#omnipotent narrator

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Somewhere, hidden by Aroura's glow, there is a beautiful, bubbling brook hidden amongst the crests of lush green hills and foliage of every colour known to man. In this brook, fairies are said to draw their drinking water, as well as occasionally bathe. That second duty, however, is left to the more rebellious of the youth, or so I have heard.

It has been suggested, in years past, that those who drink from this brook shall be healed of the pain and suffering of their years and born anew once more into the bodies of the truest self. Although others have claimed it to heal physical wounds. More still believe in its power to raise one from Hades' domain. In fact, one very persistent man in the market town of Zaldan believes that drinking the water absolves one of all body odour. Truly, a wonderful and ridiculous notion, do you not agree?

As for myself... I was among the youths who fell victim to its majesty, clambering among boughs and bushes in search of eternal youth or love or an end to the searing headaches inherited from my grandmother. Alas, as all those who had come before me, I was unable to discover the brook, nor could I reveal its secrets as had been my plan.

In years since, I have often wondered if the way would have revealed itself to me if that had not been my intent. After all, fairy stories speak so often of ones truest desire and heart's intention. Perhaps, as mine was utterly impure, I was deemed unworthy and spun in a meaningless trek for the entertainment of bluebirds and corvids.

I'm afraid, however, that now that I have confided in you such a secret, the way may never open before your heart either. For that, I feel as if I must apologise.

[paper-possum-party-pal]

More doodles!

First we have tiny Stanley and Narrator because small :)

I really enjoy the hc that after Stanley leaves the parable he goes and gets a job that requires manual labor or as a florist. I feel like he would want to detach himself from office work as much as possible, even if there’s som layer of attachment due to familiarity. I really love this small doodle because I managed to successfully use more interesting lighting which is something I’m trying to improve.

References for all the drawings

[deconstructivesurgery]

this is in no way comprehensive but I had thoughts about the stanley parable again so here are the bare bones of my interpretation of it :3

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 12 thoughts:

Brian needs to watch the Barbie movie holy shit! (I understand the story takes place in 2011 and the movie doesn't exist there)

Just like, fuck get off Taylor's back. She is playing it too safe but also being too aggressive. Moving too fast but also not being aggressive enough! AHHHHHHHH!

Seriously, nearly every time Brian showed up in this arc I was yelling at him. Dude. Just back off.

Skitter fucking just, killing thousands of rats in a few minutes is absolutely terrifying. God I love her.

Hookwolf is a dick. I can't believe everyone else went along with him and gave the Travelers and the Undersiders shitty choices like that. I mean that's not true, I can believe it I'm just mad.

I legit forgot Imp existed until Tattletale mentioned leaving her at the meeting as a spy. I love how the way her power works combined with the writing style means she just disappears for the readers as well.

Loved seeing more of the Travelers and more Noelle. Excited to learn more about her (I don't have great feelings about her long term situation though).

Jack is such a fucking POSER oh my god!

He just. He thinks he's so cool. But he's not. Fucking "this is not an exit" reference and shit.

He is Tobey Maguire Spider-Man from Spider-Man 3. Just thinks he is the coolest shit. Everyone just has to accept it cause he got fancy knife powers.

Tattletale just fucking full confidence fucking with the Nine while standing right in front of them. She clearly knew it was high risk but she took it and she got results, spoiling Jacks plan with Cheri and shit.

That said, AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MY BABY SOMEBODY HELP MY BABY! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Ok she's not like, my baby, that's Taylor. But she's still my baby.)

LOOK AT MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! FUCKING LOOK AT HER! HOW MANY PEOPLE DID SHE SAVE FROM SHATTERBIRD? HUNDREDS? THOUSANDS? SHE IS AMAZING!

She fucking needs therapy though. Saves more people than anyone else could have and is mad because she didn't do enough. God damn Taylor love yourself!

Danny is fine. Besides, he had warning so any injures are basically his fault. Git gud Danny. (Ok look that's a little unfair, but he messed up pretty bad with raising my daughter so I'm allowed to be a little unfair to him I think.)

And look at my daughter again! She goes and organizes people to help the wounded. Takes charge. Gets a cool butch lady that might never show up again to help. I hope she does show up again though.

AND THEN FUCKING MANNEQUIN! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

After he showed up I said "I don't know how the fuck she's gonna do it, but my daughter is gonna kick your ass". And then like a few paragraphs later I read "I have no idea how the fuck I’m going to do it but I’m going to make you regret that." This made me both happy - fun to say something and have Taylor say almost the same thing - and worried - cause when I said I didn't know how she was going to do it I kinda hoped she had a plan.

But then she fucking does it! She kicks his ass. She steals his arm. SHE RIPS HIS HEAD OFF! GOD DAMN! THAT'S MY FUCKING KID!

I do think she should hire the buff burly guy who helped her rip Mannequin's head off. He clearly has motivation and would be loyal. And maybe I want to see him more. For reasons.

But anyway she fucking wrecks Mannequin, makes him look like he lost a fight with a paint store. Just fucking clowned on him. She is so good.

Then the next day Brian comes in and fully focuses on how stupid it was to fight Mannequin, not really praising that she won or asking if she needs medical help. God damn bud!

But I loved how a fuck ton of people were like "Oh shit she beat Mannequin! I want to work for her." She's going to be so fucking famous soon.

Interlude 1 - Jack is a poser again. Sucks to be the Merchants, can't say I'll miss them. Jack trying to sound all clever with his carrot and sticks thing, but most of what he lists for the other Nine is really obvious. And he misses some stuff as well. Poser. I could lead the Nine better than him (not that I would lead the Nine, just that if I did I would be better than Jack).

Interlude 2 - God damn this is a doozy. Shit ton of Cauldron lore. Battery backstory. Assault backstory. I made a "now kith" joke when they fought for the very first time cause I didn't realize who they were yet. It was supposed to be a joke. I did not want them to end up together. They should not be together. Legend should not have allowed Assault to be on Battery's team. He was a bit of a dick for that. So much Cauldron lore though. I can't put it all here.

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

just realized I never actually planned out a sona so I can't put myself in Situations...

shit have I just been a disembodied voice over the blog this whole time??

[gyunikum]

"

#studied film making in a technical school #it kinda helps me set the general atmosphere and what to mention and what direction to focus"

any tips? 😍

So the thing is, when I'm writing, I see myself as a director. Now, I have only /helped/ film a short movie in the technical school for our graduation, so that is basically nothing. I know nothing about filming techniques and that sort of stuff.

But when I'm watching a movie, I involuntarily start thinking how they might have filmed the scenes. Call it ""occupational"" hazard lol.

When writing, as I am a visual type, I first imagine the overall setting. That way I can describe details that I might find interesting and would add to the immersion. I try not to overdo details, only just what matters. I prefer to establish which character's POV I'm writing the entire story from, and I become a sort of... Internal director from inside the character. I try to tell a story not as the character being a narrator, but as a director would tell a story from outside the main character, except I'm.... Kind of inside? So basically I have a few cameras rolling, through the character's eyes, their ears, their skin, their senses and thoughts. I change around shots (wide, close up etc) based on what I want to focus on (the external or internal respectively).

I'm not sure if this makes sense. I do this unconsciously while writing; this is just my writing style. It's taken me over a decade of writing in two/three different languages to get here (not to mention reading a lot too). I am a wannabe director directing imaginary actors and recording them through internal cameras.

[camellia-thea]

suddenly super insecure about this piece. yikes.

[motokeith]

I didn’t forget about Welwitschia, I’m just in a drought

[semiohazard]

corporealizing your stupid omnipotent narrator

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨, 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

They said fate worked in mysterious ways; the strings of destiny plucked and pulled and snapped at the leisure of those they controlled, but not you. The delicacy in which you handled the woven web was forever unseen and unprecedented, and your patience was to be rewarded in a way you least expected.

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ʚɞ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 ʚɞ 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ʚɞ Swearing, pet names, fluff, angst and emotional conflict, protective Bucky, perceived unrequited feelings, big confessions TROPES: And they were roommates, oblivious best friends to lovers, my own take on soulmates, mutual pining

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ʚɞ Something that I have not attempted before now. For @sebstanwhore. 💜

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 ➷ ʚɞ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗚𝟰 — Roommates —  Masterlist ʚɞ @sebastianstanbingo 𝗕𝟭 — Idiots to Lovers —  Masterlist

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. 

For years, you crushed hard on Bucky — the man that had been your rock, your partner in crime since childhood. So rare it was to have a connection from so long ago, let alone be as formidable as the two of you were. Interwoven and weaved together stronger than steel. 

Time had wound you both so close together that wherever one went, the other followed; always joined at the hip. 

It was only natural that in the end, you found an apartment together, becoming roommates and best friends — facing the challenges of life together. 

Through the time that you spent with Bucky, day in and day out for all of those years and up to now, your affections and attempts at flirting with the man that held your heart were brushed off or they flew over his head completely. 

Bucky was oblivious like that. For all of his charm, his wit and intelligence, the man could be thick. 

And that was how, after psyching yourself up for weeks, you landed in the dating scene. It was a long shot, but you figured if Bucky wouldn’t (or couldn’t) pick up what you were putting down, you were at least going and getting out there — even if your heart and soul was already taken by the man that lay haphazardly sprawled over your bed, staring at you with a disapproving scowl. 

“Nope, no, you– Why don’t you wear those jeans?” Bucky huffed, exasperated after you threw the umpteenth pair of dress pants over your shoulder, only for them to land directly on his handsome face. “Boo, c’mon,” he groaned as he pulled the fabric off of his face. “You’re gonna look amazing no matter what.”

At the use of your nickname reserved only for him, you looked over your shoulder and frowned. “I have to look good. I have to.”

Bucky sighed and rolled off the bed, his stature broad and muscled as ever. The tattoos that covered his arms and hands distracted your train of worry, and you stared as he neared; more artistry visible from the collar of his shirt to spread up one side of his neck. 

“C’mere,” he said, and you felt his hands grab ahold of yours. The touch he provided you ground you back on earth; the proximity reassuring, more than any words would be able to replicate. 

You could feel his eyes as he searched your body, the subtle way he picked up your cues or anxiety and dread, and you felt that there was no way you could meet his gaze — the intensity of it burned your skin while you stared determinedly down at his hands, observing with a keen eye how his deft fingers felt running over the skin of your palms, and how his rough, callused thumbs ran over your knuckles. 

“Honey.” His deep voice was softer than silk. “Can you look at me?”

You took a deep breath to steel yourself. From his hands, you looked up into his eyes — they swam with untold emotion, raw and unbridled in his adoration, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn that was how he would look at a lover. That thought did nothing to quell the roiling nausea in the pit of your stomach.

“There y’are, my pretty girl,” he cooed, smiling. “What’s got you all upset, huh?”

That it’s not you I’m going on a date with, you answered in your mind. Before that thought could be spoken aloud, you replied, “I’m just nervous.” 

The nervous waver in your voice made you grimace, and you cursed. 

Bucky sighed. “That’s normal, Boo—you’re gonna knock ‘em dead. They’re not gonna know what’s hit ‘em.” 

An ache, intense and painful, bloomed within your chest, and it consumed your heart whole. From the safety of your mind, you screamed out for him to just see; to know what you were thinking. 

The courage to speak up had long ago waned and worn thin, vanishing with the days that passed.

“Okay,” you whispered, and you took your hands from his to turn your back on him. The litany of cries that built up in your throat only blocked by the tears that threatened to beat them — Bucky was looking at you with the adoration of a best friend watching their partner in crime strike out and try something new, you reminded yourself. 

A heavy, poignant silence filled the room while you shuffled around your closet for that perfect outfit, but you did your best to ignore it — the internal war to determinedly keep your shoulders straight and your breathing even was close to impossible, but you put every last ounce of effort into it. 

You weren’t to see the way Bucky’s eyes clouded over, or how low his shoulders slumped in defeat; the way his heart cracked just a little bit more behind you. 

His heart knew, and so did yours. It was only a matter of time, they whispered — unseen, but oh so wise.

The next day, you awoke with the sun — golden rays peaked through the blinds of your window. You yawned and sat up to look around your bedroom and the state it was left in from the night before. It had been rough, the date far less than ideal or any semblance of fun, but the sanctuary of your space healed what sadness you felt. 

Your bed was strewn with soft, comfortable pillows and blankets. The bookshelves along one wall were full to the brim with books and knick knacks you’d accumulated over the years. 

One of which in particular stood out. The smooth, clear glass of the statue shone in the morning light, but the structure was unaffected by the golden glow in its beauty — a pair of jellyfish, intertwined while they danced, stood proud at the front of one of the larger shelves. 

Right next to it sat a framed photograph of Bucky and you. It was taken when you first moved into the apartment. 

Bucky stood behind you, his head next to yours while his arms wrapped around your middle to hug you tight — the grin that pulled at his lips was priceless with its show of joy. Brown hair covered his forehead in stray strands that stuck to his forehead, and the rest flowed down his neck. 

You could see the unpacked boxes behind the two of you in the background — it had been a scorching day and Bucky insisted on being the one to bring them all in, much to your annoyance. You remembered making him the biggest drink to help him feel better once he collapsed onto the couch in what was now your living room. 

The memory was one of your favourites; it never failed to make you smile. And if you could still feel the ghost of his lips on your cheek after he said, “We did it, honey, we fuckin’ did it,” you weren’t going to share that with anyone. 

Your gaze shifted to yourself in the photo — exhaustion was evident in the bags under your eyes, after so many late nights from stress and packing, Bucky never failed in his mission to cheer you up. Then, you looked at your mouth, and you found yourself imitating the blinding smile you flashed at the camera. 

Longing pulled at your heart, the ache of it far too real and material to ignore. 

The sudden sound of pans moving in the kitchen caught your attention, followed by the low hum of the fridge while it was opened and closed, then the sizzle of a frying pan over the cooker. You looked at the clock on your bedside drawers and saw it was still early — the reminiscent memories felt like they had taken hours from your day. 

“Breakfast,” you mumbled sleepily. The covers shifted as you sat up and rubbed your eyes from the sleep that formed overnight. 

“And if the sun starts setting,” a deep voice sang from the kitchen, “The sky goes cold, then if the clouds get heavy and start to fall.”

You froze — the world continued on its axis as though it hadn’t left you behind, reeling to comprehend what you were hearing. “Bucky?” you mouthed confusedly, and you strained your ears to hear the rest of what he was singing.

“I really need somebody to call my own, I wanna be somebody to someone,” he continued quietly. “And if you feel like night is falling, I wanna be the one you're calling; 'cause I believe that you could lead the way.”

Did Bucky really just–? The song died away just as you heard footsteps approaching your door from the hallway. “Shit.” You schooled your expression into something you hoped was neutral after the disorientating disbelief of what you heard. 

The door handle rattled gently as Bucky gripped it on the other side, then he knocked softly. “Boo? You awake?” It creaked open. “I’m makin’ breakfast–”

“Hey,” you rasped, still sleep-addled. “I’ll be out in a bit—thanks, Buck.”

Bucky peered around the now open door, and his expression lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Hey, you,” he greeted, and he stepped into your room to lean on the door frame. “How was last night, honey? You got back pretty late.”

“You waited up for me?” 

He nodded. “‘Course I did—I didn’t wanna step in on the happy glow after a date, so I just made sure you got to bed alright, that’s all. You’re not exactly a quiet one,” he teased with a wink.

Heat crept up your neck at his thoughtfulness and playful comment, but you powered on. “Oh– Oh, well, it was alright, I guess,” you offered. 

Bucky raised a brow and inclined his head, willing you to go on. 

“Actually, I ended up–” You hesitated, clearing your throat. There was no way of knowing how he would react to what happened, and it made you nervous for what he would say — always so protective, he was. 

“There was a reason for that,” they whispered while they watched from above.

“I ended up, uh– Walking off, you know, away from them.”

The billowing silence that filled the room after your admission faltered your explanation and you fell quiet, unable to explain anymore of what happened. 

Bucky stood frozen in the doorway. “I’m sorry—I, uh– I can’t have heard you right, Boo. Say that again?”

In one breath, you said, “I walked off—away from them—because they wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I got sick of it.”

He advanced slowly, footsteps muffled and quiet over the floor. “What?”

“I know and I’m sorry–”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me!” Bucky exclaimed, his bright eyes wide. He gestured at himself and said, “I would have come and got you—you know that I would do anything for you!” The panic in his voice truly didn’t fit the situation and you stared at him, dumbstruck by the fear in his voice. “I– I can’t believe you didn’t call–”

He seemed lost for words as he ran his hands through his hair. “I would have run–”

“Bucky, please,” you rushed, holding a hand out towards his heaving chest to soothe him. “Please, it’s okay. I’m alright. Besides, I have a date tonight with someone better—well, I hope they are.” 

The sharp stare that he gave you at the reveal of your plans shocked you to your core. It was full of hurt; a sadness that you would give anything to never see again. “What–?”

He shook his head, the soft strands of his hair covering his face for a brief moment. “Nothin’, honey. I’m just glad you’re home.” There was a pause as he turned back towards the hallway; a flash of something in his eyes, but what, you could not fathom. “C’mon you, breakfast.” 

There was another heavy, sombre silence as you watched Bucky retreat towards the kitchen. 

The change in Bucky’s attitude made you frown with worry. He was the stronger one of the two of you, that you knew for certain — always steadfast and strong, unwavering in his determination, and this outburst made no sense. He never, ever reacted this way before to any news of a potential date or night out, and the fact that he started now was far too confusing and overwhelming to comprehend. 

“To hell with this,” you muttered, and you threw off the covers to get up and get dressed for the battle that awaited you — to get to the bottom of this, you realised, you’d need a warm drink, and some of the breakfast he was preparing. 

Rather than dressing in your own clothes, you threw one of Bucky’s shirts over your undergarments and smiled softly as the worn, soft fabric brushed against your skin — a calculated move. 

The strong smell of your favourite warm drink wafted down the hallway, enticing you onwards towards the kitchen, where the clang of pots and pans sounded. You slowly padded towards the counter to fetch it, but when Bucky saw you approach from around the corner, he briefly hesitated. “What time do you go–? To your date tonight, I mean,” he asked before he quickly turned away from you. 

You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, where his hair fell loose and long down his neck. “Uh– It’s at six, I think.” The warmth of the drink made you feel a little better while you sipped at it. “I can check in a bit, if you want.”

Bucky hummed and flipped a pancake. “And what are you two doin’?”

The mug made a quiet thump when you placed it down on the counter next to you. “They’re taking me to a Christmas fair—the market in the park?”

“I know the one,” he mumbled, and he didn’t elaborate or continue. 

You stared at his broad back, watching as his shoulders flexed and relaxed beneath his shirt while he worked resolutely on preparing breakfast. Suspicion lurked in the corners of your mind — why was he suddenly so interested? 

An infinitesimal flicker of hope from his driven curiosity sparked itself to life in your stomach, and you tried your hardest to stomp it out, though it proved difficult. Quietly, you asked, “Are you asking me all this because you’re curious, or–?”

There was no reply — only the sound of the pan in his hand shuffling over the burner and the simmer of pancake batter. 

You cleared your throat and stepped closer to him. “Buck–?”

“Nothing.”

“What–?” you stammered, and you placed a hand on the back of his shoulder. Your heart seized like a vice had fastened around it when he stiffened under the soft touch. “Bucky, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange—has something happened?”

“No,” Bucky said tightly, and he shrugged off your hand. That alone had you close to tears. “It’s almost ready, go get–”

“Bucky.” 

Stormy blue eyes met yours, and you were shocked to see such a mix of fierce emotions swimming in the depths of his normally stoic gaze. “What?” he snapped.

“Talk to me,” you urged, “What’s wrong?”

Bucky turned back to the stove top, determinedly continuing on with his cooking. “It– It’s nothin’, I promise. Can you pick a movie to watch while we eat?”

The walls he built to protect himself from outsiders were rapidly falling into place against you, blocking you from all of what you knew and loved. The pain of such a realisation made you back off; tears in your eyes as you stepped back from his presence to lean against the counter. 

There were no triggers that would make him act so brash, not from what you could parse or define from the past day or night; not any that you witnessed or heard.

“Okay,” you said shortly, and you frowned at him while you walked away. 

The two mugs, one of them yours and the other Bucky’s, were warm against your palms while you carried them into the living room. Steam curled in the air under your nose, and you breathed in the spiced scent of Bucky’s drink. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the Christmas tree in the corner of the room as it twinkled, the lights winking and dancing in ignorance of the pain that filled your heart.

Now out of Bucky’s eyeline, you turned and stared at where he would be standing at the stove top. The heat of your stare was weak against the walls he built; unable to pierce through the foundations of his anxieties, nor barrel through them like a wrecking ball to expose the cause. 

To see Bucky in such a state of distress plucked at the strings of your heart, and you couldn’t help but feel as though you were to blame — the thought was absurd, but it did not stop the burning broil of shame and anger in your stomach. “Nope, no,” you murmured, squaring your shoulders and balling your hands into fists. “I won’t let this go.”

Your feet carried you towards the kitchen, blissfully ignorant of the way your heart pounded in your chest; a rhythm you were sure that couldn’t last.  

Bucky was leaning on the counter, his tattooed hands either side of the stove top, and his fingers, a few adorned with shining, silver rings, were still on the counter. His head hung low between his shoulders that shook minutely from aborted breaths.

“Bugs?” He didn’t move; the nickname did not even stir a reaction.

“I know you’re hurting,” you continued cautiously, and you stepped closer, replacing your hand on his shoulder to rub up and down his back. “Talk to me—let me help.”

“You can’t,” Bucky croaked, his voice strained and oh so pained — like glass was lodged in his throat. “Just– Just go into the living room. I’ll bring the food in a minute.”

“No. No, Buck.” You stepped closer, plastering your front to his side. “Don’t push me out, honey, please.”

Something shattered in his expression, and his bottom lip trembled — a sight you never wanted to see again. And he broke. “Oh, sweetheart,” you whispered, and you pulled him closer to place your forehead against his temple, so your breath fanned over his stubbled cheek. “What’s happened?”

The urge to protect and soothe well in practice now, and you felt the muscles in his face move, as though he was saying something. You couldn’t hear it over the blood roaring in your ears from adrenaline. “I didn’t catch that, honey,” you said softly, stepping impossibly closer. “What was that?”

The next words that fell from Bucky’s mouth tore your still beating heart from your chest. “Please get off me.”

You flinched and stepped back. A vicious, all-consuming ache in your chest took hold, and you stared, wide-eyed and tearful, at the side of Bucky’s head. “Why are you acting like this?” you pressed, still staring hard at him — the way he was breaking apart before you was as tragic as a car accident but you could not look away. “What’s happened to you? Did you have a nightmare–? Did someone say something?”

Bucky’s tattooed, callused hand moved to wipe his eyes, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just– Please,” he implored, glancing at you then back down at the pan on the stove. “Go get a movie or a show goin’—I don’t care which.”

The frustration boiled over. “Like hell I will,” you snapped. “Not when my best friend is pushing me out—I won’t leave you to wallow, Bucky.”

He groaned and hung his head. “You and your fuckin’ stubbornness, I swear–” 

“You swear what, James?”

The look he shot you was full of a bitterness that did not belong on his handsome face. “Don’t do that–”

“Let me help you,” you interrupted, and you felt the claws of desperation sinking deep, gauging marks on your frail heart; the strength of it obvious in your shaky voice. “Please. I just want you to be–”

For a single second, you swore you saw Bucky’s body shift and turn inwards, protecting himself, but when you blinked a budding trail of tears back and it was gone — replaced by his posturing and an expression you could not decipher in your franticness. 

It was inevitable that as best friends that the two of you would fight, argue, even disagree heatedly. There had been many times in the past you both had made up and returned to being like you always were, joined at the hip and inseparable, but something broke. 

The damage felt well beyond what you thought you could repair, the finality of his hurt the final nail in the coffin, and hell… 

There was, not for a moment, where you would not go down without a fight. You held his stare fiercely and started to demand, “What–” 

And to your absolute surprise, he held up his hand to stop you and your tirade. The audible click of your jaw as it shut against the words that threatened to spill over echoed around the kitchen.  

Bucky stared into your face, his stormy eyes flickering between your own. “You wanna know what I want?” The anger in his tone was something you had never heard from him; always so softly spoken with you, he had never raised his voice when he addressed you. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’m worried about you. You never, ever act like this and it’s scaring me, Bucky—it’s scaring me, you’re scaring me!”

The silence that followed your words and admittance of fear reverberated off of the kitchen walls, figuratively gauging the paint and cupboards and tearing it all to pieces. 

Bucky opened his mouth, his lips parting in a grimace. “Boo– Fuck.” His hands combed through his hair, the tattoos on his fingers peeking through the strands; the rings glinted from the downlights above him. “Fuck.”

Raw, pure emotion pounded through your veins, unfiltered and unwanted — he was hurting, and here you were, selfishly digging to find the cause. 

The blue of his eyes turned grey while tears built along his own lashes. 

Your heart was in your throat, forcing its way up to land in your hands, an offering to him. 

Take it, it’s yours. 

“Please, please tell me how to help– I can’t let you hurt anymore,” you begged quietly, looking into his face. You stretched out a hand, and Bucky took it. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t tell you,” he rasped, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Not now—I can’t do it.”

You frowned at him. “It’s okay, Buck—tell me what’s wrong so I can help–”

“Because–” Bucky hissed, cutting you off abruptly. Even louder, he continued, “Because all I have ever fuckin’ wanted was you!”

The claxon-loud silence rang so sharply in your ears that you flinched. 

Never before had you heard Bucky shout — never before had you seen the tears stream down his cheeks to collect at his collarbones, staining the collar of his shirt. 

Never before did you think that you would hear the words you dreamed of; not now, not ever. 

Your lips moved before your mind could catch up. “You– You want me?”

Bucky looked at you, really looked at you, and you realised that he was staring at you with something akin to wonder, a deep fondness like you were the stars in the sky; the lights on a tree at Christmas time — the very same one in the living room. 

“I’ve wanted you for so fuckin’ long,” he answered finally. “I’ve just been too much of a fuckin’ coward to say it.”

Blinking back tears, you screwed up your face with a self-loathing that burned hotter than a wildfire. “So, every time I went on a date with someone else–”

“You didn’t know,” Bucky whispered. “How could you have known if I didn’t say shit? How could you have known that I thought you were the one for me if I kept my mouth fuckin’ shut ‘cause I was scared?”

Tears tracked down your cheeks freely, the restraint vanishing as fast as your composure, and you swallowed thickly. “I didn’t know–” You coughed from the sudden parchedness in your throat. “Why–? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He didn’t answer; you rambled on. “I– I wish I knew, I have kept it hidden– Oh, god, Bucky, I’m so–”

Your words — an apology you felt was desperately needed — were cut off by Bucky’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face, the pads of his thumbs brushing your cheeks to wipe away your tears. 

It was a chaste press of his lips on yours, but it was enough to steal your breath from your lungs. 

He pulled back from your lips but rested his forehead against yours. Blue eyes bore into yours, once so filled with an unknown agony; now elated, weightless at the confession. The pads of his thumbs continued to brush over your cheekbones, and in the silence, your thoughts reeled.

“I’ve had a crush on you for so long,” you whispered brokenly, barely holding in a sob. “Bucky, I– I wish you told me—I tried to tell you–”

“I’m sorry, Boo—I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Bucky said softly, and he sniffed. “I didn’t– I should have said somethin’.”

You stared at him, then nodded gently. “Yeah,” you breathed, a half hysterical sound. “You fucking should have, you big, dumb idiot.” 

“Well yeah, okay.” Bucky shrugged. “I earned that one.”

The two of you surged forward, kissing with a fervour unseen and you couldn’t stop the way your heart and spirits lifted. How what felt like a helium balloon had been tied around your middle to sweep you off your feet, when, in reality, it was truly just your best friend, the very same one that you had harboured a crush on for a lifetime. 

Bucky was the first to pull away, his breath heavy and hot on your lips. “Why don’t I take you out?” he asked, smirking. “There’s a Christmas fair, and I wanna see the way my girl’s eyes light up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning widely at him. “But first? Pancakes.”

“The time had finally come,” they whispered, victorious and proud of the endgame — their smiles remaining unseen, but they were shared, nonetheless.

↠  𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ↞

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

can you tell me the timeline of twisted wonderland I know the game timeline started in September or august now the timeline is january or febary

The timeline for the main story is as follows:

Prologue - Based on book 1’s timing, probably very late August or very early September.

Book 1 - Crewel states that start of the school year is in September; other students like Cater drop hints that the new students are still getting acclimated to the routine of school. The light novel is even more specific; the OB fight is stated to happen within the first week of school.

Book 2 - Crowley states that the interdorm spelldrive/magift tournament takes place in October.

Book 3 - Final exams of the fall semester are mentioned, so this is before winter break. Most likely occurs in November.

Book 4 - Begins on the last day of the fall semester and continues through winter break (late December) and into the new year (January). This is pretty explicitly stated in various characters’ dialogue (Jamil, Crowley, Ramshackle Ghosts, Lilia, Octavinelle, etc.) or by in-game omnipotent narration.

Book 5 - Begins in the new year (January) and factoring in ~1 months’ worth of training, we end book 5 in mid-February, when VDC/SDC takes place. Mid-February is explicitly mentioned by Crewel.

Book 6 - Takes place literally a few days after book 5, so presumably still in February. Idia states that 5 Overblots (not counting himself) occurred in less than 6 months.

Book 7 - Estimated to be in March due to a variety of factors. It must be spring because Yuu is surprised to see (Malleus’s magically produced) snow when wandering outside of Ramshackle + says “I thought it’s supposed to be spring.” The interscholastic spelldrive/magift tournament takes place in May, but presumably has not occurred yet + Silver states his birthday (May 15) is still “a little ways away”. Assuming NRC has a spring break in April or mid/late March, it must not have happened yet because 1) no students mention a break and 2) the third years would need to apply for their internships early in the semester to allow time for their paperwork to be processed and to do additional tests and interviews. Lilia does say at his farewell party that a full 6 months have passed since the start of the school year; he would have said 7 if it was April. UPDATE: book 7 ends on Silver's birthday, May 15.

I have added this information (or at least a link to it) in my pinned post, which already contains a FAQ section. I highly recommend to my readers to look at the FAQ first before sending in their question(s), as there is a good chance that your question may have already been answered there. Any questions that are repeats of the ones shown in the FAQ will go ignored/unanswered moving forward.

[thewertsearch]

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain cloth. Or anything taking place out here in the emerald shitty paintjob, for that matter.

So, wait - in this extended Wizard of Oz analogy, Hussie is the wizard? It does seem fitting, except that the Wizard of Oz was only pretending to be an all-powerful god, whereas Hussie, as the author of the story, actually is omnipotent.

...not that there's any actual proof of that, come to think of it.

Perhaps the in-universe Hussie avatar is merely narrating the story, rather than creating it, and any claims to the contrary are really just smoke, mirrors and braggadocio. If that's true, then they're really just an observer of these events, albeit a particularly well-informed one.

JOHN: this place is weird. when are we gonna bust through the other window, anyway? JOHN: i'm kind of antsy to get on with our adventure and meet up with everybody! JADE: yes me too JADE: hmmmmmm

It's going to be hours, at the very least.

If our two parties were mere minutes from reuniting, there'd be no reason to drag it out for this long. Besides, if the kids' arrival in the B2 session was imminent, then they'd immediately steal the spotlight back from our four new protagonists, some of whom we haven't even officially met yet.

The B2 kids need room to breathe. They deserve some time to develop as characters, without being completely overshadowed by their predecessors. Therefore, said predecessors will have to slow their fucking roll for a second, and let the Alpha Kids shine.

JADE: we should arrive in about three years

Jegus, what?

I haven't been this blindsided by a timeskip since Scarab 25.6 - but the more I think about it, the more confident I am that it's the right decision. Not just because it gives the Alphas time to develop, but because of the possibilities it opens up.

When the B2 kids re-enter the story, they'll be around the same age as Jane's team - and since we've just met Jane's team, I think it's highly unlikely that they'll be included in the timeskip. The Alpha Kids aren't going to be nineteen when John's team arrive - they'll be in the same timeframe they're in now, on the same day they entered their session.

In other words, we're going to get to know the Alpha Kids as a group of hormonal teenagers - and then, when the time is right, we're going to drop a cluster bomb of additional teenagers right on top of their session, stand well back, and watch the shitshow begin. If you think the Jake/Jane/Dirk/Roxy love quadrangle is bad, wait until you see Jake/Gamzee/Karkat/Terezi/Dave.

Plus, a 3-year-timeskip means our protagonists can finally rest for a while. The Sburb crisis isn't over, of course, but it is on pause - and for much longer than I expected it to be, too. The kids can finally unpack what the fuck happened today, and the trolls can enjoy a non-hostile living environment for literally the first time in their entire lives. This is good for them, and I think it'll really help them grow.

It's a shame that we'll probably be splitting the party, but these two groups are still full of interesting dynamics, that we now have time to explore. John/Jade and Rose/Dave can finally get to know each other as siblings, Rosemary can develop as a couple, and the whole Karkat/Terezi situation can finally resolve, one way or the other.

We've been stuck on one single day for almost four thousand pages - but now, we're finally leaving this long, long Monday afternoon behind us. It's time to accelerate.

[mistyheartrbs]

the barbie movie really does have everything. a utopian barbie society with a portal to our world. car chases. musical numbers. genuinely nuanced conversations around the double standards women are expected to uphold and never address, articulated multiple times by multiple characters establishing that the legacy of barbie (the franchise) is neither wholly positive nor wholly negative. BBC’s Pride & Prejudice (1996). an omnipotent narrator voiced by helen mirren. a second omnipotent narrator voiced by lizzo. ghosts. horses. half the cast of sex education? lesbian subtext. an original soundtrack full of brand new songs that also includes at least three separate needledrops of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.  sisterhood and also discussions of the difficulty of “sisterhood.” Beach. some of the best set design i’ve seen in a contemporary hollywood movie. existentialism. california. more lesbian subtext. earring magic ken. what a movie

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 419

Brief summary: GoD talks more with Cale. Cale wakes up 3 days later.

==========

Today was an info dump.

GoC turned GoD's upper body gray, and God of War (GoW) cut off GoD's arm.

GoW confirmed to be on GoC's side.

Long ago, God of Justice (GoJ) hired the First Wanderer (FW) on a mission to find a way to "annihilate a god."

GoJ went into hiding amidst the chaos that ensued when GoB and GoC fought.

GoJ left a note that read, "The God Realm is filled with injustice. I will strike down the hammer of justice."

GoD only realized what FW's mission was when GoD found his own name on the Death List.

GoJ was not on any god's side, and worked independently.

But FW was working with both GoC and GoJ.

That part about GoJ was a surprise. But poor GoD. I guess after Cale met GoC and prevented their descent, GoC dragged GoW with them in anger and the two both beat up GoD because GoD was the "mastermind" behind Cale.

There was also info about King Zed Crossman. GoD figured out that Zed was in the game world, and was growing sure of it as the game world became more real. The fact that Cale met GoD in his dream despite being unconscious in the game world was further proof that the game world turning real.

Now, for some First Wanderer stuff.

FW was as old or nearer the time of the ancient gods.

FW only did missions for the ancient gods.

He was said to be both strong and smart.

FW rejected godhood because he had other goals.

FW became the head of the Five Colored Bloods.

The omnipotent god plan was just a step towards his real goal.

GoD said that FW was already there before he became a god. But something about FW made me and several Koreans in Kakao come up with some crazy theory about him.

“But they say he's pretty strong, with a 100% success rate on all his missions, except for his last mission before he disappeared.” The God of Death paused, then added. “And clever, he is more clever than strong.” The God of Death paused again and stared at Cale. “Why?” Cale asked with a sour face, and the God of Death smiled. “Nothing. Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that the First Wanderer refused to be a god for a reason.” So powerful, yet refusing to be a god, that whenever anyone questioned him about it, the First Wanderer would simply laugh and say, “I have other goals."

GoD's stare at Cale was suspicious. And if you consider the other things (Very smart, refusing to be a god, etc), we came up with this crazy theory that FW was actually Cale or KRS of another world. Quite a wild theory, right? 😂

Back to GoD, his talk with Cale was funny as usual. He kept joking with Cale, but Cale just looked at him in annoyance or indifference. 😂 And Cale's flags kept increasing.

'But why would I run into them?' Frankly, Cale was nothing more than a bystander in this fight between the gods. Not only could he not go to the God Realm, but he also had nothing to do with it. The God of Death sighed. "Yeah. War, that bastard really pisses me off." But somehow, he (GoD) had a feeling that Cale might be involved.

🚩Flag spotted!!! Cale is definitely going to the God Realm in the near future. 🤣🤣🤣

GoD: But now, what good is worrying about the gods fighting each other when I'm about to disappear? *smiles* Cale: Ha. This is annoying. That annihilation bullshit. Narrator: He hated seeing the man who made him work so hard and got him involved in so many things just casually smiling while talking about being annihilated. He was simply annoyed. Cale: Until I get slacker life, you can't rest either.

So... if Cale became a god, GoD would be doomed to a life of never-ending work? 😂😂😂 Even when leaving the dream, Cale left the words, "I'm going to steal the method of annihilating a god, so don't die and work for the rest of your life." 🤣🤣🤣

GoD found Cale very affectionate, wanting to save him despite being annoyed at him. GoD wanted to die, but Cale did not want him too. Wait a second... wasn't this like the situation with Eruhaben? 😂😂😂

Every time Cale met a god in his dreams, he would wake up a few days later. So when he woke up, he found out that it had been 3 days since then. BUT! Alberu had yet to wake up after 3 days too! Several Kakao commenters speculated that if Cale met GoD in his dream, perhaps Alberu met the Sun God in his dream too.

Ending Remarks Today's info dump was amazing. So many flags and theories. Next chapter would be Cale finding out the aftermath of the incident. I look forward to Cale learning about Crazy Attention Seeker's videos. 😂