#helpful glitchy bun

[bagelcatattack]

He helping

[chocoshrooms]

:: BEN Drowned GENERAL HEADCANONS ::

• i do not own the above image •

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:; he has piercings on both sides of his lips (snake bites) and usually keeps hoop like jewelry in. his ears are also pierced almost all the way down them, he has a lot of free cartilage from his elf ears. i could also see him having eyebrow piercings or his nose pierced

:; fluffy blonde hair but not a yellowish blonde, it is more platinum blonde but darker in the roots. his hair is long enough for a shorter ponytail or a small bun, and he does style his hair both ways to keep it out of his eyes sometimes. (sally will also put a little bow on his man bun if they are playing together)

:; does not wear the link costume. he is usually in casual clothes like jeans, ripped or not, hoodies, t-shirts, or sweatpants. does not get dressed up for any occasion

:; shares his clothes with everyone. he is probably one of the most comforting creeps to be around, and yes everyone steals his anime t-shirts but he also steals things he likes from others as well

:; but very sneaky!!

:; will paint his fingernails or let sally doodle on them. his nails grow at a faster rate than humans do so he tries to keep them trimmed

:; as said before, he is very comforting to be around. he is very welcoming to new people but also does not speak very much when he meets someone new. i like to think he has social anxiety most of the time but once he gets to know you he will open up a lot more.

:; very comfortable around most creeps though so it does not seem like he would have anxiety. he has just been around them for a long time so has came out of his shell lots more

:; ben can manipulate time to a certain extent, he can only slow time down not speed it up. but this takes a lot of energy for him to do this and also a huge electrical charge (when he has attempted this before he made the mansion go without power for a couple days) but, he doesn’t really know how to use this power, he’s still learning

:; ben also has the ability to use fire. and electricity (obviously) he can create fire by using enough electricity! the fire comes from his hands. sometimes he will do little “fire shows” to entertain other creeps or himself.

:; ben is usually cold to the touch but when he uses a lot of electricity or uses his fire powers, his hands and feet heat up to high temperatures

:; ben is pretty tall but lanky and stronger than most think!

:; ben can also manipulate music, even while someone’s playing live music in front of him. he can reverse music and words to a song (this is almost like he can “possess” someone like a ghost would but he’s not really good at it and still needs tons of practice)

:; ben comes from another world entirely so it’s very hard for him to get practice or help with his powers and how to use them efficiently! (he does try to pick up books in the other world or get help from someone there but he’s a slow learner)

:; sometimes codes float around ben or random internet searches and they appear glitchy, he can usually swat them away but they just reappear. his body also vibrates softly because of the electricity surging through him

:; ben is very very smart, he just acts like he’s not 99% of the time! no one can fool him. and yes, he goes through everyone’s search histories and peeps through everyone’s phones which is also why he knows so much about other creeps! he just can’t help it, he’s very curious but not judgmental to what others have going on. sometimes this helps him get closer to others by bringing up topics they’re interested in

:; ben does play video games but not to a crazy extent. he’s very good at them and occasionally will play when he has free time or bored. he loves to play with other creeps and will either play a game with them or let them watch him play! he also obsesses over certain games or tv shows/movies and dedicates a couple months of his life to them

:; ben has a very chill personality but that doesn’t mean he can’t be mean! he’s not really disliked by any of the creeps but if you do get on his bad side he will be sure to let you know he doesn’t like you (ignoring you when you talk to him, looking past you when you’re in his presence, pranking you in the most hardcore manner, deleting important things from your phone, and so much more!)

:; ben can float but also chooses to walk, (he floats around like peter pan would)

:; if it is dark in a room you can see bens red eyes like little dots, he also glows green a little but if codes are surrounding him they will light up the room! they are pretty bright

:; ben can zap the radio & play anything he likes from the internet, this is good for when you’re in one of the old dinky cars from the mansion that doesn’t even allow bluetooth. he’s your own personal bluetooth! he can also pick up on other radios nearby & hear conversations if people are close enough to the radios

:; can faze into objects if he really tries, just not as good as sally since sally is 100% poltergeist, sometimes he gets stuck halfway!

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this is all i can think of for now! feel free to request something <3

!! ALSO sorry for the late update! this is gonna sound funny but i actually got pregnant & had my baby! so i was gone for a while haha. i look forwards to updating on here more & taking requests now :)

[moshieee]

MOSHIE HELP!!!!!!!!! Glitchy and Bun are being mean and put some of my oc fanart by Sunification on Fridge Dia!!!! It went on his face! I'm so dead help!!!!!!!!!!

(┳Д┳)

Hehe honestly that's a compliment, you should feel honored to have some of your art on the fridge/dia

And it's well deserved imo your art is amazing 🫶

[usmsgutterson]

Hi !! I’m binge reading all your writing rn and I’m still looking obsessed <3 I’d love to request any of the crows x a reader who’s an identical twin, their twin is very outgoing and knows the crows well as they’ve worked together for heists and such but the reader is basically the opposite, they’re on the quieter side and prefer literature and baking to whatever the crows are getting up to. When they meet the crows they’re mistaken as their twin, maybe because their twin asked them to help on a job without informing the crows? Anyway I don’t really have a preference for what type of writing this is or the crows it’s for ^^ thank you :D 👾

The Librarian-platonic! crows x gn! reader

Hi! I'm so sorry that this took me a while--my tumblr inbox is being glitchy and weird atm and requests have been disappearing and reappearing at random so I caught this in my inbox while I was lucky.

As the title indicates, I added one thing! The reader is a librarian because I was like "they gotta have a job. They like to read, librarian it is" and I hope that you're okay with that!

Generally though, thank you for sending this in, this concept was a lot of fun and definitely a good way to try to get myself used to writing requests frequently again after several months of near-burnout and demotivation.

Fic type- this one is literally just fluff

Warnings- mentions of murder (generally), mentions of murder by thwack of thick book to ones head, and theres an allusion to body parts being cut up and put into a box, then leaving that box to float to the bottom of the ocean (Jesper refers to it as slice and dice, and I promise it's less graphic than it seems)

You didn't know why you'd agreed to help your twin. You were their opposite--they were all about the life of crime that most Barrel residents lived, where you were content to work at the library you'd been working at since you were seventeen and sell your baked goods at the market stalls on the weekends.

You did not like the Barrel at all.

You resented how easy it was to find yourself a victim of pickpocketing whenever you wandered into a gambling den on that side of town or even just while you walked through the streets.

You much preferred your apartment and the smell of fresh cinnamon buns to the vague smell of swamp mingling with gasoline and peoples loud, rowdy ways as they ambled from one gambling den to the next. You hated the idea of all of it--why dress in your finest if you're intending to go gamble, when there's always a chance that you'll lose everything you gave, and lose more than that when your aim had been to win it all back after the initial loss?

But still, agreeing to help your twin was a commitment you'd made. You had the layout of a library with something valuable and had agreed to go to the Slat to draw up a sketch, but the hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.

You proceeded into the Slat--the building your twin had said to meet up in--and sat at a table after grabbing yourself a brandy. Like they were being brought to you by some kind of gravitational pull, a tall Fjerdan and the girl he had on his arm walked up to you.

"Y/T/N?" the girl asked. "You've just left the Slat for breakfast. Did you change your mind?"

You blinked, confusedly. "I'm not--"

Another girl spoke up from behind you, and the sound of her voice startled you just enough to make you flinch.

Where had she come from? Was she the kind of person who could steal peoples secrets from the shadows? Was she a spider who hid in the dark corners where people were too oblivious to look, taking their conversations back to the infamous Kaz Brekker in the aim to turn over a profit?

"Not Y/T/N," she said. "Their twin."

A gray eyed boy with guns on his hips approached next, arm lazily draped over a boy with dark red hair and eyes that made him resemble something of a deer when startled.

"What are you doing in the Barrel?" He asked. "Your twin says that you tend to keep to your routine. Working at the library in the Financial District during the day, spending your friday nights baking so that you can sell your goods at the market stalls. You're not the type to come round here."

"They wanted to meet with me," you said. "There's a library out in the countryside that's become a tourist attraction since the Merchant Council actually put effort into proper marketing for it? I've visited every other weekend since it opened. They said that they need me to sketch the layout in the absence of a blueprint, which I know for a fact was destroyed in case anyone tried to steal it to figure out the best entrance and exit points. Did they not tell you they asked me for help?"

"What's your cut of the final profit?" You didn't have to know that voice to recognize it. It was Kaz Brekker, the most infamous criminal in all of Ketterdam, the only person who'd scared Pekka Rollins away from anything, even if the thing he'd scared Rollins away from had been his own criminal empire.

"Can I ask you what all of your names are first? Despite how much my twin talks about you, I don't know your faces, even if there's a near guaranteed chance that I know your names."

"Inej," said the girl who'd snuck up on you. "Inej Ghafa. The boy with the guns is Jesper, the doe eyed one is Wylan. Matthias is the big, blond, brooding yellow tulip who's glowering at you right now, and the beautiful girl on his arm is Nina. I'm sure you know who Kaz is?"

"Too well," you said. "How's the leg?"

Kaz smirked as the crew began to pull up chairs, where he took the spot to your right.

"It could be better than it is now, but it's not as bad as it is in winter. Your cut of the money?"

"They promised to give me 40 percent of their share if I sketched out the layout," you said. "You're being paid twelve million for this. I get just less than one million after the math is said and done."

"In the interest of paying the reason that we get this heist right as rain with minimal issue fairly, what is twelve million through eight?" Kaz asked the group that'd formed around the table whilst you'd been too focused on taking a sip of your brandy to notice.

"1.5 million," Wylan answered within seconds. "Cuts two million off each of our paychecks."

"Well, if Y/N is decent for a blueprint sketch, I'm sure you be too busy with the knowledge that you still have your lives, the clothes on your backs and the homes to which you'll go to notice the half a million you would've missed out on."

Jesper grinned at you. "He's terrifying," he said. "But, in the end, fairness in terms of these things is important to him. He's greed incarnate but he doesn't take well to enemies, so he's making sure your twin doesn't rip you off."

"A baker-slash-librarian and literature fanatic is hardly an enemy," Nina interjected.

"They've got books as tall as the length from my wrist to the bend in my elbow in some libraries," Jesper said. "They hit Kaz with one of those while he's not expecting it, he goes down quick. His death can be made even quicker, provided they use chocolate chunks--which require chopping on a cutting board--in their baking. Slice and dice, ship him to the bottom of the ocean in a box that's two feet tall and one foot wide, and all evidence of their having murdered the Bastard of the Barrel is gone."

"Killing Kaz Brekker is not in my interest," you said. "Not at all. Matter of fact, just sketching this is, and even then, the money is the only reason I'm here. I mean this respectfully, but I miss home. I miss the comfort of my bed and being able to enjoy a fine Wednesday morning without worrying about losing a twenty kruge bill while I walk back home."

"Y/T/N said you were aloof," Nina commended. "Like Matthias. Do we have a liar in our midst?"

"No," you said. "Though I wouldn't say aloof is the right word. I would say quiet, reserved, and uninterested in crime are the right ones, but you've caught me in a moment of sass. Let me switch the brandy for wine and I'll get angsty instead."

Jesper barked a laugh, Wylan, Inej, and Nina grinned. Kaz smirked, and you saw a glint of horror pass through Matthias' gaze. It made you laugh.

"Relax, Matthias," you said. "Want me happy, I'll take a glass of kvas or some gin."

You saw his expression relax, and just shook your head. You were in for a hell of a time with that crew, and part of you couldn't wait for it to really begin.

[companionwolf]

Toy Soldiers Ch 16

The Commander keeps their word, wordlessly meets with Kennedy the next morning. They travel for a long while, until they reach a small settlement on the lip of a canyon. “Resistance HQ,” says the soldier. The Commander sinks low in their jacket.

“Ship’s down here,” he says, leasing the way down a rickety set of hastily made stairs. Down and down they go, the Commander gazing out at the ship that rises to meet them in its silent unmoving form, dwarfing them even before they reach the bottom, blocking out the sun.

“Wow,” says the Commander.

What a beautiful ship, says Shen. I wish I could get to know how it worked…

Kennedy leads them up a open wide ramp at the bottom, and onto the bridge -- the Commander blinks at the sight of a glitchy Hologlobe, at the personnel milling around. To the side, they note a long haired woman with a ponytail conversing with a younger man. Kennedy nods at them.

“Commander Katya and her CO Andrey,” he says.

The Commander nods curtly. “I’ve got some information for them,” they say, a moment after a bout of impassioned prompting in their head from the toys. “About the resistance factions.”

Kennedy approaches the two; the Commander trails behind him.

Is this what your old base used to be like? Central asks. It’s weird to imagine that place like this…

“It is,” they murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “It’s really weird, and i don’t like it, and I want to go home.”

You promised, says Kelly.

The Commander sighs.

Katya turns to look at them, her green eyes sharp and cold. Her CO turns too-- brown eyes, dark hair. The commander looks them over, frowning. “So you are the head of XCOM, the original one? WHo lost in 2015?”

They nod hesitantly.

She hums, and then turns away. Andrey looks at them, at his commander, shrugs at Kennedy, and follows Katya as she walks off the bridge into another room. Kennedy gives the Commander a shrug of his own. “Katya’s got some opinions about you, I think,” he says.

Obviously, says Shen.

“I have something to tell them, though,” the Commander says, in almost a kiddush voice. The soldier glances the Commander over. “I don’t think those toys are helping you, anyway,” he answers.

“Yes they are! I--” The Commander flounders. “I need them.”

Kennedy’s turn to frown. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let’s go see if Yolanda is around.”

He leads them down hallways, past a bar with a memorial wall, past what looks like some kind of gym in construction, into a crowded living quarters with couches at the center of the room and bunk beds along the walls. A group of soldiers is playing cards at the center table-- they look up curiously as Kennedy and the Commander enter.

Kennedy approaches the table. “Anyone seen Yolanda?”

One of the younger soldiers answers that they saw her down in engineering. Kennedy thanks them, ushers the Commander out of the barracks and down, down, down, until they come to the bottom of the ship, walking down a small metal staircase into a workshop.

Seated on an island table in the middle is a dark skinned woman with her hair pulled into a bun. Before anyone else can say anything, the Commander pulls the datapads they didn’t end up trading out and says, “Hi. I think you’ll want these.”

Yolanda looks up--

“Commander!”

They laugh a little as she jumps up off the table and comes to hug them. “Glad to see you’re okay,” they say, throat tightening suddenly. “I really thought I was alone, until I ran into Kennedy and he said some of the staff and troops made it out.”

Yolanand breaks the hug, takes the data pads. “Honestly, before I got in contact with Katya and co., and started working here, I thought so too,” she says. “Was weird to end up here and slowly see people I knew from HQ start making their way…”

“It’s weird to see them up on the bridge,” says the Commander, trailing off as the other nods.

Kennedy, in the doorway, smiles at them both. “You think you can figure out those caches?”

Yolanda glances them over. “Maybe,” she says. “Might need some help…”

I watched my human break intel encryption after he defected, says Tygan, I can guide you.

“I can help,” the Commander says. “I know just enough to be helpful, I think. I hope.”

“I didn’t know you were into this stuff,” says Yolanda.

“Eh, you pick up some things over twenty years.”

Yolanda looks at Kennedy, at the Commander, back at Kennedy again. “Did you clear them being here with Katya?” she asks. The other soldier gives a noncommittal hand gesture.

“She’ll come around to them,” he says, “especially once we get those datapads cracked.”

Yolanda purses her lips. “If you say so,” she answers.

“C’mon Commander, we’ll find you somewhere to bunk,” says Kennedy.

“Are you planning to join us?” Yolanda asks.

“No.”

The silence is deafening. Yolanda stares at them, they stare at their feet, Kennedy shifts anxiously. Finally, Yolanda asks: “Why not?”

The Commander frowns. “I lost, the resistance doesn;t want me,” they say. “Besides, I don’t….it’s been twenty years, I haven’t commanded in a long time.”

That’s not true, says Kelly. You did that for the factions…

“Factions don't count,” they murmur. “I was repaying a debt.” Louder, to the other humans, they say, “Katya seems like she's doing fine here. No need for me.”

Kennedy and Yolanda exchange looks.

“What?” says the Commander.

“I think you might change your mind once you see her process,” says Kennedy.

They sigh. “Show me where I can lie down,” they say. “And where I can get a drink.”

Later, tucked into a top bunk above Kennedy’s, the Commander sips on a strong drink and skulks. The toys, gathered in their lap, voice their distress -- Commander, Commander, Commander… they tip their head back and chug.

Commander, please talk to us, says Central. Talk to me.

“I am not going to take over,” they say. “That’s what they want, isn’t it? I’m not doing it.”

They just asked you to see, says Shen. Give them the intel, watch how Katya commands, make your decisions after that. Besides, no one’s asked you to stay directly, so…

The Commander huffs, takes another drink. “I want to be home,” they whine. “I should have just….ignored Kennedy and left Freedom Point when I planned to. This is stupid and hell, even if I was to take over, we’d still lose. Against ADVENT, we’re nothing.”

I don’t think that’s very fair to the soldiers who have died, says Tygan.

“Maybe they felt good about it, good for them,” the Commander says. “I think it’s pointless. Which is another reason they shouldn't be trying to get me back in this thing. I don’t care.”

I dunno, says Central. I think maybe you just tell yourself that.

“Do not play therapist with me, Central,” they say. “I love you, but do not do that right now.”

Okay, okay, he answers. Just….let’s give it a shot. You’ve got us here, anyway, and you don’t even have to command. Tell them about the factions and watch Katya, that’s all. Then we can leave.

The Commander sighs, finishes their drink. “If shit goes weird, I’m blaming the resistance.”

And at first it doesn’t.

The Commander manages to get an audience with Katya proper, tell her what they learned from the factions, about the Reapes and SKirmsiehrs and how to contact them, about that thing that attacked them. They aren’t sure how much she listens to them, but they’ve passed the intel on.

Katya allows them to stay on the ship, and they spend time training and hanging out with the soldiers, watching over her and Andrey’s shoulders during missions, never going on the field themselves. Kennedy's right -- both that ADVENT is doing eerily similar things to how they used to, and that Katya, despite how she carries herself, is not as experienced as she'd like to make them believe. The Commander tries to stifle their comments,they really do.

They don’t care, why are they giving tactical suggestions?

(“You need to have Bauer move up behind that tree.”

“Martinez would have a better shot if--”

“Come at the enemy from the side, not head on!”)

They don’t care, why do Katya’s mistakes make them angry?

(Martinez gets clipped in the shoulder by an ADVEt trooper. Bauer is shot in the leg. The squad barely manages to evacuate, and the Commander trembles, not in fear, but fury.)

They don’t care, so why--?

You’re getting back into it, says Central. Do you think you’ll contest Katya after all?

The Commander sighs. They don’t want to, really, they don’t miss that responsibility.

But Katya is not good at this-- she gets the troops unnecessary wounds, doesn’t listen to their suggestions, and ignores her senior staff. Her behavior eats at them, and they want to correct her so badly, can see ten different ways they could have improved a mission if they’d been the one at the helm.

“Yeah,” they mumble. “Not sure how, but I will.”

The toys transmit beams of pride and love and encouragement at them. They sigh again.

“For you all, I’ll do it,” they say. “For you, and Asaru too.”

[coopergal24]

A Different Idea for Pibby

So I've been thinking about "Pibby". If the concept for the series gets scrapped, MAYBE it could be used as a premise for a game, but written differently.

Like Poppy Playtime or Five Nights at Freddy's, but played out differently.

Edit: Actually, throw in some Bendy and the Ink Machine too.

Edit 2: Spelling corrections and slight changes.

The overall concept can be seen through the eyes of the Viewer, a fan of the Pibby cartoon series who grew up and became an intern that works at the cartoon studio as a new animator/character designer.

However, about three months after starting their job, the Viewer started to hear rumors from other employees. These rumors are about the strange "Glitchy" problems that are found in the editing of recently made cartoon shows. Around the same time, a couple workers had gone missing.

In this concept, there's no "Zombie Toon Apocalypse", but it'll be loosely based on the ideas in both Poppy and Bendy.

In this concept version though, the cartoon studio staff are trying to create a portal to the Toon World, or maybe bridge the “TownToon existing next to the Real World” concept of Roger Rabbit and have someone try to find another entry to the Toon World. But there's a twist in all of this.

The Glitchiness is the result of a corrupted Big Wig cartoon executive/CEO, who uses "Dark Magic" to create his own duplicates of popular cartoon characters. He uses the missing employees as sacrifices for the creation of the duplicates, but something happens.

Needless to say, the cartoon studio is temporarily shut down until the Glitchiness is solved.

The CEO, however, works in secret to make his dream a reality, and even goes as far as to "Invite" the interns back to the studio, in the form of the lie.

The Viewer arrives at the studio, but discovers the duplicates after exploring the animator room, the "Toon Clones" having been severely mutated into grotesque nightmarish versions of the real original toons.

Again, they’re not “zombified toons”, these are basically clones/doppelgängers of the real toons, but more like mutated bootlegs.

But luckily, the Viewer escapes to a different area of the studio.

They then meet Pibby, along with Bun Bun, Alloy Boy and Melira, shocked to find a human that survived the nightmare so far. They then explained about what’s been happening, how they discovered the portal into the Real World and went in.

They then find something that's not only mysterious, but concerning to the worried Toons.

Upon discovering the duplicate monster toons, they try to find ways to defeat them, but only a human can fully take out the DupliToons. Another reason why Pibby and the others are worried is because the DupliToons have started coming into their world and causing problems. Overall, there's some kind of connection between the DupliToons, the disappearances of the employees and the Glitchiness.

As for the gameplay mechanics, the Viewer has to travel between the Real and Toon Worlds, in order to solve this whole mystery, and what the connection is between the Glitchiness, the studio being closed and the disappearance of the employees.

Think of it like the point and click gameplay of ToonStruck, but with some Poppy Playtime and Bendy and the Ink Machine mixed in with action gameplay and jump scares.

Along the way, the Viewer obtains and uses items to use, both from the Real and Toon Worlds. These items can be used separately or combined into a new item, adding the "Point and Click" mechanics in this.

The game can be played in a Point and Click version.

Pibby's your "Toon Guide" and will help you along the way, either with fighting against the "Duplicate Monsters" or solving puzzles. Bun Bun, being the smallest, would help you by crawling into spaces that are too small for humans to crawl in and find any items there.

Alloy Boy is the Upgrade Specialist, who’ll upgrade your weapons (level them up) if you have the blueprints for them and the needed materials for them.

Melira’s the Mission Specialist, who gives you missions in exchange for rewards. For example, finding survivors in certain rooms and guiding them back to a shelter base in the toon world for spare parts.

Levels/areas are based on a cartoon studio, like that from Cartoon Network, Disney/Pixar and Nickelodeon, even small cartoon studios. The graphics can be like that of being in an animated comic book, like in Sly Cooper or the Walking Dead game series.

And a character creator can be optional, giving players the option to change their characters' looks, outfits and even accessories. Unlockable items to further expand the customization options can be included, such as themed items like a Pibby themed outfit or gloves with the Glitchiness design.

Again, just in case the “Pibby” tv series doesn’t get a greenlight, I figured at least the game idea can be thought on. 

[jesshq]

disney villain and henchmen randomness:

made this for @slashingdisneypasta

all of these are random things I thought the villains and henchmen would be like, I hope you like them

also I censored cussing that was text, but if you go to the video links there will be cussing so be warned, also if you watch the video’s imagine the Disney villain or henchmen are those people in the videos:

1.

Panic, kronk, lefou, Reuben, Kaa, Joanna, and fidget: “eating a cinnamon bun each”

 The other henchmen: cannibalism/cannibals…

Panic, kronk, lefou, Reuben, Kaa, Joanna, and fidget: ? “Heard that and don’t get it why their being called cannibals”

(they are cinnamon rolls and must be protected)

2.

Diablo: you insufferable, reprehensible, deplorable, vermin

Goon 1 (the pig like one): wha?

Goon 2 (bird like one): it’s aristocratic talk for “f$#% off dips$#%$”

3.

Horus: you’re full of s$#%.

Iago: my overall personality or my dishonesty?

4.

Banzai:  ED! Don’t run with sharp rocks!

Banzai: “hands Ed a sharp bone” try this

(This one had scissors and a butterfly knife but the hyenas are from the pridelands so sharp rocks and bones seem more accurate)

5.

[in a argument]

Pain: f$%# you

Pegasus: “in a horse which the imps can understand” later, now listen here you little shit…

(I ship pain x Pegasus ok….pain even admits he loves Pegasus in the movie 2when Pegasus was beating him and panic up)

6.

Kronk: “making spinach puffs and freezing” my sad friend senses are tingling…

“Cut showing a crying Anastasia”

Kronk: “runs for her startling her” ahhhhh!!!!

Anastasia: aaahhhh!?!?!?!

kronk: “hugs her” no cry friend

Anastasia: “giggles and wipes tears from her eyes”

7.

(Look up animated a grump: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaV8NeT0fnY&t=835s and imagine pain and panic as arin and Iago or flotsam and jetsam as Danny, and a random henchmen as Ross)

8.

(Another game grumps thing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xrS5NEBKjU  )

“Ursula, and jafar and hades playing a glitchy game”

Ursula: now look how silly this is “flying around”

Hades: you have to….”character gets stuck”

Jafar and Ursula: oh...ooohhhhh “hades gets up and leaves glowing red” heheheh

Jafar: hades don’t leave hehehehe “hades closes the door”

Ursula: HAAAAADEEEEEES I LOVE YOU~ “trying to get the characters free”

hades: NO IM F%&$ING DONE!! IM F%&$ING DONE!!

Jafar: “losing his s&$t laughing” no your not

Hades: this is bulls&$#

Ursula: hades! “Laughing at hades rage too”

Hades: look at this bull#$& man

Jafar: hades! “Laughing more”

Hades: you gotta draw a line in the sand!

Ursula: hades “laughing more”

Hades: you have to draw a line in the f#$%ing sand guys!!

Ursula and jafar: “laughing so hard” 

Hades: you have to make a statement!!!

Hades: “as Ursula and Jafar laugh harder” you gotta look inside yourself and say ‘what am I willing to put up with today?’ NOT F*&%ing THIS!!! “Flames up and points to the tv screen”

Ursula: “gets the character free” IM FREE I BELIEVE I CAN FLY

9.

(Listen to grump it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9gRg3_A-RM  thinking of Disney villains and henchmen raging at a game)

10.

Scar: “to facilier” what do you wanna eat?

Friends from the other side: the souls of the innocent~

Facilier and shadow (facilier’s shadow): a bagel 

Friends from the other side: NO!

Facilier and shadow: 2 bagels

11.

Kaa and shere khan, cruella de vil, Horus and jasper: “to hades and pain and panic, scar and the hyenas” did you know you can’t say bubbles angry 

Hades and pain and panic, scar and the hyena: really?

“Later”

Maleficent: does anyone know why hades, scar and their henchmen are on the roof trying to angrily yell/screaming bubbles on the roof

Kaa and shere khan, cruella de vil, Horus and jasper: “choke on their drink/food in laughter”

12.

Iago and jafar: “notice hades and the imps over working” what are you doing?

Hades and the imps: working

Jafar and Iago: you guys should rest, look at your hands “gestures to hades and the imps cramping hands from signing scrolls”

Hades and the imps: we’re ok just let’s us-

Jafar and Iago: “pouting” 

Hades and the imps: what’s that look for?

Jafar and Iago: “grabs their friends and tries to drag them off their chairs but fails” GO REST

scar and the hyenas: “see this and join in trying to pester hades and the imps into taking a break” you can work later

Jafar and Iago: “leave to Ursula and the eels room where hook and mr smee are” Ursula, flotsam and jetsam, mr smee and hook. Hades and the imps are overworking themselves again…

Ursula and the eels: excuse?!?...

Mr smee and hook: what?!?...

“Little later”

Ursula and eels: “coiled around hades and the imps with coils and tentacles and drags them off their chairs by their desks” HADES! PAIN AND PANIC! REST!

Hades and the imps: “unholy screeching and complaints as their dragged to their room”

Hook and mr smee: “follow to help Ursula and the eels”

Facilier and shadow (insert other villains and henchmen):  “coming back from the store and see Ursula and the eels dragging hades and the imps to their room, with hook and smee following” f$#% this s#$& we’re out “leaves”

(hades and the imps are workaholics)

13.

Frollo: “minding his own business when hades, facilier, shadow and the imps tap him from behind and he turns around ” OOOOOH MY F&#$ING GOD!, IT'S A DEMON/WITCHCRAFT SPAWN!! JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE F$#&!!! OH MY F$#%ING GOD! F%&#ING DEMON/WITCHCRAFT SPAWNS! JESUS CHRIST “falls on his knees” WHAT THE F$#$#$#$#$#&!!!

Hades and facilier: “losing their s#$& laughing”

Pain and panic and shadow: “as well laughing hard”

14.

Hades: “holding pain and panic and his third imp neurosis (actually a canon thing in the animated series)” these are my sons you can’t have them... good day sir

“Person tries to touch the imps”

Hades: “flares up and holds the imps tighter” I SAID GOOD DAY SIR! “leaves with the imps”

15.

“The villains and henchmen are out in a mall and missing hades, jafar and Ursula as well as their henchmen in the crowd”

Mr smee and hook: oh dear we’re missing some of us

Shadow and facilier: oh don’t worry

Gaston and lefou: no one can find allies like Gaston and lefou

Facilier, Gaston, lefou and shadow: “takes a deep breaths and yell” HADES, JAFAR AND URSULA ARE THE WEAKEST AND IDIOTS OF THE DISNEY VILLAINS / PAIN AND PANIC, FLOTSAM AND JETSAM AND IAGO ARE THE WEAKEST AND DUMBEST OF THE HENCHMEN!!!!

“A giant snake and angry squawks, electric zaps along with a women yell, and three fire flare ups of teal, red, and pink appear in the crowd each followed by angry cursing and more”

Gaston and lefou, shadow and facilier: found them ^^~

All the other villains and henchmen: oh boy/dear/dang it

16.

(vanossgaming team 6 animated prank part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CguHTxrMQ0A  (imagine the henchmen as human like with animal/creature parts example iago looks like a harpy): with vanoss being iago, wildkat being banzi, basically as shadow, delirious being flotsam and jetsam, terroriser being pain and panic (due to their immortal state XD) and nogla being a ‘I don’t know what’s going on’ kronk )

17.

Hades: BOYS!!!!

Pain and Panic: WHATEVER IT WAS WE DIDN'T DO IT!!!

Hades: “realizes the thing he was looking for and thought the imps stole it was on his desk the whole time” oh...NEVER MIND 

18.

(before I do this one I need to explain, my headcanon that the disney characters have ‘worlds’ they live in with their movies era example: hercules characters live in ‘ancient’ greece in their ‘world’ but have some modern day things made using magical things (like TV, indoor plumbing, magic like phones) added to their ‘worlds’ but hercules, aladdin and little mermaid characters are share the same ‘world’ as in the hercules animated series: ursula appears in the episode hercules and the bacchanal, and then there's hercules and the arbian night where hades and jafar team up)

Maleficent: “thinking with ursula” so are you and hades related and you, him and jafar are from the same world  ooorrrr….

Ursula: I honestly don’t know…. I know we live in the same ‘world’ but… “thinking too” my father is Hades and Zeus’s brother if i'm right.....

19. 

Pain and Panic, Iago and Shadow and Flotsam and Jetsam: “flying/swimming round around hyper as all hell” WOOOOOOOO

Faciler and Jafar: “groans as they watch their henchmen on sugar high”

Hades: ok who’s the wise guy who gave them sugar…. “Tired/angry dad mood activated”

Kronk: I did...they wanted to test some sweets for me…”thinks he’s going to get in trouble”

Ursula: oh well then that's ok then Kronk you didn’t know, that they get sugar high

Jafar: I'm not dealing with the crash thou.. Uh where did they go?

Frollo: “in a different room” *HIGH PITCH GIRLISH SCREAM* THE DEMONS HAVE GONE CRAZY!!!

Hades: found them~.. “Smiles evil like” let’s leave them with him~

20.

Hades: “passed out on the couch with pain and panic asleep on him” zzzz

Jafar: “peeks over holding a marker with Iago”

gaston: “peeks over too with lefou with makeup”

“3 hours later”

Hades: “wakes up and along with the imps and they don’t notice what their friends did, and head to the kitchen”

Ursula and the eels: “see hades and the imps and choke on their cups of coffee”

Maleficent: “giggles seeing hades” good morning sexy~ 

Diablo: you girls sleep well?~ “trying not to laugh”

Hades and pain and panic: “tilt their heads” what do you mean?

“They notice their reflection in Ursula and the eels’s tank/movable water, and they see they have makeup on and writing/doodles on their faces”

Hades: oh for the love of…”glowing red”

Pain and panic: oh our gods… “eyes change”

Hades: JAFAR!!! GASTON!!! “Flares up”

Both imps: IAGO!!! LEFOU!!! “Follow their boss/’dad’ “

“Later outside shows Jafar and Gaston running from a red flamed Hades, and Iago and Lefou and running from two shapeshifted into beasts imps”

Jafar, Gaston, Iago and Lefou: WORTH IT XD

“Inside watching the chase” 

Faciler: should we tell them me and Shadow took photos of Hades and the imps and posted it online?

Hook: who’s computer did ya use? 

Shadow: “as he records the chase going on outside” cruella’s and Horus and Jaspers’s too 

Mr. smee: I guess it’s good they’re out of town then….

Yzma: me and Kronk made popcorn who wants!~

Scar: and the other villains and henchmen are placing bets: are they going to escape the wrath of the lord of the underworld and the embodiments of pain and panic? or will Hades and the imps give up?

“All the villains and henchmen inside are eating popcorn and watching the chase go on”

[heli0s-writes]

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie. 

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering. 

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

-

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

-

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

-

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild. 

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

-

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

-

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.  

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone. 

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

-

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

-

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost. 

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.” 

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.  

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.” 

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me? 

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

-

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath. 

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

-

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor. 

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm. 

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking. 

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away. 

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

-

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

-

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room. 

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.  

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth. 

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do. 

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

-

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

[bakurik]

I know this is just asking for angst, but what happens after the whole incident where Bon Bon breaks Ronnies guitar? Does he break up with Freddy? How does Freddy handle it?

Okay so, I was going to keep writing but I am horrible at keeping motivation so uh....this is gonna be me rambling. 

That being said my whole idea when it came to my little au idea was that BonBon doesn’t understand how long he was gone for. Like, when the group became Ennard and he went offline it feels like a short nap when in reality he had been gone for a while. So thinking he had been replaced so quickly is what triggers his temper for the rabbit. 

What was coming next is that Bonbon would go find Freddy, of course thinking the bear is about to go on a RAMPAGE cause that is what is he used too. Freddy’s emotion’s aren't stable even when he’s HAPPY. But after heading to the back of the Pizzeria he ends up finding the bear laying down, all curled up and just kinda staring out as he scutters over and ends up snuggling up against his friend’s chest and reaching up to pet his nose. Like he would do back at the sister location to keep him calm. They did break up, but Freddy isn’t angry. He’s just...broken...

Soon enough he ends up holding the little rabbit close and BonBon ends up asking what happens, dumb question, and there is a scene between them like,  “Do you kn-know how long I wa-was alone for..?” To which BonBon is like, “Long enough to replace me..” And he ends up learning it’s been a long time. And Freddy is shocked. How could his little buddy ever thing he was REPLACED? He could never replace BonBon, BonBon is his closest friend! They are two peas in a pod! Sure, at first he just wanted to be around the rocker cause he DID look like the little bun but he also needed a friend. Baby hated him as Molten Freddy, Scraptrap thought of him as a burden, Lefty was nice but she deserved better then to listen to him when he was at his most unstable. 

Bonnie just...clicked with him. He didn’t mind the glitchy stutter, always laughed at his jokes, it was like he was loved again. And he wanted to think Bonnie loved him too, Bonnie is the main reason BonBon was even remade. This of course finally manages to snap the little guy out of his jealous mindset as everything crashes down on him and he feels GUILT.

But things do end on a happy note, cause i’m a sucker, and eventually BonBon helps bring the two back together cause Rockstar Bonnie doesn’t mean what he said, he really does love Freddy and without the looming threat of BonBon trying to off him they do make a nice little family. He even lets the bun play his guitar once it’s fixed, it’s a staple of the rabbits afterall. 

And then Bonnet joins the family.  

[starsfic]

Hehehehehohohohohoho fluff #1 with vanguard if you'd like!!!

A/N: (For those curious, this is set after my ending for Security Breach- Afton is gone for the moment, Nessa currently has the Princess Quest key while Vanny and Glitchtrap are currently hunting down the rest of Afton’s cult.)

Fluff 1. “I’ll always choose you.”

“You know, you’re taking a big risk meeting me like this,” Vanny said. Her hair- the rainbow streaks washed out to help her disguise- was tied in a bun and hidden under her hood. Nessa wasn’t sure why she was worried at the moment. The two of them walked together, sipping their coffee. “If that CEO finds out...”

“Don’t worry,” Nessa said, pressing her shoulder against hers. “Nobody knows. You know I’ll always choose you.” Vanny couldn’t help the small smile, pressing back. “You could come to drop by the Pizza Plex anytime.”

“No, I think that bear of yours will kill me first.”

She had to agree with that. 

But at least Vanny knew that Nessa’s door was open.

And Nessa would take it.

(The best part was when Vanny caved into Glitchie’s demands to try ice cream and the poor bunny had a brain freeze.)

Send me a prompt, please!

[faeriefrolic]

List 5 facts about your favourite sim, and send this to 10 people whose sims you adore! ❤️

Crystal is my baby, so it’s gonna be them 💛🌟 1. Crystal was originally created as a character in a Detroit: Become Human rp server, and was a RK900 android like Leon. Both Crys and Leon had very similar backstories, and Crys acted as the mother hen to Leon, saving his life after finding him in the park, helping him get on his feet and mentoring him. As an android, Crystal’s voicebox and optical units were damaged beyond repair due to Cyberlife’s testing, so they only used holotext to communicate. Their voice was static-filled and glitchy, and they hated their voice, so it was rare to hear them laugh or speak. There is more to android!Crys, but that’s the basics of it without getting too spoilery for future things in the Rosewood save. After a lot (and I mean a lot) of AUs and changes, Crystal is the character you see today. I might post excerpts from old rps if anyone is curious.  2. Crystal is part of the autumn court of fae, and their fae form is very different looking from their human glamour. In full fae form, they are only 5 inches tall (compared to 6 ft! They’re normally a tall bab), with autumn leaf wings dusted with cinnamon and longer, curly ginger hair in a white ombre, tied up in a messy bun. They’re very cat-like as well, and have emerald green cat-like eyes, fangs, claws, and scottish fold calico cat ears and a tail. They can shift into a calico cat (low shift) or lynx (high shift). If they speak in this form, their voice remains whispery and soft, but seems ethereal and chiming, otherworldly. 3. Crystal specializes in healing and restorative magic, as well as electromancy. They’re the pocket healer that no one fully appreciates in rpgs. If Crystal gets too emotional, tired or drained of magicka, their glamour begins to crack until they poof into their tiny fae form. 4. Being fae, Crystal really,,...really likes sugar and sweets. Catch them pouring 6 packets of sugar into the lattes they make, and hoarding cookies in the cookie jar in their dorm room. It’s part of why they enjoy baking so much! 5. Crystal understands and speaks French and French sign language, as their adoptive mother, Floette, is a moth fae from France. Their text conversations are usually in French or Faelish.

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Hey. Hey, everyone. I don’t have to be back at work until the 31st, so LET’S AGE SOME MOTHERFUCKING DRAGONS WHOOOOOOOOO.

You know, between my unimpressive eyesight and the godawful lighting in all of DA’s character creation screens, I’m not actually sure what color any of my babies’ eyes are.

No goddamn lie, I would commit actual murder for another dozen bun/updo/tied-back/braided hairstyles. This is probably the main philosophical difference between me and the creators of all the hair mods out there.

I’ve already used the single and double buns for other characters, and I envision this one also having fairly long hair that she binds up, so Baroness hair it is, I guess. *sigh*

If you expect me to create a character in DAO without pushing up the cheekbone sliders at least one or two notches, you don’t know me very well. I did restrain myself and only push them up a little bit this time, though.

Anyway! Everyone, meet Isaura Amell. Most of her personality will have to reveal itself to me as I play, as the plans I have are mostly a) fairly nebulous and b) for later in the game.

For the record, I think her eyes are gray. Who the fuck knows if I’m right, though.

Fine, Valour, Isaura will play your game...Oh, what’s that, you’re just handing her a staff? Very nice of you.

You tried, Mouse. Thanks for the lesson.

Jowan gets less whiny when he’s out of this specific situation, right?

Goodness, that’s what Niall looks like outside the Fade.

Now that I get a good listen to him, yeah, I can hear that he shares a VA with Serafen from Deadfire.

Ah, hello, Duncan. Is it good to see you? I think it is.

Jowan, I swear, you get the worst ideas sometimes.

Hello, Cullen. Apparently you’re 19 here, though I’d be hard-pressed to say you look it. You know what, I was a total shithead when I was 19. I get it.

Isaura is going to call Cullen’s bluff and offer to “continue the discussion” in private as much because it makes her feel in control for once as anything. Maybe she understands deep down that someone wanting to fuck you isn’t the same as having power over them, though I don’t think she’s yet had to learn it the hard way, but when you live in a Circle tower, you take your happiness where you can.

Also, there’s no way she’s older than maybe 23, probably closer to 20 or 21, which is still a good age for shitheadery.

She really just wanted to toy with Cullen, and I doubt she was thinking far enough ahead to have a plan for what she’d do if he took her up on her offer. The running away part was an amusing if unexpected bonus.

Keeping Jowan and Lily’s secret, and helping them out (which of course means they owe her and know it), is a similar “being in control” kind of thing.

So the Storage Caves are like a tiny little mini-Deep Roads, huh?

Huh, this is the first time I’ve seen the tower basement outside the context of Witch Hunt.

Whee, time to murder our way through the basement!

Oh, hello there, Eleni Zinovia.

Oops, got caught, time to play dumb.

Isaura certainly had an idea Jowan was dabbling in blood magic, but she didn’t think he was quite foolish enough to go and do that in front of Irving and Greagoir. Really, Jowan. The worst ideas, Jowan.

Hello, Cailan. You’re very enthusiastic for someone about to have such a very, very bad day.

Isaura has had enough of antagonizing the powerful for one week, so she’s going to be polite and deferential to Cailan and laugh at his jokes. We’ve all been there.

A “secret ritual”, huh, Duncan? Isaura just wants to know if she’s going to have to fight any more demons.

Ooh, my first crash! Luckily for me, I saved a couple of seconds before, knowing it’s always a risk when I cross the bridge into Ostagar for some reason. And it didn’t take the whole computer with it and wipe out all my typing.

Hello, Wynne. Fancy seeing you here.

The glitchies already? The Ostagar quartermaster’s clothing textures aren’t loading.

Hello, Alistair. Meet your future girlfriend.

Oh, look, a baby Templar. Well, some kind of former baby Templar. Quite possibly still a baby Templar at heart. Isaura can play with him like she used to do with Cullen, and then get all surprised when she grows to really, genuinely like the guy. (What? He’s sweet. Stop looking at her like that.)

Alistair, dearie, the woman wearing Circle robes and carrying a staff slung across her back “[doesn’t] look like a mage”? You didn’t think that one through, did you?

Hello, Morrigan. *sigh*

Part of Isaura wants to be friends, part of her wonders if there’s really room in her world for another young mage woman who spent her youth shut away from the bulk of humanity and who has a tendency to talk like a book because of it.

But as long as they’re the only two women around, “let’s be friends” will win out. Anyway, she doesn’t know any of this yet.

It’s so weird seeing Flemeth without her hair and makeup done.

“Your woman’s mind”—at this point, I just wonder what she’d ask of male Cousland, who’d have nothing to distinguish him from the other three in terms of gender, species, or magical ability.

Tower of Ishal time!

What, I don’t get a rogue for this part? Dammit. Well, it was worth asking.

I sure do love Flame Blast.

Flaming Weapons doesn’t look too shabby either.

Well, time to clean the place out like we’re not on a deadline.

Ha, the ogre went down like a chump. I love Winter’s Grasp, too.

Well, that’s done. To Lothering!

Oh, hello, doggie. Now, what do I name you? Hm, how about Rashvine?

And after the first of many, many conversations where Alistair and Morrigan snark at each other a whole lot, I’m being forced to pack it in for the night, so more in the morning.

[breadthecat]

A fnaf: help wanted theory that doesn’t have any evidence, I just think it would be cool

So as of currently, we know NOTHING about this glitchy bunny that’s slowly getting closer to us. And we don’t have many options as to who or what it is. All of the spirits have moved on, including Micheal and William.

Who do we have left?

The nightguards. They never got to move on, did they? They’re all that’s left. What if glitch bun is a amalgamation of all the dead previous nightguards. What if the reason they are out to get us is because, as a beta tester and therefore Fazbear employee, we are trying to erase their death.

Fazbear Entertainment keeps insisting all of these events are just story’s. That these nightguards didn’t die. And now we are trying to delete them too.

Would that make us the villain? Are they really the bad guys for wanting the truth to be known?

[id-never-letyoudown]

A Muse List

Wilford Warfstache: reality warping semi-madman. He goes through time and just rolls with the punches. Knows at least a dozen alternate versions of the same person. Makes multiverse ships technically canon. Sometimes he forgets which timeline he's in and acts like a kid who fell asleep in the car and woke up in bed. Kinda OP, but I I'll discuss anything big with the other mun beforehand. For now it's just small stuff. -tagged: pink stache whiplash

Dark: literally watch Damien. Only this Damien had ties to the mafia, which Celine was heavily against. Also Damien and Will had a romantic relationship, highschool sweethearts, promise ring. Then Damien started running for mayor, Wil met Celine, feels were had. (ps: he's got both sets of genitalia, cuz everyone forgets.) -tagged: 3d dream

Fordwil Stachewarf: started as a joke of a bizarro!Wil and now, welp, here he is. He's a manipulative green haired asshole. A creep. He does not "roll with the punches", if one version of you likes him then he will expect all of them to, and he will take. Stuff with him can get hella triggery so I don't use him often. He's a total hardass. -tagged: green jerk

Chase: ha, an average bro. Trickshots. Memes. Bad puns and scraped knees. Anxiety ridden and depressed. Tries to drink away the pain. Also he's a werewolf and used to have hella bad anger issues, they have gotten better, but when it's that time of the month it's easy for him to slip. -tagged: sad awoo

Dr. Iplier: ;A; after losing his V-card to his highschool sweetheart who was moving away, three months later when he tries to break it off, she tells him she's pregnant. So they have a shotgun wedding. Also his family disowned him for this. He had to balance college, a job, and financially caring for his long distance, pregnant, wife. The boy was stressed, and he vented to her. Very next day she says she lost the baby. And ol' doc blamed himself. They've been married since, and whenever he brought up separating she would bring up the baby. He hired a PI who uncovered that there never was a baby to begin with, so now he's just "fuck you, fuuuuck yoooou." Now he's trying to get her to divorce him so she won't take everything. -tagged: doctor love me

Host: ah hah, favorite boi. My Host did used to be the Author, and after getting his ass handed to him, started looking for ways to really amp up his abilities. He found It(not the clown, fck off)and offered a deal "I'll give you a vessel, in exchange for power" and It misinterpreted and took HIS body instead of letting him find someone else. Over the years he's realized his mistakes and has become much more humble. Basically: Host is a host to a being not of this world or even dimension. -tagged: host2

Yan: goes from "not feeling a thing" to "feeling too much" real quick. If you see him being peppy and cheerful, it's an act so ppl don't question him. He wants to feel. So whenever he gets feelings for someone he often takes it too far. Much too far. Also he's a kitsune h e r e -tagged: bloody cute

Winston: fucking pink, pompadour, greaser demon. Him big. Tol. Stronk. Very protective of his partners, especially if they're human. Big teddybear. Loves animals and works as a mechanic. His town? Almost everyone is a demon there, they just wear glamours all the time. -tagged: big pink

Anti: fucking glitchy glitch tech demon. Acts like a computer virus. Very bitter. Up Dark's ass. He has feelios that he refuses to deal with, so he just annoys Dark and insists on being by him most of the time. He likes Dark because he's one of the few who don't take his bullshit and aren't scared of him. -tagged: virus boi

Bing: saaah dude. Super laidback unless he's alone, then he gets to work and is actually semi serious. He's got a few defects, mainly with his eyes, so he wears shades. Default safemode, the dial(yes, dial)is on the back of his neck. Ppl confuse this for volume too often. Notch one: he can cuss. Notch two: he can look up lewds. Notches from then on just increase how raunchy he can be and the frequency of his lewd statements. Very last notch: he can FUCK. also, he has a detachable dick, like, he can still feel it when it's not attached, thanks to bluetooth. Weird man. -tagged: robruh

Virgil/Anxiety: anxious bab with a sarcastic tongue and foul mouth. Total pessimist. Will not go out of his way to interact with people. Loves puns and dad jokes and Disney. Sings. Acts like a damn cat tbh. But surprise! Him a spider. Has giant spider legs coming out of his back that he hides -tagged: smokey eye

Patton/Morality: god, fckin. He's trying so hard. He wants to be the bestest friend/father figure that he can be. Sometimes he holds his own feelings in and bottles them up. -cough-surprise binch, daddy kink and puns. -tagged: pun papa

AD: h e y, I know we all have headcanons n shit, but my Dark would have tried to get their pal DA out of the mirror and into a body, after things settled, somehow. It would have taken him years, but he would have. Course it didn't go quite as planned. By then whatever remained of the DA was far too gone, turns up being stuck in a broken mirror realm can really fuck you up. And eventually turn you into a demon. AD is not the DA anymore, all they remember is that night and that night only.

Any semblance of the DA they once had is now gone. Now they're out for revenge, and when you're able to travel through reflections that can come quite easily. Ofc they look like Mark(more specifically Dark, as he was the one who both put them in and took them out of the broken mirror that was keeping them tied to the manor), only hella scarred and with white streaks all throughout their hair. Their eyes are mirrors, which is just fckin creepy. Personality wise they don't trust easy. A smartass with a sharp tongue. Brutally honest. Redeeming quality? If they see someone/something that's vulnerable they'll protecc. -tagged: spitting image

Kink(Klancy): a kinky mtherfcker. Used to be in a hella abusive relationship with someone who called beating and using him with no regard for his safety at all "bdsm". And it was Klancy's first and only romantic relationship. It wasn't until his bad, horrid excuse of a dom took them to an actual, legit bdsm club that he realized what the dom was doing was abuse. So he dumped him, and Jeremiah and his buddies helped get his stuff. Klancy decided that from now on he'd take his sex life in his own hands. He isn't currently looking for a a relationship, but I'm a shipping hoe so if y'all are up for a slow burn, hit him up -tagged: kink it up

Eric: hoooooo b o y, well, his backstory was awful before. Now it's uh, downright trigger worthy. I won't go into detail, let's just say Pops has a bad touch way of getting Eric to "calm down". He is a quiet, anxious boy. We all know his canon story. He feels guilty that he's the only one of his siblings living now. And Derek doesn't help. He's moved out and with Klancy, because I want them to be friends and you can fite me in the pit. Klancy-aside from Host-is the only one that knows what Derek's been doing since uh, Klancy being Klancy decided he'd try the dad on for size and Derek said some questionable things in the heat of the moment. Klancy has practically adopted Eric, he'll fight Derek.

Eric is a nervous wreck and easy to manipulate. Which makes him perfect for juicy, angsty threads. -tagged: yellow handkercheif

Periwinkle: a defective Google unit made with an experimental sensory system, it made him incredibly sensitive to the point of pain. So he wears clothes from head to toe, along with a helmet, Daft Punk style. He works at a nearby Google place, doing surveys with owners of Google units. He fakes being emotionless when on the clock, as he's been threatened with deactivation due to violent outbursts. -tagged: off limits

Copiplier: his name's Leslie, Officer Morgan. He prefers being called Lee. He abides by the l a w!! No exceptions. Whenever someone makes a noise complaint or some other with the office, he's the one that shows up. Mostly because none of the other officers want to deal with t h a t mountain of paperwork. His hair's on the long side, man bun long. And he buff. When I say he looks good in the uniform I mean "gets mistaken for a stripper" good. Which is fair, because for some time he was a stripper, before police academy(cough, he still is, on the weekends). Strict boi is kinda dense and ever since Yukio gave him some damn pocky he's been addicted to it. Which is great, since he used to be a smoker. -tagged: oh officer

[azy-arty]

An’s reference ! 

Finally done ! WOO ! took me long enough, please ignore the mistakes, exhausted french girl here !

So let me present you the lil bean we created @psukho and I this summer ! Indeed, he’s a collaboration, even if I was the one taking care of him lately ~

I agree that it’s a very long post and congrats for the brave ones who went through all of it, you’re amazing. But I would love to add way more, because there is so much more we imagined for this glitchy lil guy !

Actually, more doodles will be posted soon about him and the other characters, just you wait ! ( ´• v •` 人) ☆ﾟ.*

Anyway, here it is ! Enjoy !

☕~Support me with a coffee ~☕ ☆ﾟ.* ♥

Art by me, @azy-arty

An belongs to @psukho and me, @azy-arty Laps!Sans and Suny belong to me, @azy-arty Dunkle-Sans-Apocalypse!Sans belongs to @paintingit Bun and Saiph belong to @delicatewizardstranger

Thank you so much for your support and your help, your ideas ! An wouldn’t have been able to grow up that much without you !

(updated, some images were cut because too blurry)

[ritzyditzydyke]

some things about the bmc show today

i have a lot to say bc it was,,, So Good (under the cut)

So I’m gonna start with shit about the audience and everything. I was really nervous about the audience being really loud or obnoxious, but they were pretty decent! Before the show started, everyone was yelling and it was a lot, but once it started people tried to make their cheering not last long because they all wanted to hear everything and it was a great time! I didn’t even hear anyone singing along, which was even better!!

So time to go through each of the characters and the ships that had interactions-

Jeremy-

-He was really dorky and had a nice soft voice and he was great

-He flopped around a lot when the Squip entered

-He was just,, too good for words

-His outfit was HORRIBLE and SO Jeremy and I loved it

-At the end of Be More Chill (pt 2) the ensemble members were carrying him to bed and they just threw him and it was so funny

-Before Michael In The Bathroom Jeremy shoved Michael into the bathtub when calling him a loser

-Jeremy had a space-themed backpack and astronaut figurines in his room

-Plus a pokeball in his room

Michael-

-He acted really high during More Than Survive and I loved it

-He literally lit a (fake) blunt during Two Player game it was SO funny

-His Michael in the bathroom in my opinion was better than George’s like he was crying so hard and his voice kept breaking and it was SO good

-During the Pants Song Michael was wearing a black onesie and it was really cute

-Also during the Pants Song when Mr. Heere asked if Michael loved Jeremy he immediately yelled “WHAT?!” like he was defensive about it

-During The Play when he makes his entrance he was literally sitting in the audience before hopping up on stage

-When all the Squipped kids were screaming he steps back before screaming “what the FUCK!?”

-Also when singing about being cool in college he did some dabs

Christine-

-Her OUTFIT oh my god she wore a cute salmon sweater with short overalls and kitty socks,, I loved it so much.

-She was really adorable during I Love Play Rehearsal, she was moving around everywhere and was so sweet.

-The weird noises she’d make?? Amazing.

-During The Play? She talked directly to the audience introducing us to their performance of A Midsummer’s Nightmare and it was so good,,

-During Voices In My Head she was so gentle and sweet and she was just so cute.

Rich-

-During The Squip Song he rolled his hips a lot while talking to Jeremy and like, he peed without holding onto his,, dicc,, and it was so funny

-He hit some NOTES and RIFFS during The Squip Song

-He whipped off his pee pee hands on Jeremy’s face and shirt. Iconic.

-During Halloween he was really twitchy and freaking out and it broke my heart

-In the hospital scene he looked so uncomfortable in the full body cast but like, so happy that his Squip was gone

-His LISP!!!

-When he said “Oh my god I’m totally bi” the audience went NUTS.

Jake-

-He was shorter than Jeremy

-Shorter

-Than

-Jeremy

-He had a fidget spinner

-Instead of extra-curricular he said extra-circular and honestly if that isn’t a Jake mood

-He had a Space Jam shirt

Chloe-

-not a lot to say about her but she did really good!

Brooke-

-Her and Jeremy straight up fucc during Upgrade and that was surprising

-She was really cute and spun around a lot and she was just,, perfect

-Her sexy dog costume was so dumb and I loved it, the ears looked awful it was perfect

-The tiny buns in her hair,,

Jenna-

-She was so cute and always recording things

-During Halloween her mask was making her uncomfortable so Rich or someone helped her take it off and sat her down on the couch and,, bless

-Jenna and Rich danced together!!

-During Smartphone Hour OH MY GOD

-She took her rob off and I died bc her outfit was like a sequent top and a shiny purple/red skirt and she sang it SO WELL I cried

-During Pitiful Children she screamed before HITTING that note SO well

-She changed into a cult outfit and light-up shoes and whenever she sang it had a robotic undertone to it and

-HOOOOOOOOOO

-She stood where the Squip did during The Play

-She did so good and part of me likes her more than Katie but both are amazing

Squip-

-Ok I’m not straight but DAMN he was hot

-Honestly? Best Squip. He sang really deep and it was,, really good

-When he said “sexy anime female” instead of an anime laugh he like, moaned

-He wore leather and gained more leather over time

-Slowly as the show progressed he got more glitchy makeup added and that was a nice touch

-He went to RIFFTOWN and stayed there

-He was touchy with Jeremy especially during Pitiful Children and I kept thinking “squipemy shippers begone” but it was showing like, how much control he had over Jeremy at that point

-His outfit glowed

Mr. Heere-

-Sounded like Paul Whitty’s twin

-He was really good

-He was also the bus driver and forgot to put pants on so the bus driver just- didn’t have pants

-He was really nice and just,, 100/10 best dad

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Boyf riends-

-Not a lot of boyf riends which I was honestly happy about?? Michael was still touchy though.

-They left the stage together and I felt blessed

RichJake-

-They were together a lot and had a handshake, good

Richemy-

-Rich and Jeremy had a handshake

-Rich was touchy with Jeremy and I loved it

Stage Dorks-

-Everyone cheered when they kissed and I was SO happy because I was expecting people to get upset and annoying about it

-They were just SO cute together

Pinkberry-

-In Voices In My Head they switched tops, so clearly it was implied they fucc’d