#depression brain is currently winning

[pagesofkenna]

Think i should do bunch of low-stakes short fic just for fun/beat the depression, no clue what to do them for/about

[batsplat]

maybe it's from the particularly acute disappointment of marc injuring himself at the sachsenring but this weekend (so far) has made me feel incredibly nervous for marc's future. like no guarantees of course but if marc was going to win anywhere this year (when the gap between the gp23 and gp24 is increasingly obvious, as you mentioned) it was going to be here. and i'm definitely overreacting because i'm emotional about it but it feels like him hurting himself here feels like a bad sign not just for this year but for the future at large. because it's a reminder that his body can't handle the riding style that used to take him so far. scary!

taking these two together ahahaa. this is truly the life of a sports fan huh

honestly with marc I've now swung so often and so far between 'it's so over' and 'we've never been more back' that I've gotten to an exciting point of. well. I suppose we'll have to see. I mean look, back in that jerez to catalunya stretch it did look like he might be able to be a serious title contender this season. at risk of making myself look like an idiot, I think we can pretty safely conclude that's not happening this year. but y'know, broadly what he needs to do is to figure his shit out for the rest of the year... like he kinda needs to just understand what this version of him can do under what circumstances. the thing about winning is that it's also a habit, it's something that becomes essentially muscle memory, you need to kinda have that reflexive understanding of how you've done it in the past - both in the context of races and titles. and it's still in there for him!! but he's just got to... take the rest of the season to chip away at the gap. currently, pecco and jorge don't just have the edge on him in pace, they have the edge on him in process. that's not just the bike, though it is also affected by marc being less familiar with the ducati. but pecco and jorge have just kind of gotten to the point where they know how to approach most weekends in a way where, more often or not, they will kinda maximise what was on offer for them that weekend. sometimes they chuck it down the road! but in terms of pure pace potential, right now they're getting to the point where they're there. marc is just a series of 'what ifs'. they're not all his fault, he's gotten unlucky, he's in a tough situation, he's still getting used to the new tracks on a ducati etc etc etc... but that's what this year is for. figure out the process, figure out how you actually go about getting wins in the current era - keeping your physical condition in mind - and take it from there

the physical stuff is the... yeah. the thing is, I do think he is capable of winning without all this crashing to figure out the limit. honestly, this approach of his made me deeply uneasy well well before what happened at jerez 2020. that injury and aborted comeback didn't feel like a fluke, it didn't feel like bad luck - in an awful way, it did feel like it had been a long time coming. that being said... well, y'know, marc was the only one who could win titles on the late 2010s honda, and part of the reason for that was that he figured out how to get a capricious bike just to the limit during races. you do not need to chuck the bike down the road fifty times per season to win the title on the ducati. pecco and jorge have very much shown that. sometimes it will just be dumb luck who gets injured or not! the sachsenring crash yesterday you can't really put down to marc being stupid or being irresponsible. he was hardly the only one who fell, weather conditions were tricky, shit does happen (not ideal that he tried to save the crash specifically because he knew his other bike had problems, plus the thing where he went out again before going to the medical centre, mind you). sometimes you fall a lot and you're fine, like marc for most of his prime. sometimes you crash at the start of the race and fall in front of the pack and your survival is up to fate. which is of course what happened last year to pecco, still one of the scariest crashes I've ever seen live in terms of crashes where you really do think you just got very very close to watching someone be killed in real time. this is the thing, right... at the end of the day, you can hope that marc finds an approach that relatively minimises the risk to his body - but also, you can only control so much. especially with where his body is at right now, there's only so many bad knocks you can take. you never know, you can only hope

overall, I have been thinking for a while that it's almost a bit... odd? how the physical stuff hasn't really featured at all in 2025-26 hot takes? I reckon people don't really want to think about it playing a big role, and also I suppose 'well one of them could get injured' is treated as just an underlying assumption of following motorcycle racing... but like we saw with catalunya last year, it's not just stuff that takes you out for ten races that can have big title race repercussions. especially given how marc traditionally went about winning titles, how big a part of that process it was for him. we've had such an incredible lucky streak from the start of the season until mugello that being afraid of injuries has almost... receded a little bit? in everyone's minds? after last year, in particular, where it just felt like you were always worrying about someone, it was just so relentless... and now injury worries have just come back with a vengeance these last few weeks and it is a little scary. a lot of this is scary. no real escaping it I'm afraid

but yes! anon! I agree with you! we'll get back to the smile and we'll get back to the optimism too.. at the end of the day, you can only do what you can do. we'll see what happens. if we're all massively underestimating just how much that sweet red bull cash can do and ktm comes out with a rocket ship next year and pedro wins the next ten titles, so be it. you never know

[samkerrworshipper]

the lawn is dead

it’s suicide awareness month and i want to emphasise the importance of reaching out. you are loved. there are options. you will be missed. suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems. you can get better. you are not a lost cause. talk to somebody.

warnings: reader discretion advised. heavy suicide, self harm, depression themes

There was an overall assumption that all children were born innocent.

Not you.

You swore that when you were born, a coin was flipped, and it landed on the complete wrong side.

Sometimes you felt like your brain and body were disconnected, that everything inside of you worked separately, like you were a sewed together body on the inside, a internal frankenstein.

It was tough feeling like you didn’t belong in your own boyd, but it was even harder when you knew that you were an imposter inside.

It was ironic, that you had imposter syndrome, and yet there was nothing wrong with your life.

There had been.

Had. No longer. Past tense.

You’re supposed to be happy, you suppose. You have the world at your feet, you have the life everybody wants, the world is your oyster.

It doesn’t matter how many times you rotate those thoughts through your split up brain, it never sinks in, because there is a deeply onset belief inside of you that can’t deny the dishonesty behind the words.

You should be happy, you should be utilising the gifts you’ve been given, you should be appreciating the life you have, and yet all of it just feels like a big ball of tangled up yarn, a clump of knots and mess that makes no sense.

You’re not allowed to feel numb, so you try and pinpoint what it is that you are feeling.

Are is too hard, so you start with aren’t.

You aren’t mad, you aren’t sad or it doesn’t feel like normal sadness, you’re definitely not happy, not scared, are not anxious, it feels like nothingness.

Yet nothingness doesn’t feel so all consuming, nothingness is lying in bed down in bed and doomscrolling until somehow 8 hours have passed and you’ve wasted a whole day and don’t find yourself caring. Nothingness is sitting down in the shower and covering your ears with your hands and finding solace in the intense rain noises. Nothingness is driving until you forget where you were supposed to be going and have autopiloted your way to the opposite side of town somehow. Nothingness is being so obsolete of your own body that everything is a fog, nothing makes sense, you’re devoid of all emotions and all the discombobulated sections of your body.

If anything, this is everythingness, this is all the feelings in the world beating down across your skin. You’re itching with agitation, itching with everything in your life and yet none of it penetrates the surface beyond the rotor of thoughts that continue to circulate like the blood in your veins.

It’s like your sitting inside a plastic bubble, and every variable is crashing down against the plastic. It’s all there, it’s crashing down, but it doesn’t touch you, it doesn’t penetrate, there is just a constant reminder that it’s all there. If you try to break out of the bubble you’re forced to face it, but you feel like you’re suffocating and the bubble is slowly depriving you of oxygen.

A part of you wouldn’t mind for it to suck the life out of you.

Sometimes it’s inevitable, letting the thoughts in your brain win, or syncing the truth out so much that it all distorts into a messy mixture of non-emotions that are more hurtful then helpful.

You’re in a weird funk, that’s hwat you keep telling yourself. With injuries and off-season and change of seasons. You tell yourself that it’s unescapable, that there aren’t any ways to escape the deadly habit that is you’re self-inflicted brain rotting and slowly decomposing.

There are outlets, there are options, but in it;s current state you’re brain denounces them all.

Occasionally, you’re brain falls into the same death trap that it was conditioned into as a child. Survival was solely your own responsisbility, there was no leaning, no relying, just yourself and your own strategies that occasionally kept you functioning.

Most of the time you were fine, most of the time you were able to isolate the darkest, disconnected fragments of your body but not all the time.

Sometimes you don’t though.

Every so often, you suffocate yourself, intentionally or unintentionally isn’t always clear, sometimes you’re so lacking on oxygen and everything that makes survival a possibility that you just stop. Those times, when you stop, when you fall, when you plummet. It’s when you drop into the death pit of unthinkable thoughts.

It’s when you get to the part of your brain that you wish had never been stitched up with all the others.

You try and avoid it, if you work hard on a normal day then you can normally disconnect it from the functioning parts that you rely on, but occasionally, when you’re left to fend for yourself that one part that’s normally off, lights up like a christmas tree.

It flashes bright red, like a alarm in the deepest parts of your brain, and it won’t stop flashing until you do something about it.

You’ve got coping mechanisms that you’ve developed over the years, running, football, eating, cooking, reading, sleeping, sex. None of it has even begun to strike the surface, normally your best bet was sleeping it off, depression, or depressive thoughts always seemed to fade with sunlight, it was the moments in the dark when everything suddenly felt… heavier.

You hadn’t been able to sleep since you’d gotten injured, everything was harder when you had so much weight on your back. Weight to recover, weight to get stronger, weight to be the same on the pitch.

It was a minor injury, some grief with your ankle ligaments that weren’t actually injured but also weren’t fixed, it was annoying, and everyday was a drag.

A drag of back and forth recovery and rest that had your mind buzzing from the inside.

It was no secret that you didn’t handle injuries well, you craved the physicality of being a professional athlete, your brain needed the stimulation that it involved. Without it, you struggled, it was clear to everybody around you that you couldn’t function sitting on the sidelines, it had inevitably made you crazy.

You were walking on eggshells, your friends had tried to point it out to you and you’d ignored it up until now.

It was impossible to ignore it at this stage though.

It was all you could think about, the constant pain, the overwhelming brain fuzz, the weight of it all.

Over and over and over and over and over again.

Your hands are shaking, your breaths are staggered, your skin is prickly, your throat is dry, your body is cold and there is a deep set pain in the centre of your stomach that no matter how many times you try and shift it away nothing works.

You’re too deep.

Your whole life, it had always been your biggest wish that the part of you that was broken and threaded together would fix itself, medication made it manageable, therapy made it calmer, but sometimes in life it was impossible to contain the uncontainable. Life was unpredictable, and yet your circumstances were on trend with how your life had been recently.

You should have seen this coming, but a part of you thinks that you did and you’d been content with letting all of these thoughts infiltrate deep in your mind.

Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror, and you can’t even notice it, it’s like all of the pain and trauma will fall so far from the surface on occasion that you’re foolish enough to believe that maybe it’s all finally gone.

Not now, not at all.

But a part of you wants to make it all gone.

It’s all you can think about, you know how easy it would be, you have it all planned out.

The letters are written, the plan has been made for years, it’s your execution that is lacking.

You aren’t scared, you are more than happy for a big blac cloud of nothingness to come and take you from your life, it would make it all so much easier.

You just need to know that you’ll succeed.

Failure is not an option, in ever single part of your life it hasn’t ever been. But specifically with your life.

If you’re out, you’re out, end of sentence.

There isn’t any recovery, there isn’t any coming back, no psych holds, no hospitals, no treatment, just death. It’s an answer, it’s conclusive. Right now it would solve all of your problems, literally, you could count on every single finger and toe how it would solve the fucked-up puzzle of your life. Normally, there is always something holding you back though. Football had been the main excuse for most times, the headlines would be miserable and all of the fuss and fake-sentiment would be so much worse. Once it had been because you were in love, and that was the best reason. But, like most thing you were unable to keep it alive, and so it died out.

It was all a metaphor for your life, football had been good, until it all slowly self-detonated, love had been good but you were a ticking time bomb of sabotage.

It would be oh so easy.

You knew the tips and tricks, you’d been thinking about it for years. Four long vertical lines, deep enough to need stitches but not deep enough that it would all fade immediately. You wanted to feel the pain, you wanted it all to be a big black and red painful mess, your vision swimming and body giving up because of the pain, not because of the damage you’d done.

It sounded so perfect.

It would be oh so easy, nobody would even notice, it would probably be days before anybody even realised you were gone. You would fade from earth and life like nothing, and nobody would care, and you were happy for it to be that way. You were happy to just disappear, you wanted it all to end.

It’s all hitting that hard, you don’t want help, you don’t want to feel normal, you don’t want treatment, you don’t want meds, you just want to be gone. You normally experience life with so many emotions, too many, but right now, in the bubble of your depression, the only think you feel is a desire to vanish.

There isn’t any hesitation, nothing holding you back as you pick up your poison of choice. It’s always been the same since you were a teenager, you’ve known how you’d go out from the minute it had gone downhill from the very first time. That had been a long time ago now, but not much had changed. Sure, maybe your face had matured a bit, you’re body had changed with being a professional athlete, and you weren’t as self destructive but really when it all boiled down nothing had truly changed.

You were the same broken, lost and alone girl that you had always been.

The same girl hiding in the corner of her bathroom in a pair of sweats that made her body seem so much smaller then it was, a razor blade in one shaky hand and the other hand busy forcing the sleeve of her hoodie up, leaving a easily accessible patch of skin.

It was the same old routine, except this time with a different intention.

You had your scars, you had your invisible marks that nobody could see but you. You were as good at hiding them as you were at your depleting mental health. Over the years you’d learnt how to hurt yourself without leaving permanent marks, you’d learnt how to hide it all from the people closest to you.

Until Alexia.

Love made a person dumb, and being in love with Alexia made you happier then you’d ever experienced and from the moment fireworks had gone off between the two of you, your barriers had fallen down. It had been good, until it hadn’t. Once again, you were left all alone, due to your own self-destructive habits. You couldn’t let yourself be happy, you didn’t know what long term happiness looked like for you and it was terrifying.

It had all been downhill from there, if there was no happiness in the future for you then what was the point? Your life was blowing up, football was the only thing you’d ever lived for and you still had football but football wasn’t for ever, if there was nothing beyond that then what was the point. You didn’t have a education, and whilst you earnt a decent amount off of football, it wasn’t enough to live off of, and now you had nobody else to live for.

Your life, from your perspective, had become pointless.

Whilst you were certain that your behaviour and gone unnoticed, that was far from the truth.

Most of your teammates had picked up on your particularly low mood. You weren’t ever the happiest person in the locker room, one of the more lowkey people who always allowed yourself to fade into the shadows. But that didn’t mean that people didn’t notice you, especially the people who had come to care for you.

You were injured, and that had come to be the main justification for your particularly down moods, but there was also a sneaking suspicion across some of your teammates that something more was wrong, that there was some other kind of cause for the way you dragged yourself around the gym and rooms during your days spent doing rehab.

You looked lifeless, like everything human about you had been drained.

Alexia knew it was something more, in her time with you, she’d learnt about your struggles and just when she thought that you’d started to open up to her, you’d cut it all off. So whilst she didn’t know the extensive history, she knew you had your demons, and that whatever was haunting you this time around wasn’t going to dissapear anytime soon.

Alexia could say that she didn’t care about you anymore, but it would make her a liar.

She’d always hoped that the two of you would make your way back to eachother, that you’re insistence that the two of you weren’t meant to be was overshadowed by the doubt you’d always about the relationship would somehow flip and you’d realise no matter how many issues you had Alexia was prepared to love you through all of them.

But as the time passed from the breakup, you only distanced yourself more. The person that Alexia had tried to bring out shrunk right back into it’s shell. Everyone on the team had been elated to see you find your footing with Alexia, it was the first time in your years at Barca that everyone started to meet you as a person and not just as a footballer. Alexia thought it had meant things were looking up for you, but all good things came to an end.

You’d been appearing like you’d slowly been slipping further down a slope, the bags underneath your eyes getting bigger, your sluggish behaviour getting worse, your determination to do you rehab dwindling and your willingness to interact with any person at the club being completely non-existent.

You were anti-social at the best of times, but completely diverting from all interactions was new for you and Alexia hadn’t been the only one to notice, it was evident to anybody with a brain that something was wrong, Alexia had no idea though just how wrong it all was.

The coincidence of an away Madrid game during the time that it was clear you were tanking was something that Alexia was particularly annoyed by. There was no plausible excuse for her to stay back from the trip, she was the captain, and she was perfectly fit to play. Plus, she had no obligation to you, you’d washed your hands of Alexia months ago and whilst Alexia still felt lingering concern for you she couldn’t justify staying back for what could potentially be nothing.

That didn’t mean though that she was going to just leave you be, not when she was so certain that there was something truly wrong.

Alexia wasn’t exactly sure of the severity of your trauma. She knew that your relationship with your parents was frayed to say the least, that you didn’t talk to them at all anymore and every time Alexia had tried to ask about them she had been met with a cold shoulder. So after a few tries she’d stopped trying, she didn’t know what it was like to have a disconnected family, she couldn’t relate or empathise with your issues and it killed her.

She knew you took medications, she had no idea what, you kept your daily medication closely guarded, but she knew it had something to do with your mental health. She didn’t ask about it, Alexia had been through your shut downs with you, and she knew broaching the subject of your mental health could be so detrimental to your mindset. She let you show her as much as you wanted to, she ignored the scars on your body, ignored the way that she recognised the complete disregard you had for your body. It was clear in every single aspect of your life that you had a little bit less concern then everybody else did. You put your body on the line in football, in ways that made Alexia furious. You didn’t flinch away from pain, if anything you stepped into the line of fire.

You hid injuries, you hid sickness, you pushed through it all. It was terrifying for Alexia as a partner to watch you continuously put yourself on the line and act like it was completely nothing. By the end of your relationship it was getting hard to watch it happen.

Your ankle injury was a result of that, you hadn’t even been the one ton sideline yourself. It had fallen down to Irene catching a glimpse of your purple and black swelled up ankle after a training session and her marching you to the team physio to get it checked out. It wasn’t shocking to Alexia, but it did make her wonder how many time you’d chosen to hide your pain in favour of putting up a brave face and pushing through, in all aspects of your life.

Alexia was worried and yet she felt as though she had no right to be.

She’d let you push her away, knowing that in some way or another it could be hurting not just her but you, realisatically she couldn’t do anything about it. If you didn’t want to be in a relationship with her she couldn’t force you, but a part of her thought she might have let go a little to easy.

For her, you would be the one that got away.

She wasn’t ready to let you get away yet though.

Really, if she thought about it, it was Mapi who had highlighted that you weren’t okay, and that maybe it was time for somebody to reach out to you. Mapi had come to care a lot about you, she’d seen how broken both you and Alexia were after the split, Alexia was still functioning though, you seemed like you were losing energy for life as everyday passed.

Mapi had been the one to suggest that she’d check on you whilst everyone else was gone, Mapi being stuck behind with some minor twinges in her knee, it was more precautionary than anything that she took the weekend off. She was more then happy though to be a good friend and spend some extra time with you if it meant getting to the bottom of whatever had been going on.

Her intentions had been to bring around a fresh meal, her mama’s old tapa recipe that always managed to light up Ingrid’s face. If her tapas earned her a way into your apartment then she was hoping to sit down with you, maybe have a chat, watch whatever football watch was on. Something, she wanted some kind of proof that you were okay, that even though you were going through a rough time that you manage, that at some point you would come out of this funk and you would go back to the old version of yourself. Maybe better, maybe you would unearth some kind of happiness from you situation and you would be better off because of it.

Mapi knew the odds of all of that were drastically low, but she was also the optimist of everything, it was the reason that she was so good at making uncomfortable people feel more settled in the team. She knocked on your front door with a extra bit of pep in her, hope that somehow she was going to resolve all of the underlying issues that everyone had been expressing for weeks now but had been too afraid to unearth. Mapi was certain that her approach might actually help, that instead of being the authoritative figure that Alexia, Irene, Marta and Patri were as your captains. Mapi was here as a friend, nothing more and nothing less and she hoped that would maybe encourage you to open up to her.

Mapi waited at least a minute after her initial knock before knocking again.

Your car had been beside Mapi’s when she’d parked downstairs, so she knew you were home. It wasn’t late, but it also wasn’t early enough that Mapi could rule out the possibility of you being asleep. Alexia had shoved her old key to your apartment into Mapi’s hand before she’d left, there weren’t any instructions, but the pure desperation in Alexia’s eyes was making Mapi feel compelled to use it.

Her third knock on the door was met with more silence.

You were probably sleeping.

There were parts of Mapi crawling with the emerging feeling of anxiety, she just needed to see you. You’d skipped your gym session today, something that was extremely abnormal for you, it had been worrying enough for Mapi, but you not responding to her now was sending her into a full on spiral.

“It’s Mapi, if you could open up for me please chica, I have some food for you.”

Mapi doesn’t even hear furniture creak.

She repeats what she said again, and is met with complete silence.

“Chica, are you in there? Are you awake? Just answer me, you don’t have to open the door.”

Mapi, if she looks really hard, can make out the faintest glow underneath your door, maybe a lamp?

Mapi waits a few more seconds, and sprinkles in some aggressive knocks. She’s met with nothing in response.

She digs around desperately in her pocket for the key, her fingers eventually coming into contact with the weight of the key in the back pocket of her jeans.

She pulls it up to the door knob with regret coursing through her veins, she doesn’t feel good about invading your privacy, but she feels even worse about everything else, and it’s all enough to overshadow her concern for your feelings about being left alone. After all, you might just be asleep.

The key makes a click after Mapi turns it counterclockwise twice, Mapi reaches for the door knob, it’s the final barrier between her and you, and without much hesitation she pushes the knob down and it opens.

Mapi shivers with the frigid breeze that comes at her as she steps into your apartment.

As soon as her foot hits your wooden floor she can tell something is off, she doesn’t know what but she can just feel it.

Mapi walks into your apartment slowly, with a quick scan of your kitchen and living space she is certain the room is empty. She leaves her dish of tapas on the couter of your kitchen and surveys the room before hesitantly making her way into your hallway. The door to your guest room is open, so naturally Mapi looks in there first.

“Chica, I came in to drop off some food, are you home?”

Mapi, whilst she can’t physically see you anywhere, has a weird kind of sense that you are here, she’s just not sure where.

The guest room is completely empty, in fact, mapi is sure that there is dust lying on top of the spare sheets. She can’t remember the last time you mentioned having somebody stay, at the very start of your signing to Barca, occasionally girls from your National team would come and visit during breaks. Mapi remembers that time, she wouldn’t have said you were happy, but you seemed a bit more content. It was best Mapi had seen you before Alexia.

Mapi is fairly familiar with your apartment, between game nights, post game drinks and double dates she’d spent enough time in your apartment to know where everything was.

Your main bathroom was empty, leaving your bedroom and ensuite.

Mapi felt like she’d invaded enough of your privacy, your bedroom might be the over step.

But there was the clawing feeling, the same feeling that she’d gotten when she’d walked into the apartment that something was wrong, and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight without getting to the bottom of it.

So with much apprehension, Mapi walks the rest of the way down the hallway and to the door of your bedroom.

Mapi swears that she has sweat through her shirt, even though your apartment feels colder than the Norwegian winter she’d recently experienced.

Her hands are all sweaty, the same they get before any match, she doesn’t know where her nerves are coming from, she doesn’t have anything to worry about, yet.

Mapi knocks as quietly on your bedroom door as possible, she’s made her mind up that if you are sleeping she’ll leave a note with her tapas and take her leave, she doesn’t need to disturb you.

“Chica, I came here to drop some food off, just make a noise and I’ll leave you.”

Mapi waits for what feels like eternity, and after a long stretch of silence she takes the leap.

She opens the door as quietly as possible, and feels defeated when she spots your complete empty bed.

Everything looks normal, in a weird kind of way. Your sheets are made up, almost pedantically. All the corners tucked in and pillows positioned like they would be in a catalogue.

The only light in the room is the light that is filtering in from your ensuite, underneath the door. It’s bright enough that Mapi can see around the room.

She wants to leave. But she can’t, not without checking.

There is a off chance that you’ve gone on a walk, an activity that definitely was not approved by your physios but she supposed you’d never really obeyed them in the first place.

It’s one last room, your apartment seems so devoid of life that Mapi is confident that it’ll be empty.

She tiptoes across your bedroom, everything about this feels so wrong, like she’s invading somebody’s life that she doesn’t even know anything about.

Mapi knocks on your bathroom door.

“Chica, if you’re in there, just let me know and I’ll leave you be.”

Silence. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a squeak.

Mapi’s hand is so sweaty that it nearly slips off of the handle on the door, she doesn’t know why she’s nervous, she doesn’t have any reason to be nervous. Yet it also feels like there are a millon under lying reasons.

Mapi plucks up the courage, because she has to, and twists the knob.

Away games are always a weird mixture of relaxing but also having absolutely no time to yourself.

Alexia’s least favourite part about away games is team bonding. Following the first team dinner of every away trip it’s customary to do some kind of team bonding exercise. She understands that it’s important, but after a long train trip to Madrid the last thing she wants is to spend hours trying to get out of an escape room with no phone and all of the younger girls talking her ear off. What Alexia wants is to get back to the hotel and sleep. Yet she’s stuck in a confined space with girls that she loves but wants nothing more to get away from.

Caro and Keira seem to be in the same mindset as her, the three of them all keeping as far away from the ruckus as possible. After two hours of the madness, Vicky of all people manages to get to the bottom of the puzzle and somehow unlocks the door, Alexia isn’t sure of the logistics of it and she doesn’t really care.

The girls all celebrate as the file out, but there is an overall feeling that everybody is ready to head back to the hotel and go to sleep.

Phones are handed back and Alexia almost pockets hers, to tired to look at whatever messages or instagram notifications she has. But it’s the sea of missed calls that catch her attention.

Alexia’s heart drops.

She’s got dozens of missed calls from Mapi and she knows from the minute she sees her call log that something is wrong.

All Mapi can remember is the amount of blood.

It was so red against your white bathroom tiles.

So much blood. Mapi was certain that there wasn’t that much blood in the human body, and yet it just kept leaking out, even as she pressed your towels to your arm, it kept leaking through.

She vaguely remembers going through her very basic medical training. Checking your pulse, it took a while for her to find it but eventually she does. She doesn’t know if it weak or it’s just her shaking hands that can’t pin your pulse down.

She uses a leftover hair tie on her wrist as a tourniquet, she doesn’t think it’s working but she has nothing else.

Compression.

She vaguely remembers her call with the emergency services, struggling to find words but forcing them out of her mouth because she had to.

The lady on the other side of the phone talks her through it, tells Mapi that she’s doing the right things, she walks Mapi through what to do if you stop breathing. Mapi thinks you are, your chest lifts every so slightly every few seconds, but it’s so subtle Mapi swears she might be imagining it.

The lady tells Mapi that eventually your blood should clot, but Mapi finds it hard to believe. Her hands and shirt are covered in blood, your blood, it’s everywhere, red and thick and it’s overwhelming Mapi. Your bathroom looks like a crime scene, a murder scene, and Mapi supposes it almost is.

When the paramedics show up, Mapi doesn’t know what to do, they’re so methodical. One of them talks to Mapi whilst their partner attends to you, Mapi’s hands are shaking, her hands, covered in your blood. She should have taken that extra medical course that they’d offered all the players at the start of the season, maybe it would have prepared her better. Nothing prepares a person for what Mapi just did though, no amount of medical training or training courses could ever prepare a person for what Mapi just saw.

The paramedic assures Mapi that she did everything right, that you wouldn’t be alive without her, and those words make it all worse. Dead. You could have been dead. The paramedic offers to take Mapi to the hospital with you, but she declines, she needs a minute, she needs to have a second to think about herself. The paramedic tells Mapi the name of the hospital they’ll be taking you and takes her name and number to give to the nurses as your contact.

They whisk you off right in front of Mapi’s eyes.

Your body is white, you look so lifeless.

Once you’re gone, Mapi closes the door to your bathroom, she can’t look in there, not at the raw amount of evidence that you’ve left behind. It’s already all over her body, she doesn’t need to see anymore of it.

She sits down on your tight sheets, and she realises that there is a piece of paper sitting at the edge of your bed, a letter.

Mapi cries when she sees it, she lets it all out.

It’s addressed to Alexia and Mapi doesn’t need to read it to know what it’s intention was, what your intentions were, if it wasn’t already confirmed then this only assures it.

Mapi leaves red finger prints on it, picking it up and collecting some of your clothes from your wardrobe before leaving your apartment.

Alexia clicks on Mapi’s contact with so much fear coursing through her body, she’s praying that it’s not here mami, not when Alexia is away.

“Ale-Alexia, thank god you picked up, gracias a dios.”

Mapi’s voice is quivering, Alexia’s not sure if she’s ever heard her voice like that before.

“Maria, what’s wrong? Why did you call so many times?”

There is a sob on the other end of the line, and Alexia starts to pray, to any god that whatever Mapi is about to tell her isn’t going to be bad, she can’t handle bad news right now.

“She was supposed to be sleeping, I was so sure she was sleeping. There was so much blood, I thought, I didn’t think there was enough blood in a person’s veins but there was so much of it, it just kept leaking out of her.”

Alexia’s heart and stomach are at her feet, she clutches for a wall, a solid form that she can rely on so that she doesn’t collapse.

“Who, Maria, who? What are you talking about, where are you?”

There is another sob, a deep sob, like Mapi’s being tortured.

“Y/n, I went to visist her like you’d asked, an-and she was, I thought she was dead.”

Alexia heart feels like it’s on a rollercoaster, like it’s returned to a normal level for a second, before plummeting even deeper.

“What do you mean Maria, what are you talking about.”

Somebody in the group must have realised Alexia’s discomposure, because she can feel a group of eyes on her, like everybody is trying to figure out what is happening on the other end of the phone.

“She left a letter, she-she I thought she was dead Ale, why would somebody do that to themselves? Why would she want to do that to herself.”

Alexia is aware that Mapi is clearly in some kind of post-traumatic state, that it’s going to be hard to get to the bottom of this but she’s managed to string the details together. From what Mapi’s said, you’re still alive, but it can’t be good, not by how Mapi has made it sound.

“Maria, I need you to listen to me. Where are you? Where is she? What is wrong with her.”

Alexia can hear Mapi trying to take some deep breaths on the other side of the line, somewhere in the crowd Ingrid is pushed forward, looking at Alexia with so much confusion. Mapi doesn’t often have anxiety or panic attacks, but if she were, Ingrid is certain that she would be the first person for Mapi to call, yet she’s received none.

“I-I’m at the hospital with her, she’s been moved to the ICU, I haven’t seen her yet but the nurses told me they had to perform CPR in the ambulance and that she was rushed to surgery when she got here. She’s been stable since but she’s in critical condition.”

Alexia doesn’t know what to do, she wants to be with you.

“Maria, I’m going to hand you off to Ingrid okay, talk to her, let her calm you down. I’m going to talk to the staff and try and figure out a way for me to come home, talk to Ingrid, okay?”

Ingrid looks confused but takes the phone from Alexia regardless, allowing Alexia to walk towards the staff, her face sullen and body hurting from the pressure of all of this.

Mapi thinks you look worse, somehow.

All of the wires and cords and the bags and needles make your body look wrong. Nobody should need so many weird connections, yet considering the state you were in Mapi is oddly comforted by it all, she wants you to be getting as much help as your body needs.

She still got your blood on her, one of the nice nurses had helped her to wash it off her hands and arms, and Mapi had stolen one of your sweatshirts she’d haphazardly grabbed as a replacement for her shirt, but she can still feel it on her body.

She’s been sitting in the same chair since the nurses let her in to your room, it’s next to the window, so when Mapi feels compelled to cry, or can’t handle looking at your body any longer because it gives her a flashback, she looks out the window at the bustling city of Barcelona below her and it oddly comforts her. Life goes on, everyone elses life goes on, but yours almost didn’t.

Her mind goes to dark places thinking about the what if she hadn’t of come to check on you? Mapi knows the answer to that question, even a few minutes later and your body would have been even more lifeless then when Mapi found it, except maybe instead of most of life being drained from you, all of it would have been.

They still don’t know for sure what it’s going to look like when you wake up, Mapi was hardly paying attention when the doctors came to talk to her, they were speaking so many words that Mapi couldn’t even pretend to know the meaning of. She remembers bits and pieces, the parts that she knew she’d have to remember in case Alexia called again and wanted an update.

You’d lost a lot of blood but they were working to try and replenish it, you’d needed nearly 100 stitches all together, the scars were all about 6 inches long and just almost ½ and inch deep. You didn’t hit any major arteries or veins, but you grazed one of them and that was most likely why you bled so much. Your blood might have not clotted because of the antidepressants in your system potentially mixed with the ibuprofen you were taking for your ankle. They don’t know when you are going to wake up but they emphasise you sleeping isn’t a bad thing because you’re body is getting the rest that it needs to repair itself.

Mapi doesn’t understand the measurements or the way medications work, she knows your body needs rest but she also desperately just wants you to wake up. Selfishly, even if it’s just for a second so that she knows that you are okay, so that she can stop blaming herself for killing you. She’s always going to somewhat blame herself for this, but you dying would be the straw that broke the camels back.

Alexia doesn’t think the whole way back to Barcelona, the staff managed to get her on the last flight out of the night, with Ingrid.

They both don’t say a word after Alexia briefs Ingrid on what she learnt from Mapi on the phone, it’s nowhere near enough information and it leaves Alexia’s brain stumbling, she’s so uncertain of everything.

There is a chauffeur waiting for them at the airport which takes them straight to the hospital, Alexia doesn’t even pretend to be flattered when the reception staff immediately know who she is and takes her straight to your room. She has one concern. Everything else is just background noise to her.

Seeing you makes Alexia feel sick, literally, it’s a few seconds before she feels the bile rising. It’s been building for hours now and she rushes into the bathroom adjacent to your room and ungracefully let’s her stomach go directly into the toilet bowl.

Once she’s done and she feels less like her heart is going to fall out of her throat she gets up and puts on a brave face, walking back into your room.

Mapi has tears streaming down her face, Ingrid is trying to talk to her but Alexia can tell that none of it is getting through to her.

“Mapi, what happened?”

Alexia wants to know, she needs to know, she needs to know how you got here.

Mapi is shaking, her whole body, it’s almost scary the way that her body vibrates against the chair she’s sitting in.

“I-I went to check in on her, dios mios, it was so cold, she was-she-.”

Ingrid stops Mapi.

“Alexia, we can do this later, she can’t handle this right now.”

Ingrid looks as terrified as Alexia feels, but her fear is for Mapi, it makes sense, Mapi is the love of her life. Alexia doesn’t think she’s entitled to the same fear, she let you go.

“No-no, she wants to know.”

It’s clear that every word is pulling Mapi further and further apart, but she pushes through.

“I-I just needed to see her, I went through all the rooms until I got to her bathroom.”

She lets out a sob before continuing.

“There was so much blood, it was all coming from her arm, I tried my best, I tried my best.”

Mapi sobs again, this time it’s so deep and guttural that Alexia is so horrified about what is to come.

“I tried to stop it. She was supposed to be sleeping, I thought she was just sleeping. She was unconscious, blood everywhere, and it just kept coming, it wouldn’t stop. I tried my best.”

Ingrid is murmuring words into Mapi’s ear, Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she actually can’t think of a single word to say.

“I called the ambulance, but she coded in the ambulance, they had to give her so many stitches, so much blood.”

Mapi keeps repeating the same words, over and over again, like it’s a mantra.

Alexia needs to stop it, for her bestfriends sake.

She walks to the otherside of the room, gently pushing Ingrid to the side so she can squat down in front of Mapi.

“Maria look at me. You did your best, you saved her life. You are no more to blame for this then anybody else is. You did so well, she’s alive because of you, she is breathing and sitting in front of us because of you. You did that.”

Mapi doesn’t look like she believes Alexia, but it’s a reprieve from whatever trance she was in.

“How about you and Ingrid go and get something to eat, I’ll stay here with her, if anything happens I’ll call you, okay?”

Mapi looks apprehensive to get up, but Alexia watches Ingrid give her a look and it’s the first time since Alexia’s walked into this room that she sees a little bit of normality return to Mapi’s face.

“Sh-she left you a letter. I think you should read it.”

Mapi pushes it into Alexia’s hands like it’s poisonous.

“Thank you Mapi, I will, go and take a break.”

Alexia presses a kiss to Mapi’s hand, before moving to allow Ingrid to help her up. Mapi is uneasy on her feet and for a second Alexia thinks she might collapse or vomit. She eventually finds her footing though and follows Ingrid out of the room.

Alexia looks down at the letter.

It’s got dried blood finger prints on it, she presumes from Mapi, it secures all of this in some weird way. This is all actually happening.

Alexia takes her time opening it, this is tangible evidence of all of this and a part of Alexia wants nothing more then for it to disappear, so she can pretend none of this has happened.

She wasn’t even there for it, she can’t imagine what Mapi went through, she already feels like every part of her has been stripped away with this.

She feels like she’s an imposter in this all, she doesn’t know what to do.

You’ve never expressed to her anything about family or parents, she doesn’t think it would be right to call them without your permission. She wants to call her own mami but that feels a bit silly, although she knows somehow her mami would give her all the right advice. She doesn’t want to talk about any of it though, it feels wrong. This is such a personal issue, she doesn’t even think she should know about it, she doesn’t have any right considering that Alexia could have very well contributed to this whole issue.

The letter is white, off white possibly, it’s hard to tell with the harsh fluorescent lighting.

The marks that would have been bright red at some stage have faded to a dull reddish brown, it’s imprinted deep into the paper.

Alexia flips it over, gently opening the seal with her fingernail and letting the flap open up.

The paper inside is the same colour, except even though she can only see the flip side it’s clear that there is black scrawl all over it.

Alexia could make it disappear, act like she read it, it would make it all so much easier, it would save her a lot of emotions that she really doesn’t feel prepared to feel. But she doesn’t get to make that decision, she needs to read this, for you and for her.

Dear Alexia,

If you’re reading this then chances are I’m already gone, if I’m not then something went wrong and for that I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that any of this was about you, or that you or anybody else was responsible. I made this decision, I’ve been thinking about this long before you came and I would have spent everyday thinking about it, no action or intervention would have changed that.

I don’t know how to explain it, but life is different for me. I don’t experience things the same way, I don’t get happy when I spend time with friends, I don’t get happy when it’s sunny outside. I’ve tried it all, I’ve tried to make it work, tried to live life in my body. I think a part of me was always separate though, and as much as I’ve tried to make it work there is no point in trying to fix something that is always going to be broken.

Being with you was the first time that my brain felt quiet, that I kind of felt the experience of happiness that everyone else feels. You made it all better, everything with you felt better, it felt normal. All I ever wanted was to be a normal person, and you made me feel like that. It’s not fair of me to be saying that, you deserved better then me, it wasn’t fair for me to burden you with all of this shit. Fucked up is never not fucked up, you can’t uncrumple a crumpled piece of paper, it will always be creased. I want you to know that I didn’t do this to you, i did this for you. It wasn’t fair weighing you down, I know it wasn’t easy for you when we broke up, you deserve to focus on football. You deserve to have a good life, you deserve to be free. I don’t want you to feel bad, I don’t want you to feel like you’re responsible. Live your life, be happy, for me, experience it all, because I couldn’t.

I’m not myself anymore, although I don’t think I ever was myself. It always kind of feels like i’ve been different people in my own body, and this time i couldn’t handle it. I don’t want to feel devoid anymore, I want to be free. My identity has always been identified as being a good footballer, a great footballer, and I don’t even think I can say that I am that anymore. I am nothing, want to be nothing.

I’m sorry I never loved you back in the same way, I’m sorry I never reciprocated the endless graciousness and love tha you gave me. The smiles, the effort, the constant love, it was wasted on me and my biggest regret in life will be letting you waste it on me. It wasn’t fair, it’ll never be fair, because I loved you back and that perhaps was the most selfish act I’ve ever committed.

I’m sorry, there aren’t enough words that I could use to tell you just how sorry I am. I’m sorry that I burdened you with me, I’m sorry that I let myself be cared for by you, I’m sorry that you have to read this.

I’m sorry.

There wouldn’t have ever been anything I could have done to repair it, I didn’t want to live knowing that I would forever be in debt to you for this. I hope that eventually you will find peace in this, that some good will finally come of me.

Goodbye.

There are tears all over the page by the time Alexia gets to the bottom of the letter, she actually can’t comprehend what she’s just read, she swears that her mind must be playing tricks on her. Why would you think all of those things? What made you think all of those things?

Alexia feels sick again.

Did she make you feel that way? Did she make you feel like you weren’t deserving of living?

There are so many questions circulating her brain, and she doesn’t have a answer for a single one of them, because she doesn’t know. Suicide was your only option, one that could have been very permanent, it makes Alexia’s head swim. You believed that your only option to make it all stop was death. You found a permanent solution to something that Alexia’s considers a potentially temporary situation, had you reached out, had you tried to find help. She can’t criticise you, she can’t even begin to comprehend how hard it would be living as you have, and then having to try and talk to somebody else about that. A part of her wishes you had though, because maybe it would have saved her beind here.

Your body is the exact same it was the last time Alexia looked at you, but for some reason you feel different.

Alexia reaches out for your hand, it’s the arm that’s not covered in bandages. Your hands are cold, but she tries to ignore it. She focuses on the feeling of movement underneath her own hand, it’s the only real tangible proof she has that you are here with her, that you are alive.

Sure there is a beeping heart monitor, and other signs, but she just wants to feel you.

She holds your hand, because she swears that she’ll slip away. Alexia doesn’t know what to do, she doesn’t know how to help you but she promises herself that she’s going to be here, that she isn’t ever going to let you experience life the same way that you did without her being there for you.

—————————————————————

thoughts appreciated …. part 2?

another reminder that if you ever need anybody to talk to i am here, your life is worth living, you are worth it all. <3

[sexboobomb]

My current flavor of autism is where I can’t tell if the solution to my depressive mood is food, water, sleep, to raise/lower the temperature about 2°, an hour in a sensory deprivation tank, a brain-liquidating orgasm, a hug, or a lottery win.

It’s at least one of these things but fuck me I sure don’t know which one it is

[ronwestbreeze]

you're gonna go far | 3

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 8.2k warnings: depictions of depression (not too explicit)

read on ao3

The view of Pandora from the sky should’ve been amazing. Your heart should’ve leaped many times over as the Samson ship flew over many beautiful sights of nature. It should’ve finally occurred to you that you were on the planet of your dreams, that you were witnessing the life of Pandora, mask and all.

Instead, you just stared at the world as if you weren’t in your own body. Floating outside of it and looking down at yourself. It hurt that you practically didn’t recognize yourself anymore. And you wished you could blame it on your current circumstance but even before you were brought to Pandora, before your mother’s forest had withered away, you had always had this familiar feeling. This dislike of what you were becoming.

Bitter. Resentful. The child-like wonder, long gone. You hated what you saw. You hated how so easily you believed back then that your own mother would’ve abandoned you—forgotten you simply because she was on a different planet. How selfish could you have gotten?

You had been burying yourself in jealousy while your mother was already six feet below you.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted Jake flying next to the ship, on one of those winged creatures. You hadn’t noticed Norm, who sat across from you, watching your expression with a frown. You hadn’t realized he’d seen the dullness in your eyes, the exhaustion making you way older than you were. You weren’t even that old actually—but the world aged you. In a way, no one should have to experience.

“They’re called ikrans.” You dragged your eyes toward Norm who nodded his head toward the creature Jake was flying on. Both of you watched as he flew by and took to the front, leading the Samson ship. “It’s who the Na’vi bond with for life. And their way to get around. It’s a lot better than walking, I can tell you that.”

He chuckled a little while you nodded absentmindedly, barely taking in the information he was giving you.

“You’ll definitely appreciate the life here a lot more when you’re steering your avatar.” Norm added on after a pause. 

Okay, he must’ve noticed your lack of interest at some point, right? Why was he so adamant to have a conversation with you? What exactly was he trying to accomplish?

Your mind spurred slowly as you finally watched him, both warily and with interest. Maybe you could take advantage of his talkative mood and gain some type of understanding here. Maybe it would help your mind focus on anything else at the moment. That always helped. Forcing your brain to hyper-fixate on something else besides your own psyche.

“Tell me about the war.” You finally said to him. Norm raised his brows, startled. “Clearly, I have no idea what exactly happened a year before I arrived. And DeVoe didn’t either, considering she thought she would win against the attack on our ship. Clearly, she forgot that a lot could happen during five years of cryosleep.”

With that, he nodded, “Yes, you’re right.” You watched his thoughtful expression turn to sorrow, as his gaze went back to the view below them.

A view you should’ve been looking at too. But for some reason, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It hurt too much. It would only keep reminding you…

“There used to be this place called the Kelutral.” Norm began, finally, drawing your mind back to him. Refocusing your gaze on his grim features. “It was this big tree that the Omatikaya used to call their home until the RDA destroyed it for a bunch of unobtanium that was buried beneath the tree. Basically, the rich fucks took their home away and that caused the war that led us into exiling the RDA off this planet. Jake, who was considered an outsider before, helped reunite the other clans to defeat them, Toruk Makto. Because of this title, he was accepted into the Omatikaya, despite being a Sky Person as well.”

You watched him with a frown, taking in the brief, summarized story. “So what, should I become some great warrior to impress the natives too?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Norm shrugged with half a joking smirk but winced right after. “Don’t know if there’s a lot to choose from though.”

You scowled, not really in the mood to match his playful response, “And Sully knows what it’s like to be an outsider yet acts like a total dickhead still? Some guy.”

Norm awkwardly scratched the back of his head, “Your arrival did kind of spook us, and it happening a year after the RDA were gone too—it was just bad timing, really, Doc. I’m sure once this all cools down then Jake will, I don’t know, get his head out of his own ass and finally get it. But right now, he’s just—they’re all scared. And I can’t necessarily blame him for that either.”

Somewhere, behind all this anger, grief, and exhaustion, there was some part of you that did understand it.

But rationality was hard to come by now. Being reasonable was far from your grasp—in fact, you kicked it away out of spite. Every bit of you just wanted to embrace this anger, embrace this frustration.

You did not ask to be put here. To you, at this moment in time, that was all that mattered.

You were wronged. You were kidnapped. You weren’t responsible for what the RDA had done here—nor what your mother had accomplished on this planet. None of it had anything to do with you.

And for a brief moment, this selfishness felt right. There was no self-hatred for what you felt here. Because you were right to be pissed off at your situation. And no one was going to make you feel bad for it.

Norm didn’t. He took to being neutral. Understanding your side and the natives—which was somewhat fair. At least he didn’t completely write you off as some sort of destructive lost cause.

At some point, Jake maneuvered from the front of the ship to the side of it, gesturing for the pilot to land. You braced yourself as the Samson lowered itself to the ground, the trees flying around you from the spinning blades of the ship.

Once the ship was securely on the ground, you followed Norm off the ship just as Jake landed his winged creature—ikran—in a tree a few feet away from you. After adjusting the exopack you wore—again—Jake landed on the ground and flicked his head in the direction straight head.

“This way.”

The forest was vast and big around you. Perhaps even a bit scary if not for the natural lighting of the plants—bioluminescence—surrounding you. If your mind wasn’t so distracted, you would’ve thought it was absolutely beautiful and ethereal. Unlike anything you had seen in your life.

As you walked, many small creatures flew around you. One of them was a flying lizard which glowed along with the forest. A kenten, you remembered them from your mother’s videos. It flew around you for a bit until it moved on. For a moment, you watched it until you couldn’t see it much anymore as it flew further and further away.

You tried to will some type of amazement. Some type of awe. But nothing came to you. Nothing at all. So, you moved forward, forcing yourself to forget the flying lizard and focus on what was ahead of you.

The clan’s new home must’ve been close by since Jake decided to make them walk the rest of the way to it. Norm was still beside you, also in human form which was slightly comforting. At least you wouldn’t be the only puny creature here.

When you began spotting huts in trees, that’s when you realized you must’ve arrived. The first few practically blended in with the nature of Pandora. But as Jake led you deeper, more huts began to appear, more visible as you walked by. Natives were out and about as well. Children, women, and men alike.

Now you really felt small. Almost pathetic. Being among the Na’vi constantly reminded you of this. Even the children sometimes towered over you. The smallest one that you passed had to have reached your shoulder, and she looked young. Seven years old at least.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at the two of you every now and then, making sure that you were keeping up and that he didn’t lose his eyes on you. He wasn’t the only one watching you keenly, some of the natives did as well. Making you feel both self-conscious of yourself and rather irritated. It was like they wanted you to snap at them.

Next to you, Norm whispered. “The Tsahik, Mo’at, is pretty wise. Basically, everyone looks to her as a spiritual leader. A spokesperson. Interpreting the will of their deity, Eywa.”

“So why does she need to see me?” You questioned as Jake led the both of you to a hut, stopping just at the entrance of it.

Jake looked at you—his face still unreadable—“Wait here.” And he ducked inside. Leaving both you and Norm outside.

The scientist shifted next to you, “Probably to determine whether or not Eywa has truly chosen you.”

“Chosen me?” You repeated incredulously.

“Well, Neytiri did say that those woodspirites—atokirina—were around you earlier.”

“So?”

Norm frowned exasperatedly, “To them that means something. Which means your odds might not be looking too bad now.”

At that, you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the long curious looks sent your way by the natives. “You’re all more worried about my odds than me.”

He didn’t respond despite the question in his frown. You didn’t offer an explanation.

A minute or two later, Neytiri came out of the hut instead of Jake. She still held a thoughtful yet wary expression when looking down at you. “The Tsahik will see you now.”

Norm gave you a pat on your back, “Good luck.”

Again, not offering a response, you followed Neytiri into the hut, not before hearing Norm say behind you, “I’ll be out here if you need me—"

Inside the Tsahik’s hut, it was pretty spacious—probably because everything just looked much larger to you than it actually was. There were a lot of earthy materials—the air smelled of smoke, herbs, and spice of sorts. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelled on Earth.

A part of you expected this from a Na’vi shaman, so you didn’t observe too much of the space you were in.

Instead, you focused on your busy mind. Your walls going up to defend against any accusation attacks or insults that would be sent your way because of your species, because of your unwelcomed arrival here. Observing the unique hut wasn’t much of an option when your eyes settled on the woman at the center of it.

She was sitting on the ground, eyes focused on something in the wooden bowl she held in her four-fingered hand. She had yet to look up at you, but she didn’t tense at your presence. Not like how Jake did in the corner of your eye—whom you just now noticed standing near the entrance of the hut.

How you had missed his tall blue ass, you didn’t know. 

Your mind had been too blurred and defensive as soon as you stepped in. Not realizing until then that you were standing in front of the Tsahik of the Omatikaya Clan.

Suddenly, you felt intimidated. Like the type of intimidation, you were sure you were supposed to feel while facing Jake. Only you didn’t with him.

But with her? No, there was something about her that exuded something far more powerful than some scary Marine. She hadn’t even said anything yet and you for some reason stiffened at the sight of her.

Mo’at turned her attention to you. “Come, sawtute. Sit.”

Cautiously, you came forward and sat where Mo’at pointed. Neytiri had come inside shortly after, taking the spot behind Mo’at. Watching you and her keenly. You realized while looking at both Na’vi women, how similar they were.

Jake was still standing near the entrance.

All eyes were on you.

And you truly realized then that you were alone. That, essentially, everyone was against you. The way each Na’vi eyed you carefully, as if watching for any sudden movements, the same as the first time you met both Jake and Neytiri at Hell’s Gate.

You realized that the only person who had been in your corner was gone.

It was you against Pandora.

Something suddenly pricked you, interrupting your bleak thoughts. Mo’at held a needle of sorts which was now red with your blood. You watched as she gave it a sniff and then a lick, something you would’ve cringed at if not for your and everyone else’s silent anticipation. All you could do was sit silently, spine straight and protected by steel.

Ready to fight for yourself because no one else would.

Mo’at then peered down at you, “You know who I am.”

You blinked at the question, “Norm told me, yes.”

She made a sound of content with your reply.

Another beat went by as she stared at you, “Tell me about your dying planet. Tell me why you have no interest in making our home yours like your clan.”

You stopped, staring at her in bleak surprise. That certainly wasn’t something you were prepared to answer. Again, you blinked and Mo’at stared at you expectantly.

Unsurely, you finally replied, “It’s like you said. It’s dying. I don’t know how much simpler that can get for you. Saving our home—it’s a naïve dream. That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Humans killed our own planet and now we want to claim another, just to fuck that one up too.”

Neytiri’s tail moved slightly behind her. In the corner of your eye, Jake stiffened—the only former human here who knew what you were talking about. Who understood what you meant, where you came from, and your position. 

For some reason, that only made you angrier at him. For some reason, now he wanted to pretend that none of that happened. That you, just like the RDA, were just as bad. Without even trying to understand your side.

Mo’at raised a hand as if silencing your bitter thoughts. “I didn’t ask for ‘we’. I want to know why you aren’t following your clan’s ideas. What makes you different from the rest of those sky demons?”

Still confused and now annoyed, you respond anyway, “Because I have no interest in trying anymore.”

And you paused, remembering your mother’s songcord in the back of your pants pocket. You moved your gaze down to your hands, which were clutching your knees until your knuckles were practically shades lighter than your skin.

“Back on Earth, my mother—she believed in the hope that she could save it by starting small. Never mind the hundreds of years of wasted pollution or deforestation, she believed there was still a way to save it. So, she created the Amazon Project. There was still a small patch of land in Brazil left untouched. She took the opportunity to nurture and protect it. Since I was young, I’ve been working under her. Watching her succeed in her project. Until she passed it down to me. To care for it while she left for the Avatar Program. And I was happy to do it. I wanted to see my mother’s work flourish even if she wasn’t at my side. I did it to make her proud.” 

Again, you paused, resisting the urge to reach for the songcord to distract your hands. Despite your trembling, your voice remained steady, “Five years later, RDA agents tell me she died a year into her stay there. Her forest is gone too. By fire. Deforestation. As all the others.”

Mo’at was quiet but thoughtful. Neytiri was staring at you still, her expression less wary, less—almost no severity left there. She was listening, closely. The way her ears twitched every now and then was a sure sign of it.

You couldn’t see Jake’s reaction, your gaze going back down to your hands again.

Until Mo’at finally spoke, “And now you are here. Yet you have no interest in following your clan’s path. Because you have, ‘given up’. Now I am told that we cannot escort you off this planet. So why should my people trust you to stay here—”

“I didn’t want to be here.” You were tired of saying it. Tired of fighting for your innocence here. Fighting for them to see that you too were wronged here. That you were the victim, not the monster in all of this mess. 

If anyone was to blame, it was DeVoe.

But DeVoe was dead. And you were left fending for yourself.

And you were angry all over again. 

“The RDA wanted me to come here and continue my mother’s work. I refused and they brought me here against my will. They tried to get me to buy into this bullshit lie that my mother wanted this, when really they were just desperate fuckers who wanted to get their hands on her work. I destroyed it. No one, not even me, could use it. And if you’re not happy with that explanation either, then do what you want with me—I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I’m not here to take anything. I’m not here to live among you and I’m not here for the Avatar Program—if killing me is all it takes for this shit to end then just get it over with already—”

You missed the way Neytiri frowned, confused by your words. You missed the way Jake winced and looked away from your smaller hunched figure. You missed the way Mo’at nearly chuckled at your words. Because it was always amusing how many didn’t realize how the Great Mother worked. Even when it happened in front of them.

The flaps of the hut entrance yanked open as two Na’vi figures stepped inside. One of them you recognized as the clan leader, Tsu’tey?—while the other was an older woman with a sling across her chest. And in that sling was a sleeping baby.

His eyes found you and his scowl worsened, “What is this?!”

“Tsu’tey,” Neytiri warned as she stood. She moved around Mo’at while saying something to him in their language.

He ignored her and looked to Mo’at, “Why is the demon here?! I already said it isn’t welcomed on our land!”

“I called her here, Olo’eyktan,” Mo’at responded simply, looking increasingly similar to Neytiri as a sort of warning appeared on her own lithe face.

Even Jake stepped forward, placing a hand on the male’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, “Just be calm. Mo’at—”

“We agreed the demon would be gone!” Tsu’tey snapped, now glaring at you again. You stared back impassively and for some reason that only seemed to piss him off. “And now you’ve shown her our home and endangered us all!”

Neytiri then hissed at him in their language. You watched both of them quietly go back and forth, Jake even adding input every now and then. Whatever it was they were saying, Tsu’tey didn’t look too happy about it.

“The atokirina has given us a sign.” Mo’at interrupted the three in English as she gestured to you. “Allow her to explain her intentions to the Olo’eyktan and then we can decide—”

“It is already decided.” Tsu’tey snarled. “She leaves—”

“There’s no ship we have that can send her back,” Jake informed calmly. He glanced toward you for a beat, something settling in his yellow gaze before looking back at the heated male. He continued whatever he said to try to persuade the chief in Na’vi. His use of the language wasn't as natural coming from him—which, you noted, showed he hadn’t been experienced in their language for long now.

Neytiri also grabbed and squeezed at Tsu’tey’s arm as she spoke, this time her words sounded a lot more clear instead of quick with a hiss like before. She too was trying to persuade him—or perhaps you weren’t reading their body language right. After all,  you were practically the only one in the hut that didn’t speak the language. Who knew what they could’ve been saying about you—which was slightly irritating.

The nameless woman, whom you had forgotten was there until you spotted the vicious scowl she sent Jake. She was older, around the same age as Mo’at. Had to be. And she was holding that baby in her sling close to her chest, protectively almost. Like there was no way she would let the infant go, not even if someone dared to ask to hold it. Hell, you weren’t even sure if the baby even belonged to her.

But she did look eerily similar to Tsu’tey. Same scowl and all.

And the baby, despite the chaos, was still sound asleep.

There was a certain innocence at the sight. Something so pure about it.

“You claimed to have left the Sky People.” You tore your eyes away from the baby to find a restrained-looking Tsu’tey now peering down at you. “And that you do not want our home. Then what is it that you want, demon?”

Another question you weren’t prepared for. Frankly, you didn’t think they cared for what you personally wanted, even if they got over their fear of you destroying their home like the RDA had done.

Jake and Neytiri now stared at you expectantly. Neytiri’s gaze curious while Jake, as usual, was guarded.

Mo’at also watched you, keenly. Like she knew something you didn’t.

And the nameless woman continued glaring at you with pure and utter hatred.

“Since I can’t go back home. I don’t know.”

Maybe you’ll lay down next to your mother’s grave. Until you turn into a rock, keeping her company.

Tsu’tey scowled, his tail lashing behind him. “That’s not an answer.”

“Well, I don’t know what to fucking tell you. I just lost the one person I ever cared for—so yes, that’s my answer. I don’t know.” You never broke eye contact with him as you said this. Even when he leered at you for your response. There was a certain bite to your words, especially when you said, “God, it’s like you all haven’t fucking lost someone before. Sorry, if my grievance is such an inconvenience to you all.”

Jake winced at this while Neytiri lowered her head. Tsu’tey didn’t appear phased by the comment but his face noticeably grew more hostile, baring his teeth.

Unbeknownst to you, the nameless woman, Artsut, suddenly hissed in offense for her son, “Are you going to let that demon talk to you in such a way, son? You are Olo’eyktan! Put that alien in her place!”

“Be calm,” Jake warned her with a certain look that meant he was not in the mood for her and her unnecessary comments right now.

But of course, Artsut bit back, “You do not get to tell me to calm down, demon! This is your people! You brought her here, it is your fault for this!”

Jake scowled but swallowed his venomous response down his throat.

Because he knew she wasn’t wrong. His presence alone already made some of the natives uneasy. Toruk Makto or not. And he knew that it could draw more Sky People here one day, after pushing the RDA out. The inkling of vengeance they might take on him and the people never left Jake. Not even when he thought he was finally at peace.

“The Tsahik decides what to do next.” Neytiri reminded the woman with a stone look sent her way. “You do not interfere.”

She refrained from screwing her face into a scowl at the sight of Artsut holding Neteyam. But she could not deny her right to hold her grandson. Not even when it made her sick at times.

Instead of bringing attention to it, Neytiri pointed toward the entrance, “Leave. Take our son to bed. You are not needed here.”

Artsut scowled and looked at her son, “Tsu’tey! You let her dismiss me like this? Your own mother?”

Without looking away from you, Tsu’tey muttered, “Take Neteyam, mother. I will find you later.”

With a huff, Artsut raised her chin, sending you another glare as she said, “I hope you kill that demon where she sits. The Great Mother will forgive you if you at least get rid of one stain on our land.”

In the corner of your eye, the woman left finally, and whatever she had said clearly angered Neytiri and made Jake go quiet as he watched her leave with a solemn look.

“What will you do with her then, Olo’eyktan?” Mo’at questioned in English.

You still didn’t look away from Tsu’tey, almost like a silent challenge between the two of you.

Mo’at watched the both of you. All four of you.

Until someone cleared their throat.

At the sudden sound, all of you turned your attention to the hut entrance, finding Norm standing there looking just as puny as you.

“Dr. Reeds can stay at Hell’s Gate with the rest of us—she doesn’t have to be here if you don’t her here. And since she’s a scientist, Dr Patel can take her on. She’ll be out of the way.” Norm offered, carefully when he took in everyone’s different expressions. Including yours.

She’ll be out of the way.

“Thanks, Norm.” You snipped dryly.

He sent you a pointed look. You rolled your eyes but willed yourself to stay quiet. Mostly, because you didn’t care for all of this anymore. You said your peace and now you were done explaining yourself.

All you wanted to do now was sleep.

You almost missed Tsu’tey’s reply as your mind began to drift, “Away with her then. If I see the demon again, I will deal with it my way.”

There was a shudder through your body at the finality of the conversation. But you remained quiet, staring down at your hands, remnants of dirt still left on your fingernails and palms.

The world had gone too quiet, even when you halfheartedly watched everyone’s mouth move. Only for nothing to come out of it but soundless silence.

Eventually, you were allowed to follow Norm out of the hut and back into the village. Getting ready to leave for Hell’s Gate. At some point, you were floating outside of your body again.

Until Norm spoke next to you, “I think that went well. I’ll have to talk to Dr. Patel and arrange everything—but all in all, you’ll get situated just fine. Plus, you still have your avatar—hey are you okay?”

You barely heard his question or anything prior to that. Your knees buckled and your mask began to fog up from the hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

You weren’t wailing. You weren’t shouting. You just cried on the forest floor with quick breaths and a racing heart.

“Dr. Reeds?” Norm knelt down beside you. “Are you—what—”

You just shook your head and continued crying, clutching your shaky hands to your chest. Letting everything you held back in the hut slam into you like a tsunami wave. Overwhelming you. Disarming you and your walls.

“Okay,” Norm mumbled, looking around. Fortunately, you had made it far enough away from prying eyes. He then patted your back, “Okay—Okay, if it helps, I’m here for you. I won’t go anywhere, right? We’ll sit here until you’re ready, yeah?”

You didn’t get out of your bed for the first few days.

Norm showed you your new room after coming back from your visit with Mo’at. Since then, you stayed there.

Fortunately, no one came to get you. Norm only came around to drop off the food you barely ended up touching.

At some point, you realized that there was just no way you could get out of bed. Everything finally came crashing down. The anger still simmered with your situation, but at this point, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you could go back, there was nothing waiting for you back at home.

Your mother’s songcord lied on the dresser next to the cot you slept on. Sometimes you’d stare at it and other times you’d get so angry at the sight of it that you’d throw it into one of the drawers. Leaving it there until you quietly panicked and took it back out again.

You hadn’t left the room. The world of Pandora was out there and yet you were here. You couldn’t move. Your body was stone.

And you were fine with being stone.

At least the skin would be harder to break this time.

“It is not your fault,” Tsu’tey said, pulling Jake out of his swimming thoughts—nearly drowning if not for a hand always latching onto him, keeping his body dangling above the waters.

When Jake tore his drifting gaze away from sharpening his arrow, his mate was sitting next to him, eyes soft but face set in a determined frown. As if Tsu’tey made a mission for himself. “I will not let you blame yourself for this. I do not care for my mother’s words and neither should you, tiyawn.”

In response, Jake offered a short nod, not entirely trusting himself to speak at the moment.

Guilt wasn’t a stranger to him. He would live with this until his body was buried somewhere on this planet. He would live with this guilt for the rest of his life.

For Grace. For Neytiri’s father. For Tommy.

Suppose all of this started with his twin brother. Suppose it always did.

“I will always be human,” Jake said to both himself and Tsu’tey, clutching the arrow tightly in his grasp. “That’s never going to change. And I gotta live with that.”

Tsu’tey took his hand—the one gripping the arrow—and squeezed it gently. “I know this. Neytiri knows this. Neteyam is half of you. And half of us. You have proven yourself, Jakesully. Long ago. We have not forgotten what you have done for us. What you’ve done for me.”

Jake winced and looked away. 

It wasn’t selfless—saving Tsu’tey after the battle with the Sky People. He had only done it because he didn’t deserve the title. He didn’t want the title. If Tsu’tey lived, he would still be Olo’eyktan. And Jake would just be the Toruk Makto. Nothing more and nothing less.

It wasn’t selfless. It wasn’t.

There was one tablet in your room. At some point, you dragged yourself from the cot and grabbed it.

Turning it on, you searched the system for Joan Reeds.

Her video logs came up. The public ones at least. The ones you destroyed were private. Only for you to see in the end.

This video had to have been when she first arrived. Maybe a few days later.

“Log—um, wait, what day is it?” Already your mother looked frazzled as she searched around the public lab she was in. “Oh! Found it! Video log 10. Today, I got to run around in my avatar and gosh, it’s so jarring how small everyone is—or how small you are. I keep tripping over myself so Dr. Augustine has me putting in more work. Says I’m not useful if I’m always falling on my face. Jokes on her, I’m always falling on my face…I probably won’t be allowed outside of the Avatar Compound.”

Joan laughed at herself in the video. Your heart tugged at the twinkle in her eye as she kept going on and on about her week so far. You listened intently, ignoring the plate of food sitting on your dresser.

In another video, Joan steered off updates and instead took out a tablet. Showing the camera a picture of a forest.

Her forest. On Earth.

Joan was smiling brightly here, “This is the Amazon back on Earth. Or what’s left of it, still preserved under my daughter’s watch. I taught her everything she knows. My very own little shadow. You know when she was smaller, she always used to follow me around. And I mean all the time. Hence the nickname I gave her.” She paused, the smiling faltering a bit. “She doesn’t do it anymore—has a doctorate and everything. My baby’s all grown up. And so, so, talented.”

“Reeds, you’re supposed to be logging. Not crying over your baby photos again.” A voice said in the background.

Joan pouted, “I know, I know. Alright, here come the boring parts—”

“Reeds!”

“Kidding, kidding!”

The video stopped. She never did get to the boring parts.

You stared at the screen in silence. And then you replayed the video. A few more times that night.

Tsu’tey felt small whenever he went to see Mo’at.

Most times he was always accompanied by either Jake or Neytiri—sometimes both—or to bring a warrior who needed healing after a bad hunt.

But when it was just him, it was always different. It had been this way ever since he was young. She just always had this air of importance about her—royalty even. Sometimes—all the time—she was often regarded highly over the Olo’eyktan. Tsu’tey even saw her as the true ruler over the Omatikaya, even before he was named their chief.

It had gotten better, visiting her in his young adolescent years. However, that was only because of their shared grief and the loss of Sylwanin years before. It was easier to be around someone who understood. It was the same with Neytiri. The intimidation was lost because of this.

But now things have changed. Too many things.

After the war, after the battle with the Sky People, Tsu’tey didn’t remember the end result. He never saw them win. Not when he was shot down by one of the Sky People. All he remembered was falling from one of their flying ships and falling back into the arms of his home. Readily to embrace his impending death. Ready to greet Eywa.

He remembered Neytiri crying over his body. He remembered trying to make Jake the next Olo’eyktan. And then it was just darkness. Nothingness. For a moment he could’ve sworn he saw Sylwanin.

And then he woke up with Mo’at crouched over him, hard at work at his severe wounds. Wounds he was sure he would’ve died from. Should’ve died from.

Tsu’tey had lived through the war and came back with nightmares and aching scars in his wake. Sometimes wishing he had stayed asleep for good.

Then the pain would be gone. Then the strange tightness in his chest would go away. Then he wouldn’t have to keep experiencing his breath shortening and his heart racing every time the world spun just a little too much or he’d pulled himself—half a man—out of another one of his nightmares.

Then he wouldn’t have to suffer.

Then he would be at peace.

But a gentle hand always pulled him back. Lifting him out of the ocean. Keeping his head just above the waters, just enough that he could breathe.

Neteyam’s eyes held him in place and stopped his world from spinning.

The world got a little brighter because of his little boy. Because of his mates.

So, when Tsu’tey visited Mo’at on the day of one of his healing sessions, there was always something to keep his head floating above water.

Today it was Neytiri who had his hand against her cheek, running fingers down his arms softly as Mo’at massaged the healing wounds on his back and chest. Last night it was Jake, who hugged him tightly after waking up from one of his nightmares. The day before it had been Neteyam. And the day before that, it had been unintentionally you. His rage for the Sky People kept him grounded.

And tomorrow, he didn’t know what it would bring. He would just have to leave it to the Great Mother. And pray that she doesn’t want him to suffer.

Slowly, you began to eat again. And that was a start.

By the third week, you began doing little exercises in your room.

Push-ups. Sit-ups. Planks. Anything to make your mind start moving again.

It wasn’t perfect. You knew this. But you tried.

One day at a time.

Neytiri and grief were friends.

There was nothing difficult about her emotions or how she expressed herself. Neytiri felt everything. And she could not stop feeling. She could not stop understanding.

So she understood Tsu’tey when he changed after Sylwanin’s death. Neytiri had changed too.

She understood Jake when Grace had died in his arms. Her father had died in her arms too.

She did not want to understand Sky People. She did not want to feel sympathy for the people who stole everything from her. She did not wish to feel sympathy from those that stole her sister away and as if they weren’t greedy enough, took her father and her home from her as well.

And she was tired because of it. She just wanted peace. She just wanted to raise her children and be with her mates. She did not want to worry about those demons coming back and destroying her home, and her life again.

Neytiri was just so tired of it. Being stuck in this never-ending cycle of grief.

Was this the path the Great Mother wanted for her?

Was she just never meant to be happy?

“Hey.”

Neytiri perked up and turned to find Jake watching her curiously. She had forgotten where she was for a moment. In the forest with her bow and Jake. Ready to hunt.

“You here with me?” Jake asked, smiling at her.

And she returned the smile, her chest warm. “Yes.” She then gently smacked his arm, “Now focus. We need dinner for tonight.”

She was always standing at the edge of the cliff, the water staring back at her below. There was always a weight that she held onto, with such desperation. She wouldn’t dream of letting it go. She wouldn’t dream of letting them drown.

So she always held tight. She would be the tether. 

The following week arrived. You managed to take a shower and finally leave your room.

Today you were just numb. And you would work with that.

Hell’s Gate was a vast place that you wanted to map out and fully explore. If this was the place you would be stationed/forced to stay at, then you needed to understand the layout.

You started at the administrative centers; passing the Operations Center and a few link rooms. Some people nodded to you in acknowledgment as you passed while others ignored your existence, being too focused on their work—which you didn’t mind.

Eventually, you made it to one of the bio labs. There, you found a few more people—which you assumed were scientists. You passed another link room—Norm mentioned these places a few times whenever he stopped by your room to try and pull you into a conversation.

You lingered there for a minute. Watching two people enter the link beds. By the time they were closed in, you moved on.

The Avatar Compound was of course the last place you visited. You ignored your mother’s old lab and sauntered toward the gardens.

There was a lot more browning than you saw before. Most of them were dead, others were on the verge of dying. It looked pathetic, really. How some of them stood limp. Nearly touching the ground.

You frowned at the sight, fingers twitching.

You moved on.

“Do you guys have a library here?”

Norm looked up at you, eyes alight with surprise at the sight of you, “Um, I don’t know anything about a library. What are you looking for exactly?”

You frowned, tucking the tablet from your room under your arm. “You worked with the former head of the Avatar Program, Grace Augustine. She has a book on the plant life here. I was wondering if this place has a copy lying around somewhere.”

“Light reading?” He asked with a raised brow.

You shrugged, “Something like that, yes.”

Norm nodded with a smile, “Well, like I said we don’t really have a library—but I actually have a copy of her book. I'm a big fan myself. I could lend it to you if you want.”

“I’d like that. Might be a while before I give it back though.”

He grinned, “I don’t mind. Knock yourself out! I’m just glad to see you walking around.” Norm sat back down at his computer with a sigh. “They’ve been sending warriors to check up on things but when I’ve been giving them the same updates, they kind of stopped coming around. So, it might be good for you—”

“Thank you, Spellman.” You nodded, as you started for the doorway leading out of the lab. “Send the book to my room whenever you can.”

Right now you were just floating out of your body. It was easier this way, you realized. And you would work with it.

The book was in your room the next day. You took it while holding your mother’s songcord and read through it. Front and back. You grabbed your tablet as you read the book again, taking notes this time around.

You organized the plants, you separated them into categories. Foods humans and Na’vi could eat. Plants that were meant for herbs and medicine. And plants to avoid altogether.

You read it for a third time to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

Finally, you went to the gardens. After examining which plants needed replacement—which was mostly the fruits and vegetables, food sources that they couldn’t afford to run out of. Hell’s Gate was living off rations, which were bound to be gone at some point. A harvesting garden would be useful.

So, you adjusted your exopack and got work.

You didn’t do too much the first day, just tore down the dead plants—which was practically the whole land of the garden. The plants themselves were big so it took most of the day. Those that could be saved were mushrooms. They hadn’t blossomed yet so you took care of it. Adding water, and new soil—you did this until the night came.

The next few days were planned accordingly. You found yourself busy foraging for fruits and vegetables in the forest surrounding the compound. Of course, you didn’t wander too far from the compound, making sure to keep track of every path you took.

It was quite big and overwhelming, the forest. Even some of the fruits you carried back were bigger than your own body. But you managed well enough to plant down some seeds. Which also took quite some time.

It wasn’t until you saw avatars running around your mind suddenly clicked.

“Spellman.” You ran up to him one day, catching him going into the bio lab. He turned as you stopped in front of him, “I have an avatar, right? How long does it take to get used to being in the body?”

Norm, who had been waiting for you to ask this very question, grinned. “Right this way, Doc.”

Frankly, it took a couple of days until you were finally used to being in your avatar body. Which unfortunately slowed your progress with the garden, but you managed in between breaks from training with the avatar body to continue planting more seeds as best as you could.

But once you could manage to stand on your own two feet in this new body, your process with your garden got a whole lot easier.

One of them was the fact that you didn’t have to wear those stupid masks anymore. Not having to worry about losing oxygen after a couple of hours was a huge plus.

Admittedly, it was strange at first. Suddenly being taller than humans, having a tail that sometimes moved without your knowledge, and then there was keeping both bodies healthy. That would be a challenge but you could deal.

After getting used to your new body, you continued tending to the garden which was making great progress. Except for the mushrooms. They just wouldn’t grow.

“Mmm.” You mumbled to yourself while tucking your tablet—a new one large enough for you to hold—under your arm. Maybe the roots were too old and weak. Maybe it was best to cut it down and start over again.

You went into the bush. The forest looked a lot different with brand-new maskless eyes. A lot more vibrant. A lot more real.

Eventually, you found the same mushrooms in the forest that were in your garden. Kneeling down, you grabbed your tablet. Studying and comparing it carefully.

Of course, the roots were a lot more greener than yours. Maybe it needed fresh soil. Or more moisture. These mushrooms were obviously different from the Earth ones, so you were a little out of your depth here. The book didn’t talk too much about mushrooms, unfortunately.

There was a quick shift in the corner of your vision—something you definitely wouldn’t have caught in your human body. Another plus with the avatar, better senses.

You looked up, your eyes locked with another pair of yellow ones.

A familiar face you hadn’t seen in a while.

Neytiri crouched down on the branch she was on, staring at you intensely.

You stood, “Come to spy on me yourself this time?”

A flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes, her head tilting as she analyzed your features. “You are the demon but different now. You are dreamwalker.”

You gave a single nod and took a moment to observe her carefully. Just as she was doing with you.

After a while, you turned away from her to focus back on the mushrooms. You knelt back down to get a better look at the roots again. The grass shifted after as a soft thud sounded next to you. A second later Neytiri’s feet appeared next to you.

“Why are you doing that?” She questioned.

“I am growing some mushrooms.” You replied simply. “Mine aren’t growing like they’re supposed to…” You then looked up at her curiously. Neytiri stared back at you with a small frown. A strange idea struck you then. “Can you look at the mushrooms back in my garden?”

Neytiri huffed, her tail swishing behind her.

You shrugged, “Or not. I’ll figure it out.”

After you secured the tablet under your arm again—you really should get yourself a bag at some point—you started back to the compound.

Surprisingly, Neytiri followed.

There weren’t a lot of avatars out today so it was practically just you and Neytiri. You found your mushrooms and knelt back down to the ground.

Behind you, you felt Neytiri looking at you. “You did all of this?”

You made a sound of confirmation without looking up from the mushrooms, “We can’t survive off just rations. Sure there’s a lot—meant for a lot—but it won’t last. Better start now than later.”

“And you intend to do it our way?”

“For the most part, yes.”

After a while, Neytiri knelt down next to you as you brought out your tablet to take notes. She tapped your arm, drawing your attention to her.

She then lowered your tablet and pointed to the semi-growing mushroom. “The sun is blocked. You need to move it. Or it won’t grow.”

You frowned. Huh, that was simple enough.

With a nod, you placed the tablet aside and dug up the roots. Neytiri watched as you moved the soil into a more sunny spot. And for the next few minutes, you planted it down with your hands. Once it was done, you looked to Neytiri expectantly.

She was studying your other plants. There wasn’t any annoyance on her face, which was a plus at least. You watched quietly as she poked and prodded at the plants until her eyes met yours. Her ears perked, her face became tight, and her tail curled behind her. She now looked both annoyed and—flustered?

You gestured to the mushrooms, “Anything else?”

Neytiri inched toward you and examined your work, “Yes. That is good.”

You nodded and stood, “Thank you for your help.” She blinked and nodded reluctantly. Then she departed.

It was progress. Your new garden. One day at a time.

Neytiri did not want to understand Sky People.

You were sad, she concluded.

While human, you had appeared dangerous, vicious-looking. Defenseless. But then again, she thought that of all humans.

In your false body, you were easier to read. Your words, as you spoke, still never matched your face. Low ears and tail. Dull, almost unfocused eyes.

Neytiri and grief were friends.

There was nothing difficult about her emotions or how she expressed herself. Neytiri felt everything. And she could not stop feeling. She could not stop understanding.

So she understood Tsu’tey when he changed after Sylwanin’s death. Neytiri had changed too.

She understood Jake when Grace had died in his arms. Her father had died in her arms too.

Unwillingly, she somehow began to understand you after the meeting with her mother. Humans were hard to read, so when she listened to your words, she also watched your face. And it was almost solemn and expressionless. Neytiri wondered if you were like Jake, locking your emotions up, not allowing yourself to feel.

Neytiri did not understand why they did that. Sky People and the way they dealt with their emotions were strange.

You were no different.

You were at the bottom of the ocean. Whatever hand tried to grasp for your body, it always slipped. And you just sunk deeper and deeper.

Until you were a forgotten shadow.

so, yes, this one is a little longer than the last two chapters, lol. i got a little carried away but i really wanted to take a look into the minds of both, jake, neytiri, and tsu'tey, just to gain a little sense as to why they act the way they do towards reader.

they are all very much soulmates. grieving in their own ways. i can't wait to write more of them.

let me know your thoughts! i love talking to y'all and reading your very kind comments!

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @slutforsmut4ever @lik0 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @childofgod-05

[yourmidnightlover]

undeserving

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: your self destructive tendencies have won this round, leading to you making a pivotal decision to end your relationship with bucky.

warnings: intense depression and self hatred, low self esteem/self worth, ANGST LMAOOO, no happy ending :(

a/n: short and not so sweet. idk why i was wanting to write something so sad lol. on a brighter note... i'm currently working on the next chapter to timeless :)

you didn't deserve the love you were being shown.

your pulse racing, tears clouding your vision as the music drowned out all of your senses that remained. he enveloped you entirely, made you want to be better.

he deserved so much. so much more than what you could give him.

he had come back from literal hell on the other side, and the world, ever so cruel, gave him you. a sick sense of humor it's got, truly.

you're weighed down by the simple tasks of everyday life. getting out of bed, brushing your teeth, showering... everything is a battle.

there was an urge, an unbridling urge, to want to be everything he deserved and more. but something in your godforsaken brain wasn't clicking.

the chemical imbalance in your brain has ruined your path. now, it was muddy and cloudy and there was no clear answer of what to do or say or ask in order to fix it.

but when you see him, his strength, you simply feel pitiful. how could someone battle his inner demons everyday and win, conquering them as he has battles from his past, be with someone who let menial tasks ruin their day?

so, as he stood in his tux, awaiting your arrival so he could finally ask you to dance, you approached him with baited breath.

"may i have this dance, doll?" he held his hand out, an uncharacteristic smile gracing his lips, the one that only showed when you were near.

you couldn't trust your voice. instead, you placed your hand in his, relishing in the fire that sparked from his touch, savoring it as if it were the last time. because it was.

you rested your head on his chest, swaying to the music as your free hand grasped his shoulder, tethering yourself to the ground so you wouldn't float away like you desperately wanted.

maybe you should've bribed the dj, made him put this song on a loop. a promise of calm and serenity before you wrecked your entire world.

maybe it was your self destructive tendencies that made this decision.

maybe it was reality sinking in, that the an who was holding you like you were the most beautiful thing to exist should be holding someone who truly was beautiful... and unbroken.

as the song came to a close, you pulled back with tears in your eyes. you could see his face contorting as he tried to piece together why you were so distraught.

"'doll..." his hands grasped your waist tenderly, gently squeezing as if he, too, was trying to ensure that he wouldn't float away.

"i-i can't," you choked on a sob, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the beautiful event. "i'll always love you, james," you let your hands hold his face one last time, leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose. "but i can't be with you anymore." your voice was cracking as the tears were streaming down your face, breaking down the stoic barrier you had tried to keep plastered up through the night.

you couldn't look in his eyes again. they would tell a story you were too afraid to hear. they would whisper that you were being a coward, too scared to not amount to the expectations you had set for yourself. they would whisper that you should listen to bucky when he told you how wonderful you are.

eventually, they would convince you to stay.

but staying would mean you were dragging him down with you. you refused to be that kind of burden to him.

later, when he retreated to his room, bucky would find a letter you had written him. one detailing the shortcomings you believed you had, how he deserved more and better than someone so tormented by their own mind.

how you were so undeserving of his love.

[himbeereule]

Орлёнок (Eaglet) Battle System - Dev Diary #4

"Don't worry, the regular dev diary will publish this evening" she said, and vanished for 8 days.

Sorry.

Brain is being very difficult. At least I'm still somehow alive.

But onto actually interesting (I hope) things-

4.1 Initiative - cont'd

Examples for how Initiative works have already been given in the last Dev Diary (under 3.2), but I'd like to make a few additions. What makes Initiative go up or down? is a question as of yet unanswered and also ties into the main theme of this Dev Diary.

The main source of high Initiative are charges, meaning a melee attack on another unit. But that's not guaranteed to work - Terrain plays an important factor here, with difficult terrain such as towns/cities or, worse, a forest significantly reducing the effectiveness of a charge due to stuff being in the way, making it difficult to maintain momentum. Cavalry, which is generally best at charges, suffers the most from these.

Charging uphill is also not the best idea - you can guess why. But at least the opposite is also true: charging downhill is extra effective.

Then, there's charging across a river. Not a very good idea usually, so try to avoid it unless it's a really desperate situation. In real world terms, even shallow water that can be traversed without the need for barges etc. will significantly slow down your troops and, in the worst case, make them arrive on the other side in small groups. The enemy waiting there likes that.

And finally, there's the dynamic factor that is the hostile troops you're charging at. If they moved normally the turn before, it's fine, there's no special modifiers. But if they remained stationary, it's assumed they found some stuff to hide behind, dug some holes, maybe placed some pointy sticks or barbed wire, maybe even just laid down. In short, they'll be prepared. Which will give them a bonus to Initiative when charged. However - you can attack them with artillery beforehand, which will make them suppressed and lower their Initiative accordingly and effectively neutralize the preparation bonus.

4.2 Morale and Commitment

Morale is... exactly what it sounds like. It measures how happy your soldiers are to run around and shoot at their own countrymen.

It's decided by many factors - Divisions have a unified morale value at the beginning of the battle, which is influenced by things decided beforehand - previous victories and losses, relative strength (how strong the Division is compared to your other Divisions, and how strong your army is compared to the enemy army in this particular battle) and things happening in the story. It also changes during the flow of the battle - winning fights against enemy units is good, taking casualties is not so good. Some special weapons like flamethrowers or poison gas are also very much not good for the morale of the receiving side. And even if a unit is just standing in the back lobbing shells all over the place (looking at you, artillerists), its morale will suffer if your other units get slaughtered and it seems like the battle will be lost.

But what does morale actually do? Well, higher morale means better coordination rate. Conversely, a panicked and depressed unit will have a hard time coordinating. But that's just one half of it - to understand the other, we must first look at Commitment.

Commitment simply means how many of your units are actually taking part in fights, instead of just standing around on the field. It's a counter of how many units have fought in melee this turn (ranged attacks do not count; you'll see why in the next paragraph).

Now, if the enemy's overall morale (average value of all units combined, rounded down) hits 0, but commitment is also at 0 - meaning there are no enemy units currently tied up in melee - the enemy force will retreat in an orderly fashion, ending the battle without further casualties. If, however, morale is at 0 and commitment is not, the enemy will have to flee, which, narratively, means unengaged units will rush to save their still-fighting brethren, and as soon as they can run away as fast as they can. This means additional casualties for the fleeing side depending on how high their commitment was.

But the battle may also end when morale is low, though not yet zero - and that is if commitment is greater zero and the relative strength of the opposing force is at least 1.5:1 - in other words, if side A has 50% stronger forces than side B, and side B has both low morale and units tied up in melee, side B will capitulate. This is basically the most valuable outcome to reach, because you will get all the remaining enemies' stuff and a lot of prisoners - in normal conditions, only a small (or, in the case of the enemy fleeing, a medium-sized portion) of additional enemy casualties will become prisoners instead of casualties. This is important because prisoners become recruitable manpower over time.

That's it for today. Sorry again for the long wait.

The next Dev Diary will be the last one, and probably quite short - it deals with the meaning of Victory in battles.

[olympeline]

I’ve got Alfred on the brain lately. When it comes to the cast of Hetalia, Arthur will always be my favourite - I think that’s pretty obvious, heh - but when it comes to the character who fascinates me the most? IDK, man. My motherland might not actually take the top spot. Or if he does then Alfred comes in a very close second.

Alfred, to me, is one of those characters who seems really basic when you first encounter him but if you scratch the surface, you’ll find something deeper. You watch a couple of episodes and the first impression is he’s just your typical “dumb ol’ American” stereotype. Cheerful, enthusiastic, and brave but arrogant with it. Eager to help the other nations but talks over them and uses himself as a world map. Powerful, winner of the Cold War, and the current leader of the West. Burgers, guns, aliens. You know the story. Plenty of funny moments but nothing groundbreaking here. National personifications are old as balls and a dime a dozen, and most Americas will dutifully tick all the boxes I just mentioned. Alfred doesn’t seem so special at first.

But then…I don’t know. It starts with his Closet Cleaning/Indepence arc. Alfred wins of course but at a crucial moment he fumbles and Arthur gets the drop on him. Alfred, the future superpower, freezes up and is helpless albeit just for a moment. It’s intriguing. Little details like that are what make Alfred so much more fascinating to me. How easy would it have been to reverse the roles and have Arthur at Alfred’s mercy? It would make sense since Alfred is the ultimate victor in their clash. But no, we get that little touch instead.

Then there’s stuff like the Great Depression arc where you’d expect Alfred to be either angry and defensive or overly flippant about the mess he’s caused. But then no: he’s contrite. You can tell he’s genuinely sorry for what he did. Or how about that Christmas strip where he’s sad to be left out of the shenanigans happening in Europe. Asks Francis and Arthur to please include him next time but also seems kinda resigned? As if he doesn’t believe they will. Does he think two of his closest allies don’t actually like him? He looks down on his brother before he starts gaining independence. But once Matthew becomes a dominion through diplomacy then Alfred is amazed and even seems a little jealous? Does that mean he would have also liked to break away from Arthur peacefully if he could? But he’s so proud of his hard won independence at the same time. I don’t know, man. No idea what makes this boy tick sometimes. There’s loads more examples I could list.

That’s what Alfred is to me. The TLDR version is he’s a character who starts off zigging every zig you’d expect him to. Only to zag unexpectedly every now and then. Enough to always keep me just a little off balance and make me want to go on puzzling over him. I love characters like that ✨👌

[antiradqueer]

Hey tumblr.

It's Luna, or more, someone of us who has no clue who they are right now. We feel like the embodiment of being sick and tired and just so done.

We have been thinking long and hard about what to write in this post or if we even want to make a post like this, but now that we're typing out these words, we don't know why we put it off so long.

We are permanently fucking off from the radqueer discourse. We can't take it anymore and we don't care anymore. We've lost all empathy and sympathy for everyone and everything involved in this shitshow, no matter which side they're on. The reason for this is not that we suddenly are neutral, we are still anti-radqueer, but we are so burned out and just start to dissociate the second we open the tags or see a radqueer post in the wild. We're naturally low empathy to begin with, but now every last ounce of that is completely gone when it comes to this topic, plus we just... don't care anymore. There's the 100th transnazi popping up? I don't care. Another "cisabuser" in the tags? doesn't matter. whatever. We're not a bad person, we are just done. We can't keep on doing this or this will eventually throw us into depression again and that might literally kill us. and I'm not going to let that happen.

when I think about radqueers, I feel so much anger, frustration and sadness - or more, that's what I felt. now all of that is just drowned by a dark cloud of tiredness and nothingness.

so, this is our goodbye. Knowing us, we will probably still roam the tags sometimes and depending who is fronting, some of us might even interact with discourse still, but like, officially, we are gone. (@ mod mew: if you could let us still have access to this account that would be dope af tho!)

I will also use this post to to encourage every anti-radqueer who's fighting tooth and nail to get blogs taken down and people banned, to step back for a minute, take a deep breath and think about if you really want to keep on doing this. we thought this would never take a mental toll on us, yet here we are. I'm not saying what you're doing is wrong, but I'm saying that maybe you could use your energy and will to fight for something else.

let's face it, radqueers will never be an actual threat to society. they are pathetic, sad people, hiding behind their screens, screaming "the future is radqueer!" over and over, but in reality this "movement" will burn to the ground eventually and they will go down with it.

do people get hurt in radqueer spaces? yes, they do and that's horrible (just a note as to how bad it's gotten with us: I write this and logically know that yes, it IS horrible - but I feel absolutely nothing. In all honesty, I currently don't care if people get hurt or not, because I can't care. it's like our brain shut off all emotions regarding this topic to protect ourselves). and I'm not saying you should stop offering them help, but I think you can stop worrying about the radqueers taking over society or whatever. if you feel this taking a toll on your mental health, please put yourself first. protecting your health and your life is always, ALWAYS more important that fighting strangers on the internet.

okay, in case you don't think of us as a total asshole with a heart of stone now and are interested in our plurality- and alterhumanity-focused tumblr life, here's out brand new system blog: @the-exodus-fleet And also our hosts blog: @talks-with-the-void

Take care of yourselves and thanks for every kind word and all the support we've got along the way /gen

PS: if any radqueer reads this and wants to celebrate this as a win or whatever, go ahead. if you need this to feel some joy in your sad, miserable little life, I'm not stopping you.

PPS: I still genuiely hope all radqueers eventually come to their sense and leave this bullshit ideology behind

PPPS: and to all radqueers who hide behind this label to abuse and groom other, I hope you lose all your friends and your family over this. you deserve no happiness.

[hrokkall]

As autumn colors fall...

Week III: Crossover [x]

(Concepts + bonus sketches under the cut)

I had a LOT in my brain on this one but I’ve been busy pretty much all week. I highly doubt I’m the first to have this idea but hey, here’s my take on it at least.

Leshy takes the role of the Beast. He’s a lot more “neutral” than the Beast we see in OGTW canon, but is motivated by self-preservation all the same. Not so much in terms of living forever, I don’t think he can really “die” in this AU because he sort of embodies the Unknown as much as it embodies him (he’d still be there, but would be without a physical form... not really ideal). But he definitely wants things to stay the way they are, which was going just fine until Luke Carder decided to waltz in and “help”.

On the topic of Luke, he’s pretty much the same as in canon. Maybe he originally had a Halloween costume like the brothers do in the show, but chances are it was either some last-minute “pun” costume or something equally simple and Horribly impractical to run around the woods in (i.e. a sheet ghost), so he loses it pretty early on, leading him to stick out like a sore thumb in the otherwise lost-in-an-antique-shop feel the Unknown seems to have. I’m not sure how he got there—didn’t think that far ahead—but we’ll go with he was lured there (for whatever reason) under the pretense that he’d finally get closure regarding his sister’s death. (He’s not going to, of course—at least not literally, the Unknown isn’t really an afterlife, more of just a “crossing over”—but let him keep thinking that).

That’s all well and good for Leshy; depressing, sure, but he can just subtly shift the trees to redirect Luke’s ass home before he starts inadvertently causing trouble by prodding around (though he can keep him around for a little bit, at least. Just to see what he does, not to trap him forever; he doesn’t exactly have a lot of company in the Unknown that aren’t immediately deterred by his presence). That is, until he stumbles across a group of animals pleading for help only an outsider can give and Leshy’s plan immediately begins to crumble.

The other Scrybes pretty much serve the same role as they do in Act 1 as talking cards, or otherwise fill the same niche as Beatrice in OGTW proper. They weren’t originally animals, but they weren’t human either like Beatrice was. Instead, they were cursed by Leshy (who wasn’t too keen on continuing to share his forest with a gaggle of other supernaturally-inclined assholes) and his Woodsmen to take on their current forms. I can’t see them having been traveling together all this time, so they all individually come to Luke desperate for help and are thrilled (/s) to see the other two have done the same. But hey, they’re pretty desperate for a way out and the previous human who came through actively made things worse for them, so it’s pretty much a last-ditch effort at this point. Cue hijinks.

The previous outsider to pass through was, of course, Kaycee, who arrived in the Unknown via near death experience like OGTW canon seems to imply. Being in the Unknown for long periods of time (assuming you’re not just born there) isn’t kind to the human body; if they don’t immediately start sprouting branches, one can expect lowered body temperature, a slowed pulse, gradually not needing to blink or sleep or eat... just generally weird shit that can’t be healthy. Kaycee’s been through all of that and then some; it’s a stretch to say she’s still alive, really. She’s not really the Woodsman; she opted to befriend the beast instead and now they’re pretty much inseparable (both because they’re genuinely buddies and because it’s mutually beneficial: Leshy ensures she’s not completely consumed by the Unknown, and Kaycee ensures Leshy gets to keep his form by bringing him animals and whatnot. Win for both parties). I’d imagine she’s also the only one who refers to him as just “Leshy” and not some sort of intimidating alias (Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf excluded, all of which only use his name when they’re being petty).

The lantern is more of just a thematic convenience here, it’s not actually tied to Leshy’s being. Instead, he has his camera: taking pictures of creatures (or people) with it traps their own life force within the film and therefore allows him to persist for longer. The pictures themselves don’t really do anything special, nor does getting rid of them, but Kaycee probably has a room where she develops pictures anyway, if for no other reason than Luke stumbling into a room lined wall to wall with antique photographs and asking his animal companions to find themselves would be both nerve-racking and a little humorous.

Kaycee is the only other person allowed to use the camera; a little bit of a weak point for Beast!Leshy. Sure, she’s strong too (she lives in the woods mostly on her own, carries an axe, and just generally has had a ton of time to train herself up) but not nearly as much as someone who can quite literally command the trees to kill you. Probably Luke’s best chance to defeat Leshy would be to go through Kaycee, assuming he goes that route (probably not... I don’t know how this AU would “end” though).

Again, Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf weren’t human + are similarly unkillable so they’re a little bit of a special case. Getting their visages captured just weakened them, allowing someone else to finish the job and solidify their respective “curses”. To return them to normal... it’s also kind of a Beatrice situation, giving Luke plenty of room to run around the forest in a wild goose chase. Stunted Wolf needs his other eye back, Stinkbug needs her wings plucked, and Stoat... I don’t know what Luke needs to do with those wire cutters, but he’ll figure it out (snip its whiskers, maybe?) He waits to get all three back before returning them to normal, both out of equity (much to their disdain and/or relief) and because... honestly, I don’t think he trusts them 100%. They may be tiny, but these guys clearly still have some sort of ulterior motive, even Luke isn’t blind to that.

Anyway that’s all I’ve got. I guarantee I missed something though. Feel free to send an ask if there’s any glaring issues/places that just need elaboration (or I might add on later unprompted anyway if I have the time). Thanks for reading my massive text walls; here’s a Stoat with my favorite Beatrice line.

[rachoka]

Showing love

♡ note: My fic for my sweet lotus blossom @bimsha!! I have never written Scara before so this might be very ooc but I hope it's still fluffy enough for you to enjoy <33 @oni-girx psps you're in it too

"Would you put that phone away already? It's embarrassing being on the dance floor alone." Bimsha leaned in and smoothly picked his phone from his hands, earning herself a sharp glare.

"Please, I'm the one who's embarrassed having to watch your clumsy imitation of a fish on land."

Bim gasped in mock offence. "These are my new sick af dance moves, I'll have you know! Secondly, you weren't even watching me."

"I'm saving the little sanity I have left. She already made the smart choice to close her eyes." He glanced over at Oya who was cosily snoozing away on the other end of the sofa with a blanket draped over her. Tonight, the three of them had gathered at Bimsha's apartment once again to celebrate her triumph over her exams.

Neither Oya nor himself, of course, were surprised at Bim's great academic proficiency but they all agreed that relaxing was just as important as burying your nose into books for weeks—if nlt more.

Oya had been the most excited for this three-person party but, ironically enough, was also the first person to conk out after a couple of songs and slices of fresh margarita pizza. He envied her relaxed spirit but also currently cursed her for so blatantly abandoning her position as the other person keeping the conversation going. Out of options and too flustered to watch Bimsha so radiantly enjoying herself to the fullest, he had been forced to retreat to his phone.

But of course Bim wouldn't cut him some slack... She could read him like an open book.

"What's with all the snark? Live a little," Bim teased, but seeing he had no plans to move his ass an inch from the sofa, she relented and threw herself down next to him on the soft cushions. Then she returned his phone to him and gently moved Oya so her head was resting comfortably on her lap.

He watched her run her fingers through her friend's hair and huffed. From the table, he offered her a glass of water from which she gratefully took a large swig of. Silence fell between them, and the upbeat gradually music faded into the background. The warm led lights had drowned the room in a tranquil, cozy atmosphere, so much so that it was difficult do anything else but sink into the sofa and appreciate the simple beauty of the moment.

For him, this appreciation, although subconsciously, came from knowing that these kinds of moments were something he had only once dreamt of—that to have friends, people he could place his trust in and enjoy the company of was a treasure in its own right. Sometimes he did wish he had the closeness that the two shared. Thank whatever god was out there, however, that nobody else knew those thoughts. He'd rather be stoned at the stake than let anyone know such embarrassing things went through his head.

Yet although his thoughts did not project themselves as words, they most certainly did in his body language, and it just so happened that Bim caught onto this a second before he did, noticing the familiar stoic eyes lingering on her fingers that threaded through Oya's hair.

"Not going back to poisoning your brain with internet?" Bim smiled smugly.

"Hmph, as if such a measly creation could ever influence me," he scoffed with a roll of his eyes, conveniently averting his gaze.

Bim only tutted at that. "You'd be surprised. In fact, it has been proven by multiple studies that social media has highly contributed to mental illnesses such as anxiety and depression."

"I know," he sighed. "I watched you win a whole debating competition thanks to that topic." He had also chucked a chair at one of her opponents after the competition because the wretched vermin dared to accuse her of cheating her way to victory. He only wished he had thrown it hard enough to send the imbecile to the hospital.

Bim grinned, placing her free hand on top of his unguarded head and ruffled his hair. Her eyes crinkled softly in the dim light, full of affection and too beautiful to be looked at for long. He backed away to the corner of the sofa. The sofa unfortunately was not very spacious to begin with so he had to rely on wit as his second line of defence.

"Which demon possessed you this time?"

"It's called showing love," Bim said, unfazed. "You're very obvious sometimes, you know that, Hat-guy?"

What what an absolutely ridiculous claim. He had never shown such stupid emotions . . . but he knew did not need to for Bim to understand him. It was frustrating, infuriating and disgustingly comforting. In the face of her undeniably endearing behaviour, he could only cross his arms and pretend he was not enjoying it.

"How absurd."

"Ugh, tell me about it . . ." Oya groaned from Bim's lap. "Next time you're gonna flirt, wake me up first or get a room." She rolled onto her back and glared up at the two sleepily. "Just don't pretend I'm not here."

Bim chuckled, pulling her closer. "Sorry, we'll include you in the next big event."

He scowled and leaned back against Bim's shoulder, glad the attention was finally off him. "As if it's ever possible not to notice you."

"Of course," Oya cackled. "You've been wishing so badly you were in my position right now."

"No—"

"Haha! I'm Bim's favourite!"

"Pfft. As if I give a—"

Suddenly, Bim pulled them both into her arms, halting the banter just like that, just like always. "I love you both, my dears."

Seeing the smile on her face, the two fell quiet. That smile was all that mattered.

"Love you too, Bimshs!"

"Yeah . . . love you."

[lunar-years]

Tell us about the Time Loop lad?

the full note for it in my Notes app is "time loop but its going from established rjk to Jamie traveling back to s2 roykeeley at their peak relationship, reliving man city over and over" which I vaguely remember dreaming up and then dismissing soon after as being too depressing even for me lol.

The full idea I think was that Jamie gets sent back to a bit earlier in the s2 timeline and tries to get Roy and Keeley to remember that like, in the "real" current timeline they're all together and happy!! But Roy and Keeley don't remember anything and Roy is still in his #1 Jamie Hater era, so Roy gets pissed that Jamie is talking to Keeley again and accuses him of trying to get back together with her, which makes roy hate jamie even more, etc. Still, Jamie is trying to slowly win them over when Man City approaches. Jamie in the current day has come a long way in terms of healing and distancing himself from his father, so he's like fuck this i don't need this and tells security before the game that if his dad tries to come into the locker room he's not allowed. So the confrontation never happens, but then neither does Roy comforting him of course, and nothing changes, and then Jamie wakes up and he's back to where he started in s2.

Repeat cycle, and Jamie has to keep reliving man city in different ways whilst trying to find a way to both stop his dad from abusing him at wembley AND get roykeeley to believe him about the time loop and help him. Nothing seems to work. For example, one time he tries not giving his dad tickets at all, and then Bug and Denbo come and beat him up so badly he can't play at all. He wakes up in the hospital and Roy and Keeley are there, but Jamie's so out of it on drugs he can't stay awake long enough to talk to them, and by the time he wakes up--bam he's back to the start again. Another time he has a heart to heart with Sam and gets Sam to believe him about the time loop, and he's feeling so good about at least winning his friend back that he forgets about his dad until he's in the locker room, only this time Sam steps in first and shields then hugs Jamie, so he again never has that moment with Roy.

Eventually this culminates in Jamie deciding Roy never would have warmed up to him if he hadn't witnessed Jamie being abused and then "felt so sorry for him" that he took him home afterwards. Like, he gets in his head that Roy pitying him is the only way to get Roy to eventually love him (obviously this isn't actually true, but it's very heartbreaking in jamie's head for a bit). anyway, there's lots of angst and jamie has to decide whether it's worth letting his dad mock him exactly how he did in canon, even though every instinct inside him is screaming at him to prevent that from happening again, if there's a chance it will jolt him back to the present. Because nothing else he does seems to get Roy to CARE. and then he has to reckon with why he even wants that relationship back when he thinks it's just built off his trauma.

I have about a 95% chance of never writing this tbh because 1) the wonky timeline/time travel/time loop combo is too wonky for my pea brain to keep track of 2) i have zero clue how this would end??? 3) truly idk what i was on when I thought this one up because??? damn. that's depressing as shit.

but anyway there you have it!

[tkwrites]

Story requests currently in my asks: 28 (if you’d like to see a list of what they are, let me know!)

Uhhhh yes PLEASE 😻, congrats on your one year anniversary of posting on here! Xxxx

Thank you so much, Lovely! It's been such a whirlwind year, but it's been so fun for me! Thank you all for reading and following along in Quinn & Sarah's journey!

I've listed all the requests below in oldest to newest order, though they won't be written in that same order. Sometimes, more than one request will be combined into one Snapshot.

Though I do love receiving requests - they really get my creative brain running - writing takes time. So please be patient with me as I work through them. I'm trying to write & include as many as I can.

Either Quinn or Sarah gets drunk and the other takes care of them

Golfing x2

Sarah giving girl advice to Jack and Luke x3

Self care day

Sarah visits the Michigan lake house with the USNDT guys x3

Quinn and Sarah adopt a pet x2

Quinn meets Sarah’s family

The first time they have phone sex as alluded to in Messages 

Sarah at the Hughes family reunion x2

Funny moments as they get more comfortable with each other. Farting, etc… 

Jim and Sarah bonding over losing parents 

More Sarah and Ellen girl time 

Mothers day - Quinn comforts Sarah

Quinn in control re: Please

Quinn comes home from a roadtrip early to find Sarah pleasuring herself

Quinn at Sarah’s graduation x2

Does Sarah ever fake an orgasm? How does Quinn respond?

Quinn and Sarah get engaged

Sarah meets June and all that ensues from that

Sarah interacting more with Emma x2

Sarah reacts to Quinn being on a TV show (I’ll have to wait to see the Amazon show before I can think about this one) 

Do Quinn and Sarah ever break up? x2

Sarah has a depressive episode while Quinn is out of town. How does he react?

Thigh Riding (of course) x2

Sarah’s reaction to Quinn winning the Norris 

Quinn and Sarah launch their relationship on socials

Kylee and Luke’s relationship & the brothers reaction to it x2

Sarah finds out Quinn is keeping track of how often they have sex

Sarah’s reaction to Quinn shaving his playoff beard 

Sarah and Kylee interaction 

Quinn and Sarah move in together & the growing pains that come with living with someone new

Quinn meets Walter

[astriiformes]

Having one of those weeks where I'm fighting my brain and my brain is winning, and it's hard not to feel a little depressed about it.

I'm excited about my classes this semester but they're definitely going to be more work. And I'm already struggling with motivation and still don't have a lot of good solutions, so it's all too easy to despair. I'm trying to get ahead of it and made an appointment with an academic skills coach at school, but I don't know how much they can help me with when the real problem is my out-of-control ADHD. Not to mention the anxieties it leaves me with about my future.

I still have no idea what I'm going to do after I graduate and it's starting to hit me really hard. I'd like to go to grad school, but I don't know if I can do it, or if I can uproot us from our support system like that, or if it's the right choice for actual employment prospects. But thinking about giving up on it makes me miserable. And my anxiety about all this is starting to bleed into my daily life at school, too, which is only making me feel worse.

Money is not good. I'm definitely overworking myself to try to make up for it, but we are not in a good place financially and I'm starting to beat myself up every time I pay for anything, but especially stuff that's non-essential. I just about made myself cry today thinking about nabbing a ticket for the Mountain Goats concert here this spring because I have friends going and it'd make me happy but is it really worth it?* When it comes down to it, I am just not getting enough financial aid to support two people and have eaten through almost all my savings trying to make it work, which only makes me more stressed about having something better lined up when I graduate. Except I don't think I will. Which is really bad.

*Please do not offer to help me pay for it. I think Dys the OCD demon would physically attack me if someone tried to buy me something frivolous because of a tumblr vent post.

I'm also just... questioning every social interaction I have, online and off. Turning them around in my head over and over and trying to figure out if I misstepped or misspoke or made someone upset, even when there's no real reason to think I did. It's exhausting, and I know it's indicative of larger problems but it's also just making me feel like my current floundering is impacting my relationships, too.

I don't know. I've been feeling weird and sad the last few days and I can't think of any real ways to stop feeling weird and sad, especially when money is tight and I feel like I'm fumbling every social interaction, making good distractions harder to come by. I hope the semester goes okay, but I'm getting pretty worried it won't. And I'm tired of the future being something that makes me feel sad and scared instead of hopeful things will get better.

[calissarowan]

Losing Grip

Hello! I got too tired to work on one of my fics in progress, but I got a creativity hit for something new. So, here’s a depressing and emotionally-intense fanfic about Gantlos getting the news about Duman’s death. Please leave a comment if you like it!

 I know the plan. I know what I’m doing. I know that I just let the man I love more than anything go with a group of the people I have actively been trying to destroy. Fair enough, they’ve been trying to destroy me too. It’s been fairly mutual. I don’t think that makes us friends though.

 I don’t normally think this much, but it’s as though my brain is keeping up a steady stream of chatter as if it’s a sort of surrogate Duman, keeping me distracted from my constant, desperate instinct to turn and run to the Specialists’ loft, scoop Duman up into my arms and snarl at them all to get away from him. 

 As it stands, I am unable to do what I so desperately want to, as I’m currently standing next to Ogron and Anagan, watching the Abyss whip winds across Tir Na N’og, dragging every Earth fairy towards its dark embrace. I should probably feel some sense of satisfaction, but I just need it to be over. Need to get to Duman. The Specialists can’t know we’ve betrayed them, but they’ll find out. And Duman has to be back in my arms before they do.

 I follow Ogron as we move to where Roxy and Morgana are clinging to the throne for dear life; the little fairy is stronger than I think we all thought she was. It’s a shame she had to be dragged into this, but I can’t change that.

 ‘The last fairy on Earth,’ Ogron drawls, his voice smug with satisfaction at what looks like a sure victory. ‘We still have a bone to pick with each other, don’t we, Roxy?’ Roxy looks like she’d like to forgo magic and spellcraft and just punch Ogron in the face.

 ‘You lying snake!’ she spits furiously. ‘All of you! I swear, when this is over, Morgana’s gonna have to put me on trial for what I’m gonna do to you!’ She gets to her feet, her hair whipping in the winds meant to destroy her, the White Circle gleaming on her finger. We all unconsciously back up, wary, as, even with the power of the Abyss, that Circle can hurt us. 

 ‘So many battles lost,’ Ogron snarls as Roxy watches him warily. ‘But we’ll just see who wins the war!’ He unleashes a flood of dark energy at her, but before she even has to think about countering, the magic is blocked by an ethereal blue sword.

 ‘The side of light will always emerge victorious!’ Sky snaps, lowering his sword. ‘Surrender now, and maybe we’ll just add this to the list of crimes you’re being tried for!’

 ‘Leave now, and maybe you won’t face the Abyss!’ Ogron snarls in response. Meanwhile, I’m barely listening to the discourse. The Specialists are here. Nabu is here. My blood runs cold. Where’s Duman? I want to scream the question at them, but, to my horror, Nabu answers it before I even speak.

 ‘It’s over, wizards. Duman is dead. Your plan is doomed. Surrender.’ Dead. The word hits me like a meteor. Dead. My brain struggles to understand it. I don’t want to understand it. 

 ‘No…’ I whisper, my body going rigid, my voice cracking. ‘No…’ Ogron and Anagan are frozen in silent horror, staring at Nabu, trying to process his revelation. Duman is…dead. I feel the knowledge tear at my heart, tugging at it, digging in sharp, jagged claws, ripping it to pieces. 

 Finally, it truly clicks. All the air leaves my lungs in a huge, devastated rush.

 ‘No!’ I scream furiously. The Specialists’ eyes widen at my outburst, and they ready their weapons for a fight. But I’m not going to fight them. I can’t.

 My breath comes in ragged gasps as I feel fury, grief and heartache wash over me. As I realise that I’m never going to see Duman again. Never tell him how much I love him. Never kiss him. That he’s never going to smile at me again. 

 ‘Gantlos…’ I hear Anagan cautiously approach me, but I shake my head slightly. I just lost Duman. I can’t lose him. I could fight this. I could try, at least. But I’ve never been in this much emotional pain. It’s washing over me in waves, and with each new wave, I feel the destructive vibrations of my magic ripple across my skin. Each breath in and out makes them stronger, until the earth around me begins to tremble.

 I’ve never been good at keeping my magic under control. I can keep its full potential suppressed, but I’m the Wizard of Destruction. My magic’s very nature is to destroy. And every painful emotion swirling around me in a maelstrom of mental agony is feeding that power, and it’s growing, coming to the surface like a living, breathing entity, seeking destruction. And right now, now that I’ve lost the one thing that meant more to me than anything? I’m more than willing to be its vessel.

 I fall to my knees with a scream of primal fury and anguish, unleashing devastating seismic waves that rip everything from the ground for half a mile. I can hear screaming, some of it mine, some of it from others, but I don’t care to distinguish the two.

 There’s a deafening crack, and I know I’ve done some damage to the castle, all the way across the plain. I scream again, part of me wanting to reduce everything to rubble as tears stream down my cheeks, dark and tainted with black magic.

 People are shouting, trying to determine what’s happening. People are yelling at me to stop, fairies are firing blasts of magic, but the storm of hurt around me just deflects whatever attempts are made to break through.

 ‘Gantlos, you have to stop this!’ I can hear Ogron’s voice, but I don’t understand his words. I don’t want to. I want this. Want to tear the world apart until it hurts as much as I do. The power coursing through me hurts; it feels like it’s going to rip me to pieces. Let it. I can’t keep control, and I don’t want to. This island can crumble. I don’t care.

[kbirbpods]

and, we're live!

Time for my 2023 stats round up.

First, let's look at the number of hours/minutes per month, shall we?

All of that account for 59 hours & 11 minutes of podfic. Now, comparing to last year, when I had just shy of 31 hours, that looks pretty good. Remember, last year I started in August so I almost doubled it.

We do notice a dip in March & April, which tend to be busy months in the education world. The spike in May is due to Voiceteam. June-August are a bit odd - you'd think a teacher on break would have more time to create. But I had some life stuff hit and it really destroyed my brain.

So, here's my first 2024 Resolution:

Remember how happy podfic makes you & don't let your depression win.

Now, moving on to the breakdowns and fun stuff, shall we?

Here are my top 5 fandoms, authors, ratings, and genres! I also have them in bar chart form and pie chart form, which I'll put below the cut. You'll see a slight difference in the author category -- I didn't include myself or Flowerparrish and my podcast in that as those weren't authors.

Of course, what is podficcing without making covers you love? Here are my favorite covers I made for my own podfics! I have a migraine so please excuse the fact that the images don't line up, vision is blurry:

Now, let's move on to my stats image from above. I used the same format as last year but since I made over 100 more podfic than last year, each microphone now equals five podfics.

As you can see, I participated in a lot of events! I believe I made the most audio for Voiceteam 2022 (as evidenced by my hours/month graph). This was my first year doing Voiceteam and I had a blast. I also got to do Podtogether & Summer Swap for the first time. It was my 2nd year doing ITPE. And then so much more.

My top kudosed collaborative project was "A Fair Compromise" with @wanderingjedihistorian for 212th Appreciation week. My top kudosed solo project was "A Game of Guess Who With Big Blue" by TheWitchBoy. The longest podfic I made was also with @wanderingjedihistorian and was my podfic of our Codywan Big Bang project! My shortest was a Locked Tomb podfic at 57 seconds called Realization.

My first podfic of 2023 was Hot Cocoa by Melime, a "The Batman" podfic. In the middle was Dissipate by SunsetsOverLA for Waxer*Boil month. And the last posted thing was for @fandomtrumpshate, for my top bidder - an Obi-Wan/Jango soulmates AU.

Now, on to 2024! My resolutions are:

To continue working on current WIPs I'm bringing into 2024 - some of which I've already tied up only 5 days into the year

To podfic even when my brain is being a gremlin, because podfic makes me happy and I should be able to focus on that!

To be brave enough to post the first "Soft Wars" podfic and finally tackle the series (kind of the same as resolution #1)

Not to sign up for Big Bangs -- I love them dearly but they actually caused a lot of my burnout this year and I didn't love that. As much as I love collabs, I think I'll stick to Podtogether, multivoices with friends, and gift exchanges this year!

Close the gaps -- aka, as much as I love Clone Wars, I want to focus on all things I love, instead of overbearingly focusing in on one.

Going into 2024, I am going to start tracking what music I use in my podfics, because I was curious about it / @flowerparrish inspired me. I also found a way to track overall Star Wars and then Star Wars broken down into sub fandoms - that should neaten up my "top 5" category a bit.

Happy New Year, all!

And, as mentioned above, screenshots of my actual graphs & tables, for interest sake!