden hour hue illuminating the parking lot. The parking lot was mostly empty with all parents and students gone for the day, most of the administration having left hours ago when the bell rang, and just a few tired teachers also shuffling to their cars, waving half hearted goodbyes. You yawned into your elbow and reached into your bag fumbling for your keys, rounding the corner of the building with heavy lidded eyes, already picturing Natasha’s oversized hoodie and a glass of wine waiting for you at home.

Then you stopped dead in your tracks, because someone was leaning against your car. But it wasn't just anyone, it was your girlfriend. Your girlfriend who wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another week. She was still in her flight suit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her thick boots planted firmly on the ground with one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the driver’s side door, her arms crossed wearing that same cocky smirk that had made you fall in love with her in the first place.

She raised her brows, her cocky smirk never leaving her face as she saw you standing there bewildered, like you don’t believe she’s really there. “You gonna stand there all day ogling me? Or are you gonna come kiss me, Peach?”

Your knitted bag fell off your shoulder and the bag hit the pavement with a thud, but none of that mattered right now. The next thing you knew, you were running at full speed, and you crashed into her with so much force that she stumbled as she was forced to take a step back, leaning further into your car, laughing as she caught you in her arms.

“Woah easy there sweetgirl” she teased, pulling you tightly against her, lifting you off your feet, as you wrapped your legs around her middle. “You’re gonna knock us both over.” She said laughing happily at the fact that she got to hold you in her arms again.

You buried your face into her neck, inhaling her scent that smelled like jet fuel, soap, and the San Diego sun. It smelt like home. You tightly wound your arms around her neck like you were afraid she’d disappear if you let go, and maybe you were, because part of you still didn’t believe that she was really here, holding you, and calling you Peach.

“I-I didn’t know you were coming back today’ Tasha” you mumbled your voice thick and wobbly against her skin as she slowly set you down, placing your feet on the parking lot ground still keeping you pulled tightly against her. “That was the point baby” she mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Wanted to surprise my girl.”

A surprised, watery laugh left your lips, as you started to cry, the exhaustion from waking up at five in the morning, the grading of papers that made you want to pull your hair out, the stress from the day, the loneliness you felt earlier, all of it came crashing out of you at once as ugly hiccupping sobs started pouring out of you, making you clutch at her harder.

“Hey, hey" She whispered softly taken aback at your reaction. "Oh, Peach, don’t cry baby. It’s okay, it's okay. M'here.” Natasha said softly, pulling back from you just enough to cup your face in her hands and study your expression.

Her thumbs brushed away your tears as her thumbs rubbed gentle circles on the apples of your cheeks, and she kissed your forehead over and over again, like she could kiss the sadness away, and get her girl to feel better with just that, which to her credit worked as you calmed down enough to say “I missed you so much you choked out, your voice breaking as you did so.

“I know, sweetheart, I missed you more.” Natasha spoke back as she looked at you, trying to calm you down to the best of her ability. You shook your head, sniffling as you tried to speak trying to truly let her know how much this means to you “I-I’ve had such a long day, and then I saw you, and I thought I was dreaming, or I thought maybe it was the two coffees I had on an empty stomach and I was finally losing it. ”

“You’re not dreaming” Natasha promised with such authority that you couldn’t even question it, as she rested her forehead against yours. Her voice was low and steady, grounding you and soothing you in a way you’ve needed since she left. “I’m here, right here Peach. And I’m not going anywhere besides home with you, so we can go rewatch some shitty rom-coms and drink some wine.”

More tears fell from your eyes and she held you through them rubbing your back in slow circles and every few seconds she’d press another kiss to your cheek or your nose or the edge of your jawline.

“I really didn’t think you’d be back for another week” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from crying. “We finished early, and no one got shot at. I call that a win, Peach.” she joked lightly, grinning widely when you choked out a teary eyed laugh.

“God, I love you’ Tasha” you blurted out, your voice full of emotion. The look on her face softened completely, “Yeah?” she asked, rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs as she smiled at you, staring into your eyes. “I think you should say it again” she whispered out, a small smirk perking up in the corner of her lips.

You smiled through the tears and mummured “I love you, Natasha Trace.”

She leaned in and kissed you slow, gentle, and full of everything she couldn’t say over a radio message or a letter. And when she pulled back, her eyes were warm and glassy. “I love you too, Peach,” she murmured. “So much so that it’s absolutely stupid.”

You burst into small giggles at the nickname, your face flushing as she peppered your cheeks with more kisses. “I’m serious, Peach” she insisted between smooches. “I was halfway across the world on a serious mission, and here I was thinking about you in a pencil-skirt, handing out stickers for good spelling, and smiling at those kids like they’re your own.”

You snorted as your head fell against her collarbone “Sorry to break your fantasy, but that’s not what I wear 'Tasha.” She shrugged, a smirk quirking up at the corners of her lips. “No, but I think that’s what I'll continue thinking about when I'm gone. It gives me good motivation to get back here.” she said, glancing down at you seeing how your eyes brightened when she did. “You’re an idiot” you say your voice full of fondness as you wrap your arms tightly around her again.

“But I'm your idiot, Peach” she corrected. You stayed like that for a while, just swaying slightly in the golden hour sun. Her hand rubbed slow circles over your back, and you could feel her smile against your temple. Finally, she pulled back and looked you over, taking you in fully after the emotions of the last few minutes. “You look exhausted, baby.”

“I am exhausted” you admitted with a yawn, before continuing, “It was a long week, one of my kids tried to eat a glue stick on Tuesday, I had a kid puke all over the floor today, and the math tests I had to grade today had declarations of love to the guinea pig instead of the answers to the questions.”

She winced at your retelling of your long week, “Yikes, Peach. No wonder you're dead on your feet.”

“I didn’t even get to eat lunch today because it got spilled all over my lesson planner” you whined out dramatically. Natasha gasped playfully and took your face in her hands again. “That’s criminal, baby. No lunch?”

“I know, you’re lucky I didn’t wither away before you got here to surprise me.” You reply back, in a dramatic tone, bringing your hand to your forehead as you lean back closing your eyes for the effect.

“Well, lucky for you, Peach, your incredibly hot, sexy, brave, and thoughtful girlfriend bought you takeout.” Natasha said in a teasing voice. Your eyes lit up, and a wide smile graced your face at the mention of something to eat “You brought me food?”

“I brought you Pad Thai, those egg rolls you love, and enough mango rice to last us a week, baby.” she said proudly, before continuing “And wine, lots of it, I also prepped the couch with tons of fuzzy blankets, and extra snacks for after dinner.”

You blinked up at her, absolutely stunned. “Are you trying to marry me ‘Tasha?” She gave you a wide smirk “Is it working?”

“Yes” you said without hesitation, no amusement even present in your tone, “God, yes.” She kissed you again and whispered against your lips, “Then let’s get you home and get some food into you, future Mrs. Trace.”

You grinned widely and kissed her back, your heart beating loud enough in your chest that you thought she could for sure hear it. She did a 'give me' motion with her hand, as you grabbed your bag from where you had dropped it and handed her the keys to your car.

She opened the passenger side car door for you, before tossing your bag into the backseat, and even buckled your seatbelt, giving you one last kiss on the forehead before sliding into the driver’s seat, and starting the car up. On the drive home, you reached for her hand and laced your fingers with hers, relishing in the feeling of her being home again. “I still can’t believe you’re here right now” you said softly, taking in her features, a disbelieved smile still present on your face. She brought your hand to her lips and kissed your knuckles, “I missed you more than words can convey, Baby.”

And when you got home, she wouldn’t let you lift a finger. She carried you up your driveway and through the door just to be dramatic, laughing loudly as she heard your loud fit of giggles. She put you on the couch, and immediately curled up beside you under the mountain of blankets she had prepared before heading to the school to come surprise you. She fed you bites of sticky rice between soft kisses and laughed every time ended up getting sauce on your nose or on the side of your mouth.

And later, when you finally started to drift off against her chest as a cheesy 2000’s rom-com played in the background, you knew everything would start to feel okay again.

[amber-aura]

Let us Live since we must Die: Chapter 4: Happy Birthday?

Summary: In 1932, something happened in Mississippi. Something no one could explain. In 2001, a baby was born under a sky that remembered. In 2025, she’s about to find out why. Breana Rae has the power to tear through space, but what she really wants is to connect the pieces of her past. When a rare celestial event reawakens the ghosts of a buried tragedy, Breana is pulled into a mystery far older and far deeper than she ever imagined.

Pairing: Remmick x black!oc

A/N: This chapter was planned to be edited and released 3-5 days ago, but I fell sick so it's late :( But good news! The story officially begins!

Warnings: 18+ comments only. Minors, you can read but do not interact with any of my works. Angst, graphic mentions of blood and gore, eventual smut, slow burn, slurs, mentions of suicide, emetophobia, sexual assault, murder, etc. Will continue adding more as the story progresses for the sake of any new readers.

Word count: 5k

Typing. Typing. Still typing...

Breana had been glued to her laptop for nearly two hours straight, her fingers a blur across the keyboard as she dove deeper into a rabbit hole of research. The hum of the AC in her loft barely registered anymore, her focus razor-sharp as she scanned through articles, forums, archived records—anything that could shed light on 1930s Mississippi.

Her assistants were mildly baffled. Why the sudden obsession with the early 20th century South? Why Mississippi of all places? But they knew better than to pry. Breana had her moods and her muses. Sometimes it was ancient myths. Other times, avant-garde fashion history. This time, it was Jim Crow-era Mississippi. They didn’t ask questions. They just brought her coffee and kept her schedule clear.

Breana didn’t need to start from scratch. She already knew a decent amount thanks to her parents' love of documentaries and her own curiosity about history. But now? Now she needed clarity. Context. Details. She wasn’t just learning—she was piecing something together.

Even so, just reading about that time made her skin crawl.

“Nope,” she muttered to herself, eyes scanning a headline about the rise of white supremacy groups in the 1930s. “Couldn’t have been me.”

The very idea of living back then was a nightmare. No air conditioning. No decent healthcare. No advanced tech. No women’s rights. No rights for people of color—well, not real ones. It was technically illegal to just exist freely if you were the wrong shade of melanin or had the wrong chromosomes. And sure, America still had its systemic bullshit in the present day, but at least she could talk about it without being shot on sight.

“Fair wages? Nonexistent. Racist police? Oh, they been here. The Klan? Running wild like they were police.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, letting out a deep, tired sigh. “And don’t even get me started on that god-awful Mississippi heat. No thank you.”

Her lips curled in slight amusement as her mind drifted to the everyday inconveniences of life back then. Making food from scratch—every single time. Relying on radios for news. Dresses with petticoats and stockings in the middle of summer, no deodorant worth a damn.

“Oh no, they got me fucked up,” she muttered, scrolling past a sepia-toned photo of women in heavy dresses and lace gloves. “I wouldn't wear a damn velvet corset in July. That’s not elegance. That’s a slow bake.”

Still…not everything about the era was a total bust. She had to admit—1930s fashion? S'alright. The silhouettes were graceful, the fabrics had texture, and those sweetheart necklines? Iconic. If she could snatch some of those designs and remix them for a stage outfit, she just might.

But it wasn’t the style that kept her glued to the screen. It was the people. The culture. The pain, the joy, the survival. She wanted to know what kind of world Mary, Elias, and the others had lived in before everything went to hell. What kind of music floated through their windows at night. What kind of dreams they whispered in the dark, even when the world tried to silence them.

She wasn’t just curious anymore. She felt tethered.

Something about it—about them —was pulling her deeper. And part of her didn’t mind being pulled.

Breana clicked over to her notepad document, eyes scanning the bullet points she’d messily typed out while going down this historical rabbit hole. She read them out loud, more to herself than anyone else.

“Alright…if I were to actually be in 1930s Mississippi—God help me—I’d have to know how to play the part. Let’s see…”

She adjusted in her seat, legs crossed, hair tied up in a scarf now to keep it out of her face. She’d pulled it up in frustration an hour ago, and now it kind of matched the vintage vibe she was reading about. Cute. Maybe unintentionally prophetic.

Always use formal titles when speaking to white people. Even if they’re being disrespectful, which they will be, say “yes ma’am” and “no sir.”

Do not look white men in the eye for too long.

Avoid walking alone at night, especially outside of your own neighborhood.

If someone accuses you of something, don’t argue. Just survive.

Breana blinked. “Jesus…”

That last line stung more than it should’ve. But it was true, wasn’t it? That was the law of survival for Black folk back then. Hell, even now sometimes.

She sighed again and kept reading.

Keep your speech “mild.” Don’t sound too educated around the wrong crowd. Don’t draw attention.

Smile when necessary. Stay polite. But never too friendly.

Segregation is the law. Don’t sit at the front of buses, don’t drink from the wrong fountain, don’t use the wrong entrance.

“Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t exist too much. Got it,” she muttered bitterly, highlighting that line just to remind herself it wasn’t hyperbole.

She scrolled further.

Jobs available to Black women: domestic work, sharecropping, laundry, seamstress, midwife if lucky.

Education limited—especially in the South.

Medical care? Almost nonexistent unless you know someone.

Her lips curled in frustration.

And yet, somehow…Mary, Elias, their community—those people had laughed, loved, danced, lived. All while under a system designed to suffocate them.

She didn’t know whether to feel proud or overwhelmed.

Then there were the notes she wrote specifically for herself:

Learn the lingo.

Clothing: Wear dresses. Loose, breathable. Light cotton or linen. Natural look. Wear your hair "short and kept" like the white women (eye roll)

Keep modern expressions to yourself unless you wanna get side-eyed. No slang from TikTok, dummy.

Learn how to cook something from scratch. You’ll need that to earn trust. Or survive. Or both.

Breana leaned back again, staring at the ceiling now. Her eyes were tired, but her spirit felt wired.

This wasn’t just research anymore.

She was prepping for something. Something she didn’t quite understand yet—but her gut said she’d need all of this. Soon.

And if this strange new path was going to demand she walk into someone else’s century? 

She’d be ready...not-

But Lord, it better not be during the peak of summer. She could handle trauma, magic, vampires—but she drew the line at sweating through a cotton petticoat.

“Let me go back with common sense and a heat-resistant body, God,” she muttered, stretching her arms with a dramatic sigh. “Please and thank you.”

Then, she saved the file and titled it simply:

“How to Survive the 1930s"

Just as Breana was about to close her laptop and maybe take a break before her brain melted from history overload, there was a knock on her open studio door.

“Hey, Bree?” one of her assistants, Rayna, peeked her head in, followed by Malik right behind her, holding a smoothie like he knew she hadn’t eaten all day.

“Your birthday’s tomorrow,” Rayna said, walking in like it was breaking news. “You need to decide what you wanna do. Party? Dinner? Photoshoot? Private island escape? Aliens-only rave?”

Breana blinked, still a little mentally stuck in 1932 Mississippi. “Uh…”

Malik handed her the smoothie. “At least drink this before you fry your brain.”

She took it. “Thanks.”

Rayna flopped onto the arm of the nearby couch. “So? What are we doin’? The people are gonna be watchin’. This is the first birthday since your EP release and you’ve got followers foaming at the mouth waiting to see you do something glamorous.”

Breana sipped the smoothie, eyes a little glazed. “Can we just…eat some good food and chill? That’s really all I want.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Like…chill-chill or your version of chill, which means binge watching Spongebob and somehow getting drunk on ice cream?"

Breana smirked without answering.

Rayna rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright. But for real, you do need to post tomorrow. Instagram, TikTok, all that. Fans are already making edits with your countdown posts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Breana waved a lazy hand. “I’ll post somethin’. Y’all can take a picture or whatever.”

Rayna side-eyed her. “We are not just gonna take a picture . You’re a brand. Your whole aesthetic is like…soul-deep goddess trapped in a dreamscape.”

“Okay…” Breana replied dryly, sipping again. “Then let me dreamscape in peace tonight.”

Malik laughed. “We’ll let you rest. Just don’t ghost tomorrow. You gotta give the people something. Even if it’s just a selfie with your cat.”

“I don’t have a cat,” Breana mumbled.

“Well…you seem like you should have one. You give cat girl energy.”

Rayna and Malik left, still teasing as they went. Breana stayed seated, smoothie in hand, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

Her birthday was tomorrow.

And something was coming.

Something…

Breana stared down at her notes again, the pages covered in scribbled questions, bullet points—her own chaotic little web of connections.

Logically, there was only one conclusion to draw from all of it. The kind of conclusion that would’ve made her raise her eyebrows if someone else had said it out loud.

Time travel.

That’s what everything was pointing to.

She blinked slowly at the thought, as if waiting for her own brain to catch up to what she’d just admitted.

“I can’t seriously be entertaining this,” she muttered to herself.

But...wasn’t she?

She could already open rifts. That alone threw the rulebook out the window. That day when her emotions surged and the very fabric of reality tore open in front of her—that was the moment the impossible stopped being “impossible.” It was the moment she learned the world wasn’t just weird—it was malleable .

And now?

She had an alignment happening on her birthday—the same rare celestial alignment that last occurred on the day she was born. She’d just met two vampires from 1932 Mississippi , the exact same era her DNA test pointed to when tracking her ancestral roots. The timing was too perfect, too unnerving.

Like she kept saying, none of this was a coincidence. None of it.

The rational part of her brain begged her to calm down. Breathe. But the deeper part—her intuition, her soul—whispered something else.

“Prepare.”

Breana exhaled sharply and tossed her phone from one hand to the other, thinking.

“Let’s just say I do go back in time…” she whispered, eyes scanning her notes again.

Her thoughts drifted to Mary and Elias—two undead souls tethered to the past but walking quietly through the present. They knew that world, the one she was beginning to suspect she’d soon be entering.

Assuming they weren’t too busy—considering, you know, the whole being-vampires-and-can’t-go-outside-during-the-day thing—maybe she could shoot Mary and Elias a quick text.

Just for comfort to check up on them.

Breana sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone like it might bite her back. Her fingers hovered over the group chat and hesitated.

Then, she just started typing.

Breana: good morningggg. hope y’all aren’t sleeping in too much 😅

Breana: i was thinking about our convo from last night. you free to talk again later?

She stared at it for a second, then hit send. She figured if they were still asleep— actually can they sleep? She doesn’t know. Whatever, they’d just get to it when they could.

To her surprise, the typing bubbles popped up immediately.

Mary Mary: Good mornin’ girl ☀️ we’re always up dw, what’s up?

Breana felt a little relieved at the warm response, then quickly followed up:

Breana: nothing deep just had some more questions and i dunno, y’all are chill to talk to. plus it’s my bday eve lol

Mary Mary: Ohhhh! 👀

Mary Mary: I was just tellin Stack you prob got folks lined up for tomorrow. You got plans yet?

Before Breana could reply, Stack beat her to it.

Stack: i told her you was gon’ be booked n busy

Stack: but if you ain’t, we’ll happily steal a few minutes after sunset 😎

Breana grinned a little at that. She replied:

Breana: yeah it might be a busy day but i don’t got plans set in stone yet.

Breana: might just do something chill

Breana: or disappear and hide from the world for 24 hrs, haven’t decided 💀

Mary’s reply came fast:

Mary Mary: Girl that’s valid tbh

Mary Mary: But if you feel like talkin tonight, we’ll be at the usual spot. Just text

Stack: bring snacks

Mary Mary: 🙄

Breana chuckled and was feeling a weird comfort bloom in her chest. These two were something else. Unusual as hell, literally, but familiar in a way she didn’t expect. 

But it was good to know someone was out there who could hold space with her in the meantime.

She stretched her arms over her head, rolled her neck, and whispered to herself:

“Okay. I’m not alone.”

Not yet, anyway.

Breana: btw been doing some research this morning

Breana: about your era...

A pause. She watched the three dots flicker under Mary’s name. Then:

Mary Mary: 👀 Oh really now, why tho?

Breana bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t say “just in case I get yeeted through a tear in space-time.” So instead:

Breana: idk just been thinking more about stuff you two said

Breana: trying to understand the time y’all came from

Breana: it’s wild to think about how different things were back then and how much hasn’t changed too

Stack chimed in, of course.

Stack: girl it was a whole other planet back then

Stack: no AC, no internet, no rights, and bread was a nickel 😭

Stack: mary used to churn her own butter lmao

Mary Mary: STOP LYING TO THIS GIRL I AIN’T NEVER CHURNED NO DAMN BUTTER

Breana laughed aloud, then replied:

Breana: 😭😭 y’all are ridiculous

Breana: but fr, it’s interesting. learning how folks survived, how they dressed, talked…

Breana: even the little stuff like what people cooked or how they dealt with the heat

There was a pause before Mary responded again, this time a bit more sincere:

Mary Mary: Well, if you ever got questions about how life really felt back then you know we got stories for days

Mary Mary: Not just the bad stuff either

Mary Mary: We laughed a lot, we danced, we loved hard…it wasn’t all pain

That hit Breana deep. She stared at the message for a while, then replied:

Breana: yeah. i’d love to hear more of those stories sometime

Breana: i’ll text y’all tonight after i get some stuff done

Stack: we’ll be up. undead and wide awake 😂

Mary Mary: Behave, Stack

Mary Mary: Talk soon, Bree 💙

Breana smiled down at her screen, then tossed the phone on her bed again and leaned back with a soft exhale.

What time was it now? 11:30—late morning bleeding into early afternoon. Still quiet enough for peace, but just loud enough for distractions. With nothing else urgent pulling at her attention, Breana flopped onto her bed and unlocked her phone.

Might as well check in.

She opened FaceTime, called a few close friends just to hear their voices, share some quick laughs, and pretend—if only for a minute—that everything was just normal. Then came the scroll. Instagram. TikTok.

Tik...

Tok...

Her thumb stopped on a video with her name in the caption. Birthday posts. A handful of them, actually—fan edits, countdowns, even an astrology TikTok theorizing about what each planet means for your life according to your zodiac for tomorrow’s planetary alignment.

She didn’t even blink. She’d liked so many spiritual and astrology videos that her fyp had flooded.

At first, the news unsettled her.

But not anymore.

No more anxiety, no more questioning. She'd decided: whatever life had planned, it was gonna do it anyway. Might as well face it with her chin up.

A couple of minutes later, her assistants popped in, practically buzzing with excitement.

“Okay, quick reminder,” one of them said, clipboard in hand. “Tommorows your birthday gathering. Just a small thing. Parents, friends, your fave stylists, and us.”

“And yes,” the other chimed in, “we’ll be posting. Everyone’s gonna wanna see what you’re up to tomorrow, so we’re spreading it across Insta and TikTok, don’t fight it.”

Breana just nodded, letting herself smile a little. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

They didn’t need to know what was looming in the back of her mind. They didn’t need to know she was halfway convinced this was her last normal birthday.

Let them have their fun. Let the posts go up.

If tomorrow really changed everything…then tonight? Tonight she’d have her cake. And she was damn sure gonna eat it too.

Today had officially become tomorrow.

Breana's birthday had arrived.

She sat quietly in a velvet-backed chair, legs crossed at the ankles, while her hairstylist gently tugged and twisted her hair into one of her favorite styles—an intricate criss-cross rubber band braid pattern at the crown, with the rest of her hair was loose and full. The stylist’s fingers moved with care and precision, like an artist touching up the final strokes of a masterpiece.

Breana held her phone up and captured a few shots in the mirror—angles, lighting, a little lip gloss pop—before uploading the final look to her Instagram story. She tagged her stylist with a glitter emoji and a heart. Grateful, always.

Once her hair was finished, her assistants ushered her back into her room, chatting excitedly about the day’s schedule and what would be posted when. Together, they helped her slip into her outfit for the party—a dress she had chosen weeks in advance but still gasped at when she saw herself in the mirror. 

It was a black and white, off-shoulder bow-tied stunner, perfectly hugging her form while still giving her the freedom to breathe, to move, to feel . She paired the dress with sheer transparent tights and tall, sharp black stilettos.

Then came the descent down the hall to the living room.

The second she stepped into view—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

The room erupted with voices, flashes of phone cameras, and a collective energy so warm it made Breana pause for a moment, just to soak it in. For a second, the air felt slower.

She almost cried.

There they were—her parents. Her friends. Her inner circle. All gathered just for her. She hadn’t seen her parents in nearly two months, which made their presence that much more emotional.

“Mom! Dad! ” she beamed, practically running toward them, heels clicking across the hardwood floor with power and precision—because yes, Breana was that girl who could run in stilettos and not fall once.

“Hey, darlin’! Happy 25th birthday!” her dad said with a voice full of pride as he embraced her.

“Hey baby, we haven’t seen you in a minute! Ooooh you look beautiful ,” her mom chimed in, pulling her into a hug like she was still fourteen.

They laid their gifts on the table—among many others from friends and colleagues—wrapped in everything from sleek matte black paper to glittery, rainbow explosion chaos. It was a corner of love and celebration.

The party buzzed around her with the sweet comfort of soul food scents drifting through the air—collard greens, baked mac and cheese, fried chicken, candied yams, cornbread—the works. It had been catered by a high-end Black-owned spot Breana personally requested, and the flavor alone felt like coming home.

Then came the cakes.

Yes— cakes.

The first one? A classic vanilla layered masterpiece, made just for Breana by her parents.

At the top, in blue frosting and yellow letters, it read:

“What’s funnier than 24? 25. Happy birthday!”

Breana burst out laughing. “ Y’all are too much! ” she said through giggles. Spongebob was one of her favorite cartoons of all time, and this was peak humor. 

The second cake, much larger and meant for guests to share, was a red velvet cake adorned with edible flowers and gold flakes. 

Photos were taken nonstop—candid moments, selfies with her besties, and formal poses with her family. Her assistants worked behind the scenes, uploading clips, tagging everyone, managing posts across Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter.

Breana didn’t bother checking her phone. Not yet.

Right now, all she wanted to do was laugh, eat, hug everyone in the room, and hold onto this little oasis of love as tightly as she could.

The laughter in the living room echoed behind her like a sweet chorus, champagne glasses clinking, music humming low beneath the hum of conversation. Someone had just made a joke and everyone erupted, including her parents. It was a perfect moment.

Too perfect.

Breana’s smile faltered just slightly as something pulled at her gut. A tight, cold little thread that hadn’t snapped since the moment she opened her eyes this morning.

She blinked once, twice.

The alignment…

She didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t have to. That thought alone made her mouth go dry.

“Oh crap,” she said softly, just enough for her assistant to hear. “I forgot something—I left it in my room, just give me one sec.”

Before they could even respond or follow up, she turned with a casual wave and headed back down the hallway. Her heels clicked a bit faster this time, but not enough to raise concern. Her heart, however, was pounding.

Once in her bedroom, she shut the door gently—no slam, no theatrics. She was calm… enough.

Until she checked her phone.

The screen lit up with a burst of notifications.

Instagram DMs. Comments. Story tags. TikTok mentions. Duets of fans singing her songs. Edits of her best performance moments. Birthday tributes, fanart, memes—even one dramatic video of someone pretending to faint at the thought of meeting her.

“Happy Birthday, Breana!!! QUEEN ENERGY!!”

“She’s 25 and still not aging?? How??”

“Hope this is your best year yet!!”

Her finger hovered above a video of her laughing earlier at the cake. Her assistants had already edited and posted it. She smiled at her digital self.

Then a new banner appeared at the top of the screen:

Mary Mary & Stack 💙:

Happy birthday, Bree. Don’t get too drunk, see you tonight or tomorrow -Mary Marywhat she said. hope it’s a good one young blood. 🥂 -Stack

She smiled. But the warmth didn’t last.

Because that gut feeling returned—stronger now.

She quickly opened her search bar and typed without fully thinking:

“Celestial Alignment Time May 7th, 2025”

The top result loaded instantly:

“The peak alignment will occur at approximately 1:47 PM PST…”

Breana glanced at the time on her phone.

1:44 PM.

Her breath caught.

She stood there, frozen, as the realization punched through her chest like a bass drop.

“Three minutes… ” she whispered out loud.

Then panic set in.

“Okay—okay okay okay okay okay,” she mumbled, backing up a little, gripping the phone like it was an anchor and she was already being pulled out to sea. Her breathing quickened. She felt a burn behind her eyes. Her hands started to sweat.

Forget her earlier nonchalance. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready.

Breana inhaled deeply—once, then twice—holding the breath in her chest like it might glue all her nerves back in place. She checked the time again. 1:46 PM.

One minute.

She set her phone down on the nightstand. No more looking. No more spiraling.

Just go back out there.

She shook her arms out, forced her best I’m-not-panicking smile, and opened the door.

The second she stepped back into the living room, the atmosphere swallowed her whole again. Jazz music played now, something her stylist picked, smooth and classy. Her parents were dancing together by the windows, her friends chatting by the champagne table. Someone had popped open another bottle.

“There you are!” one of her assistants called out. 

“Come on, come on, we’re about to cut the big cake!” another friend shouted, holding up her phone to record.

Breana nodded, moving toward the table, blending back into the birthday rhythm. She accepted hugs, opened a gift or two, and even let one of her friends convince her to take a sip of mimosa (non-alcoholic, thank God—her nerves didn’t need help).

“Alright, make a wish!” her dad announced with a proud grin, already holding up his phone.

The candles flickered, glowing warm and golden against the frosting.

One minute left…

Breana stared at the flames.

She didn’t make a wish.

She just closed her eyes and thought, Please…not yet.

Then she blew them out.

Cheers erupted. Everyone clapped, and someone from the back yelled, “TWENTY-FIIIIIIIVE!” like it was the age of legend.

The party pressed on.

The house had gone quiet.

The party guests were gone. Empty champagne glasses littered the kitchen counter. Wrapping paper lay crumpled in a pile beside the couch. Her parents had already gone to bed in the guest room. Her assistants had gone back to their hotel after helping her change and unwind.

Now it was just Breana. Alone in her room. Back in her pajamas, her makeup wiped clean, her hair in a bonnet.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, staring out the window.

The moon hung heavy and silver above the city skyline. The sky was too still. Like the world was holding its breath again.

Her phone sat quietly beside her.

Breana exhaled, a hand resting on her knee. She hadn’t expected to have time to see Mary and Elias tonight, but it looked like she just might. Her fingers hovered above the screen, ready to text—

And then she looked out the window.

There they were.

The planets. Aligned.

It was stunning in a haunting kind of way. A string of bright pearls suspended in a velvet-black sky. She’d seen the predictions, the mockups, the TikToks claiming this was it —the moment the world would shift. And now…here it was. Real. Tangible. No turning back.

She wasn’t about to check any news headlines about the “effects” either. If she didn’t have powers, she would’ve dismissed all the online panic: memory loss, time displacement, emotional distortion… Like, girl please...

But as she's known ever since she was eighteen, nothing was impossible anymore.

And she was grateful— relieved, even—that the day had gone by without incident.

Until—

BrrrrrNNGGG—!!

A shrill, splitting hum cracked through her skull.

“Ah—!” Breana’s hands flew to her head. Her eyes slammed shut, her chest seized up, and her heartbeat started hammering like a war drum. The air shifted. Thickened. Her whole body trembled as the sky outside took on a strange glow—celestial, yes, but tinged with something uncanny. Ominous.

Her ears rang.

No— screamed.

The sound wasn’t normal. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t here. It was coming from…somewhere else. Inside?

She stumbled back from the window, breath hitching. She needed her intuition to say something , anything. But her mind was static. A broken signal.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her knees buckled.

She hit the floor.

Gasping.

Eyes wide and unseeing.

Her powers stirred. Not gently. Not the way they usually did. This was violent. Chaotic. She felt her chest thrum like an amplifier as a soft bluish-purple light began to glow from beneath her skin.

“No—no, no, no—” she whispered.

She glanced down, trembling.

Her whole body was glowing now, pulsing brighter and brighter like a living beacon. Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t move her hands from her head. Couldn’t open a rift even if she wanted to. Her powers were acting on their own, building toward something she didn’t understand.

She needed something to anchor her.

Her phone. Her memories.

She forced her eyes open and spotted it—just out of reach, where she’d left it near the window.

“C’mon,” she rasped. “Please…”

She crawled—every muscle heavy, like moving through water. The light around her body swelled, warping the shadows in the room, distorting the walls just slightly like heat haze.

Her fingers brushed the phone.

She snatched it with a shaky hand and shoved it into her pants pocket. Her other hand scraped against the floor, trying to find grip to push herself up. She glanced toward her desk, where her laptop and notebook sat—pages of the notes she had taken earlier.

Too far.

No time.

The glow surged again, and the room vibrated softly like a low hum of thunder before a storm.

Breana staggered to her feet.

Fucking hell, why—

Breana didn’t even get to finish the thought.

Her mind went blank.

Still glowing, still trembling, her body began to lift. Slowly. Unnaturally. Her feet left the ground like she was weightless, suspended in a cocoon of pulsing violet-blue light.

Above her, the ceiling shimmered. Then— crack.

A rift opened.

Not one of her own.

This one wasn’t drawn by her hands, wasn’t triggered by her focus. It opened like it had a will of its own. It pulsed—once, twice—like a heartbeat, warping the ceiling into a glowing spiral of nothingness.

Then, just as suddenly, it snapped shut.

And Breana crashed to the floor.

Hard.

The air left her lungs in a harsh gasp as she landed, light still pouring from her body in surges.

She groaned, barely able to process what had just happened. A rift opened…without her? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Her power always needed her focus, her will. This felt like something—or someone—else had pulled the thread instead.

Then came the knocking.

Knock knock knock.

“Breana?” her mom called out, her voice tinged with concern. “Sweetheart, are you okay in there?”

Another knock. Firmer. Sharper.

“Breana?”

Then her father’s voice joined, worried and commanding.

“BREANA?!”

But Breana couldn’t answer. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Just a pained, breathless sound.

“Ah…”

She clutched her chest, shaking, drenched in sweat as the light from her skin flickered erratically.

Their voices faded.

Not because they stopped talking.

But because she was slipping.

Her eyelids grew heavy. Her limbs went numb. The sounds of her parents shouting became distant—like she was underwater, sinking deeper and deeper.

And then…

Silence.

Total, perfect silence.

Breana’s eyes fluttered shut.

That moment was the curtain call of her time in this chapter.

<Chapter 3 Chapter 5>

[isolatednights]

"just 'cause we're in a confined space doesn't mean you can't leave me," lord knew there were plenty of ways to avoid one another, as she'd been subtly doing to him over the last few days. and while she wanted to trust what he was saying, it would take action and time to prove them to be true. still, it doesn't stop eyes cracked open to look at him - searching for any lie within the words. once satisfied with her inspection, lids flutter shut - but not before a hand flops forward and fingers wiggle, clearly demanding his own to grasp. as if demanding he start proving it right then and there. "can see why they paired us together," she murmurs. "and that scares me."

"pretty sure i could use this to lock the others out, so if you ever wanted this place to yourself, the options out there," he quips, pointing to the tablet with a small grin. perhaps there is something genuine in the offer, but silas knows that he'd have difficulty truly doing so. they might have all joined this little expedition from differing walks of life, but now? this? it put them all on even playing ground and he wouldn't take that from anyone.

"unless you tell me something really absurdly out there, i don't think i'll laugh." lord knew the rich and famous he'd meant had plenty of odd tastes and preferences - many of whom he later came to avoid - and he couldn't see the woman beside him falling into a similar category. silas listens in rapt attention, already knowing there's bound to be movies stored away somewhere within the artificial intelligence system onboard - and even if he's unable to provide her with the junk food, perhaps he can still make some sort of experience out of it. "i get it. the putting on a face to try and fit in - how exhausting it gets? i didn't come from money and some of the things people said or did... it was just... odd. i'd smile, act as if i wasn't phased but the number of days i just... stayed in my apartment, alone?" a recharge away from everything. "here... with all of us. there won't be a social pressure. no need to act. just be you.." a shoulder shrugs awkwardly. "bet we could find a white sheet. hang it up over one of the windows or from the ceiling. get some blankets for the grass. snacks. movie nights in the park sort of thing, you know?"

the protests and tension in her frame only lasts a minute before she's easing entirely against him. it reassures him in his decision and offers some relief - he wouldn't have been overly thrilled with the idea of being stuck within a closet a majority of the evening while she slept off the alcohol in her veins. "you don't wanna sleep in there," he remarks with a snort, adjusting her slightly in his arms as he begins up a set of stairs. "you'll regret it in the mornin' if you do. a proper bed would be better, but we'll settle for whatever they've got in the med bay." cots - likely not the most comfortable think in the world, but better than a horrid crick in the neck.

he's quiet after her comment about liquid courage - the realization about how stupid they both seem to have been smacking him sharply in the face. releasing a harsh sigh, he nods. "yeah, i'll stay til you're awake. then we can see how you feel about me in the morning. you still want me to stick around then, then, well..."

"no sweetheart, never teasing, just trying to take care of you, and make sure you feel even a tiny bit better when you wake up." he didn't understand a word of turkish, he had no idea what she was mumbling about, but it didn't change that cade sat and listened regardless of that. he sat wondering how he might be able to find a book or something on turkish, maybe get the artificial intelligence to help him learn some basics, do something to prove he really was serious about trying to make them work and learn anything and everything about her.

"we're on a space ship, flying for years and years.. you don't gotta worry about me going anywhere, i wouldn't up and leave, not only because i can't, mainly because i'd never dream of it, i wouldn't want to leave you, i'd not go anywhere." he smiled a bit softer, watchin her snuggle in, even moved to dim down the lights real low. "i'd stay, because i want to stay aiyla. promise."

"so for today, and tomorrow.. we quite literally have the sun on a string?" and yet she'd be quite happy, with tonight and tomorrow, then they could share it.. because it meant that something on this ship for even a small snippet or time, belonged to them. something to remember, when everything else had been ransacked through.

"no no no, you'll laugh at what i miss." there was a bit of a groan but then, there it was.. something that made her smile, reminiscent, but given she thought this room was the sun on a string, did she not realise part of it's warmth was already in her? somewhere deep down, when she wasn't thinking about it.. it was there. "the movies." she admitted, then moved her cup down to briefly hide her face in her knees. "it's for such a stupid reason to, or a few.. like.. like it sounds silly if you don't get it, but i used to like having something like that where i didn't have to.. speak?" she sighed, ran her hands over her face. "i didn't feel so much social pressure going to see a movie, i didn't have to keep up and act or, anything like that. i couldn't take a break from trying to be what people expected me to be, just to be more likeable. i liked not having to talk, i liked that it was dark.. i loved horror films so much, the cheesy kind. you know what else i loved? terrible theatre popcorn and nachos. those huge sodas. terrible, but terribly delicious, cinema junk food."

"no no really! really i'll be- you'll-" she couldn't help the squeak of a noise that left her when he got to his feet, had her cradled right into him and she shouldn't be blushing as much as she was but he'd called her sweetheart, and maybe it was the wine but she was so locked into the heat of his chest and how... how nice it was. she could've stayed right there and slept this whole thing off, forgot all about the wine, about everything. for a moment or two she was stiff and then she just.. eased, right into him, hooked her arms around and rest her head right into his chest, right over his heart. there was this noise, this relieved breath that left her in a soft sigh. ben would have liked him, the little thought crept in.

"but you'll stay, right?" sober, she'd never dare ask, or say anything she was staying. "you'll stay? 'coz... well 'coz what if i wanna sleep right here?" she half mumbled that, like she really could sleep like that. "i want you to stay and i can't tell you that normally, wine courage. plus i think i'll be too busy dying form embarrassment tomorrow morning to say anything."

[dread0narrival]

Hi Chiba!

I have questions (big surprise, lmao).

Firstly, why does Corbeau hate humans so much?

And secondly, what would somebody (absolutely NOT me *cough cough*) have to do to endear themself to him?

I thought of the meme of the cartoon bulldog petting a tiny kitten was fitting lol did a redraw from memory

Answer to your first question under cut bec of subject matter

Corbeau grew up in a cult 😬 it was extreme like most tend to be in a small rural town run by them. Young Corbeau would shirk his duties so he could tend to the animals kept by the cult as their food source and for other cultish activities. He would often sleep in the barn with said animals as they brought him comfort and they didn’t mind sharing their space with him. He’d get regular beatings for irreligious behaviors by his parents. He never had love for his parents, his father least of all. But YEAH Corbeau was exposed to some really messed up things as a kid. Poor thing really was put through the ringer and forced to deal with things no kid should ever have to be exposed too 😭

[naki-ru]

Angelic companion

it’s been a while I know…. from exams to lack of motivation to basically everything I had no time… I hope this compensates the lack of art. kitr and gabe. I think they would get along. enjoy!!

I will try not to disappear for so much again. I hope.