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cosmos-coma · 1 year

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I've a little Valentine's Day request if you don't mind. Reader is a mage and Eskel's lover. She decides to make a surprise for him on this special day.

Saccharine

A/N: okay, I know you said "little", I know. But I'm finding out that I cant control myself with requests lol. But I may actually have to use this mage character now, I really love the concept.

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Words: 1.2k

Warning: real quick editing, just tooth-rotting fluff! (Oh, also no pronouns as usual)

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You had been up all night working tirelessly about the kitchen of Kaer Morhen. The entire keep lay in deep and silent sleep as the holiday of love and romance loomed with the next sunrise. You had really wanted to make it a holiday you’d both remember, and so you were pulling out all your magic and talents for it.

You had a very peculiar talent among your fellow mages, one that hadn’t been seen in a truly long time. Those that didn’t understand called your talents worthless and a waste of chaos. Those that did understand tripped over themselves to stay in your good graces.

See you had the ability to use memories in your magic. Good or bad, yours or other people’s, you could see memories people had long forgotten if you concentrated hard enough or could choose to share them as well, though that one really wore you down to use.

It was morning when Eskel found you, face down on the counter as you sat on your stool. Your forehead laid against a big roll of dough and your light snores puffed up bits of flour as you breathed out.

“Darling…. Y/n, come on. Wake up…” Eskel encouraged as he gently jostled your shoulder.

“Hmm… No, I need to proof for 5 more minutes… Let me rise..” You mumbled out, still asleep as you swatted at his hand.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He laughed out and went over to the sink, fiddling around in the sink for a moment before tossing a soaking washcloth on your head.

“AHH, I’M UP!! IM AWAKE!!” You shouted, half the dough sticking to your forehead and your hair. Eskel held back raucous laughter as he saw that, paired with flour that covered your entire face,

“You look… ravishing. Ravishing and radiant was what I was gonna say…” Eskel laughed as he grabbed the washcloth from your head and began wiping your face off, really scrubbing to get the dough. “I went to go make you breakfast in bed for today, but it turns out you never even made it to bed.”

“Ugh, ow. Too hard, scrubbing too hard…” you complained as you pulled your head away, “I got a little consumed last night, I guess…” you threw the leftover dough away, and cleaned up your station. “You know you can still make me breakfast… but let’s meet in the library, okay? It’s just more open than the room is.”

Eskel knew better than to argue when you obviously had something planned, so he just nodded and kissed your head, “Of course, dear. I’ll be right there.” He assured and began pulling together everything he needed for a nice breakfast you would love.

Your feet carried you quickly, gathering many of your bags and boxes from the kitchen as you brought everything up to the library in anticipation of your beloved’s arrival.

“Y/n? My magnificent and flour-ridden- mage?” Eskel called as he nudged open the Library door, committing the greatest balancing act of all time as he carries various plates and bowls on a large tray. As he walked in deeper, candles flickered about on the large wooden table. Everything was set up in front of the largest windows in the entire keep, and the bookshelves surrounded your little nook, giving you privacy and quiet. There you sat on the little couch, a warm blanket around you, several opaque bags at your feet, no doubt holding your gifts for him. Fat and lazy snowflakes sauntered downwards behind you and made for the perfect scene.

“There you are,” An easy smile crossed his lips as he saw you and set the tray of dishes down. “Here is our full spread for breakfast… and lunch probably. I got a bit carried away making everything.” a chuckle came from him as he moved to slide in next to you.

You grinned and kissed his cheek as he came in beside you, “you mind if I give you my presents right away? I just can't hold in the excitement any longer..”

He laughed, “go ahead, let’s see them..”

You grinned and handed him a small box. “I’m letting you know now. That I love you so much, but this is your valentines day, Birthday, Yule, hallows eve- Every holiday present for this year… I know I won't be able to top it anytime soon.”

Eskel nodded, curious excitement filling him as he opened it up to see…. A box of donuts? An unusual blue glaze topped these small fried cakes as well as little purple decorations. He took one out and took a small bite, a sweet and cool taste washing over his tongue as a memory sprang forth.

It was a memory of you and him, early on in your relationship as you two were running and laughing as you tripped over yourselves trying to escape the downpour outside. It was a fleeting memory as he swallowed down his bite. The cool pattering of rain on his skin and the ringing of your laughter in his ears waned into silence once more.

You grinned as you watched him relive one of your favorite memories of you two, something so simple and mundane, but for some reason, it always stuck out in your mind. “You’re one of the few who refuses to ask me to use my magic, you who sometimes needs it the most,” you explained with a soft and loving tone. “So each donut is a memory of ours… each one is two memories… The longer you chew it the longer it lasts, but it still has to go away eventually.” You picked up the bags that lay at your feet, each only about the size of a coin pouch.

“Each of these holds hard candies, so they’ll keep well on the path. But each color is a memory of you and another person. Vesemir’s memories of you are green, Lambert’s are orange, and Geralt’s are yellow.” You smiled as you explained, “some of them might be a little sad, but each is still a happy memory…”

Eskel’s eyes pricked with tears that couldn’t flow as he looked through each of the bags. There were at least 10 or 15 in each sack and he knew he could easily get this to last him for years to come. Silence wafted through the air as Eskel’s words got caught in his throat.

You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek, “I know, you don’t need to say anything. I know the path gets hard and that people can say some nasty things about Witchers and scars alike. I’ve seen the way it hurts you, Esk… So I just wanted a way for you to remember how much we love you.” you hugged him close, laughing a bit at the way he quietly buried his face in your neck.

“I love you so much…. My saccharine sweetheart…” He laughed a bit to himself as he pulled back, piling the treats together off to the side so he could pull you into his lap to be even closer.

“Your sweets are lovely, but your love is so much sweeter.”

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Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @madamemelancholysstuff @dark-academia-slut

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#eskel gets good things!#eskel fic #eskel imagine #witcher eskel #eskel #eskel x y/n #eskel x reader fluff #eskel x you #eskel x reader #Gn reader #no pronouns used.#the witcher #witcher self insert #tw3 eskel #game eskel #kaer morhen #eskel my beloved #eskel fluff #eskel fanfiction

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whatislovevavy · 10 months

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WC: 4.4k

Synopsis: An exploration of why Bucky decided to cut his hair

AN: This has been in my Google Drive for about two years and finally got around/had the motivation to finish this. This piece was technically my first ever piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. My writing mostly pertains to Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick so this was a nice little brain break from that. I thought I'd include the original author's note I put together, having never written fanfiction at the time, just for nostalgic sake and if anyone wants to know just how new to this I was lol. Also this divider is not mine and I was unable to tag the account that made it since it was deleted. This work will be posted on my side blog @sophs-writing-nook.

Original Author’s Note: Hello everyone :) This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and I really hope you guys like it because I’m a bit nervous about it. I’ve had this idea since I saw the first promotions for the Falcon and Winter Soldier series and didn't really do anything about it for a variety of reasons. I haven’t seen a lot of fics exploring this concept so I decided to write this on a camping trip in my notes app where I didn’t have reception so I apologize if there is bad grammar, spelling errors, etc. If there happens to be a similarity to another fic, it is purely coincidence and I don’t intend to plagiarize anyone. Please let me know if it does appear I have. I have a lot of respect for fanfic writers and don’t want to disrespect anyone and steal anyone’s work unintentionally.

Warnings: Blood, Trauma (PTSD), sadness with some bittersweet moments sprinkled in, supportive Sam because that’s a warning in itself.

None of these characters are mine. Read at your own discretion.

Bucky had tried finding a routine after coming back: Get up by 7, go on a run make breakfast, try to keep in touch with his friends he had made since coming back, try a new recipe, maybe try online dating, catch up on what he missed the past 70 years, try to forgive himself for all the atrocities he didn't have a choice in committing, make dinner, shower, and sleep by 9.

That's what his therapist, Darlene, told him to do at least.

She wanted him to write in a journal the names of the people and families he wanted to make amends with, things he wanted to explore and try out, and good things he remembered before he was the Winter Soldier.

Darlene had kept encouraging him to keep referring to the Winter Soldier as if he were his own separate person, and not affiliated with James Buchanan Barnes.

It helped a bit with passing the blame, but not by much. He, naturally, chose the last remnant of Steve he had- his journal- to hold these thoughts.

Steve saw the best in him when he couldn't.

He made an effort to try and forgive himself for everything he did, for Steve’s sake.

Why Steve had left him, he didn't fully understand.

It didn't make the "forgiving himself" part any easier.

If his lifelong friend, who had been with him through thick and thin, decided to leave him now in this time of his broken, mutilated life, what did that say about him?

Was he wrong about him?

Did he truly believe he was worth being fixed and forgiven?

There were small moments of hope that he could be fixed, but they were few and far inbetween.

His nightmares had gotten worse.

If Darlene would ask, he’d tell her, “no, they haven't", "they've stopped", or "I haven't had one for a while.” Bullshit excuses that anybody who saw the dark circles under his eyes wouldn't believe. Darlene knew he was lying and would try to reassure him that their space was safe and it would help him to get his nightmares out in the open.

He didn't think so.

This woman didn't know what it was like to have the same horrific scenarios play out in his mind every time he went to sleep.

To see himself killing innocent people like he was in the backseat of his mind.

The blood.

Their faces, some close friends and others strangers.

Their pleas and calls for mercy were what always broke him.

He was forced again and again to witness himself taking their lives and couldn't do anything to stop himself. Forced to use any part of himself for Hydra.

Nothing was spared.

He felt unforgivable, these nightmares were a sign of the Winter Soldier still being in his head, buried and ready if Hydra got their hands on him again.

He was tired of fighting and worrying, only wanting lasting peace and a full night's rest.

He had started renting an apartment in downtown Brooklyn near where his family had lived during the 40's. It was near the church cemetery his mother, father and sister, Rebecca, were buried. They were placed in the row closest to the street behind the church his family frequented during his youth.

His parents had passed from old age when he was imprisoned by Hydra.

A small part of him was thankful for that.

They never had to learn that their son had done such horrible things.

They lived with the good memories of him.

His sister had passed during the time half the population was gone, the Blip people called it, from Alzheimer's. He visited her once before, but she was in the late stages, and was a shell of who he remembered growing up.

His little sister Rebecca, whom he protected, opened jars for, teased, and made sure the boys she liked would be good to her, was now unable to remember him. He was told she passed peacefully in her sleep a few months after he disappeared.

Darlene thought that buying an apartment so close to his family's resting place might be overwhelming for him, but he wanted to be close to them and the memories he had.

The apartment consisted of a basic floor plan; kitchen, bathroom with a shower and bath, living room, bedroom, closet. However, he only used the kitchen, bathroom, and living room.

He didn't have many things when he moved in, and didn't feel he needed all the space allotted to him.

He had invested in a modest tv set, a microwave, blender, and a camping mat, courtesy of Sam's encouragement.

He had tried sleeping on a mattress, but he felt that he was going to sink through into the floor with how soft and marshmallow-like it felt. He always slept on the floor with a few blankets and sheets.

Sam had the same experience when he came back from Afghanistan.

Sam had tried to help him adjust to things since coming back, and had done a lot for him, including to help him find his apartment and encourage him to try new things.

There were times he had trouble getting out of his headspace to return Sam's calls and initiate with his friend. Darlene had been saying that for a person who allegedly had no one left, he seemed to have a safety net in Sam. She pushed him to call someone other than her and initiate with him. It was another case where he felt she didn't fully understand how difficult it was for him to build relationships, and "get his nightmares out in the open" since coming back.

He had gotten home late that night from the store, buying ingredients to make a recipe Darlene recommended: chicken tikka masala, he thought she called it.

He was amazed at the amount of change he had missed, especially from a grocery store. His family would boil everything with what minimal spices were available, other than the usual salt and pepper. He found solace in trying new recipes and exposing himself to the technological wonders of the 21st century, including learning how to use a DVD player and the iPhone he recently bought. He tried online dating but found it was too overwhelming and made him feel like a fish out of water. Asking people on dates and seeking relationships came easily to him when he was younger before the war, but everything felt so different now.

He felt so different and foreign to himself. His arm. His mind. He felt like a shell of the person he was before the Winter Soldier.

His groceries were unloaded into the fridge and he started to prepare his dinner. He placed a bowl on the counter for mixing chicken marinade and marinating the soon to be cooked slices of chicken. The chicken slices were placed into a pan on a low heat to begin cooking. They wouldn't take long since they only had to cook halfway through initially. He gathered the spices for the marinade.

The soft smells of turmeric, ginger, cumin, and garam masala reminded him of the evenings he spent helping his mother cook during the summer. His mother would rummage together some cash every once in a while to buy a few sachets of spices from the local grocery. It was an indulgence she took part in that, compared to now, seemed simple and less of an everyday luxury.

Sure, the spices she would bring home were more mild and less "exotic" than what he had available to him now, but it was the familiar memory of being taught to cook and the soft smells of his mother's cooking.

His conscience told him to use the spices sparingly despite himself being confronted with a substantially sized grocery aisle complete with spices from almost every corner of the world a mere few hours ago.

Maybe it was his upbringing during the Great Depression and watching his parents worry about where the next paycheck would come from.

Or maybe it was his instinct telling him this small semblance of peace he had found in his Brooklyn apartment would be snatched away, and that he needed to savor every new experience in stride.

Because if he let himself enjoy them too much, it would make the snatching that much more painful.

He couldn't decide.

He finished the marinade and would have to wait an hour or two to start the sauce and cook the chicken. He placed it in the fridge and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

The warm water felt nice on his warped, scarred flesh around his arm on his left side. The area would often become sore and plagued by knots. Sam recommended warm showers, aloe vera, a massage and spa place nearby, and Advil. The thought of people he didn't know touching his scarred flesh made him feel nervous, so the rest of his suggestions were his go to.

His scar tissue and long hair were the last physical mark of Hydra on him.

He was thankful he didn't have to see the red star that had branded him for so many years when he looked in the mirror anymore, since leaving Wakanda.

But there was still his hair.

His hair that had blood, dirt and grime stained into it for his 70 years of service. No matter how many times he showered, he knew the blood would never leave his hair or his hands. His mind would drift through waves of hopelessness in quiet moments like these more often than not.

He dried himself off with a soft towel, changed into a pair of boxers, and began to gingerly apply aloe vera to the junction where his arm met his shoulder. His shoulder was still a bit sensitive after all these years despite the enhanced healing from the serum. Shuri theorized it was because the metal cavity of his arm continuously tore through the underlying tissue. She was able to remove the bits and pieces of metal embedded in his shoulder. His arm was in the healing process, but it would take a while after years of damage even with the serum. After he finished rubbing in the aloe vera, He put on a dark t-shirt and made his way back into the kitchen to finish the sauce.

He carefully prepared the onions, garlic, and spices for the sauce the way his mother taught him to.

He couldn't help but think about how his parents and sister would have loved to have tried this recipe with him.

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "cut the onions a bit smaller" or "don't let the garlic and onions burn in the pan".

Rebecca's eagerness to try the sauce prematurely with a perfected pout and whines of protest when denied so.

His father's quiet yet strong presence at the kitchen table reading the daily paper and soft scolding of his sister.

Steve drawing in his journal at the dinner table on evenings when Sarah Rogers would be working late at the hospital.

The radio softly playing in the background as a soothing ambiance.

The kitchen window opened to let the aroma of the Barnes’ family dinner wander through the back alley of the apartment building, and let in the sounds of the neighbors' soft conversations, clothes oscillating in the wind on the clothes line, and car engines humming as people made their way home at dusk.

All qualities of his family's evening routine and upbringing he longed for, but took for granted in his youth.

The stark smell of overcooked onions brought him back to the task at hand, pulling him from his thoughts but leaving his buildup of emotions he felt were about to rupture. He added the heavy cream, spices, brown sugar, and let them stir with the marinated onions and garlic. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. Letting the sauce thicken, he turned the pan onto a low heat, and added the marinated chicken to finish cooking.

He placed the spatula down on the counter top with a shaky hand, placing his hands on the counter to support himself as he let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.

God, he wished they were here with him. Steve. His mom. His dad. Rebecca.

He wished he had somebody who knew him before the Winter Soldier that could help him to pick up the broken pieces of himself and to become the person he was again.

He wished he could have said goodbye to his parents, Rebecca, and that Steve hadn't left him.

He wished he could've held his parents one last time before they passed, met the man that Rebecca fell in love with and had a family with, and fought harder for Steve to stay with him and help pick up the pieces.

All things that he couldn't do anything about now.

He wiped his tears away and returned to stirring his chicken masala. Thoughts of his family blending with the thoughts of his recipe like the spices and heavy cream in his pan as a cope. Darlene had mentioned that the recipe goes best with garlic buttered rice or naan, so he had bought ingredients for both, but opted for the naan. He turned on the oven, placed some naan from the store on a baking sheet, and into the oven before returning to stirring the contents of the pan.

He remembered Sam wanted to come over and check in on how he was settling into his apartment, sometime the next day. Maybe he would want to try some of his dish.

"Initiate, take small steps to initiate". This counted as initiating, right? He hoped so.

His chicken masala was well blended and deemed done. His naan close behind. He placed a bowl and plate on the counter, served up his recipe and naan, and sat down at his two person dinner table, and prepared to eat. Darlene had told him that making a makeshift taco with the naan tasted good if he opted to not make the garlic butter rice. He took his first bite and let himself experience each incredible flavor.

He would definitely be making this recipe again.

Maybe he could make a batch for Sam.

It would be a small way to return the favor.

He made his way through his dinner, and would start heading to bed soon. It was almost 9 anyway. Shuri told him that consistent good sleep would also help him heal mentally along with his therapy and the treatment she provided.

He made a mental note to try making the garlic butter rice, thank Darlene for the recipe, and ask her if she had any more favorite recipes he should try during his next session.

He brought his dishes to the sink, moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and shed himself of his shirt. Sleeping shirtless was normal for him both during the war and after getting the serum, finding that he would warm up easily and end up tossing and turning in the night.

His escalated body heat helped him to survive the frigid Siberian winters during his imprisonment, but not the mild to warm summer nights in Brooklyn.

Laying on the hardwood floor with the lights out left him with his thoughts. He remembered the nights he and Steve spent laying on couch cushions on the living room floor of his parents apartment.

The nights he and his sister would read The Hobbit under the covers of his bed when they were younger, while their parents thought they were sleeping.

He liked to sleep with the TV on at a low volume and the window opened so he wouldn't be lost in his thoughts for too long.

He didn't have as much trouble falling asleep as before. Darlene told him to take deep breaths while resting his eyes and had gotten better at it since seeing her.

Breathe in for 5 seconds, exhale for 10, and repeat till he felt calm enough to drift to sleep.

He steadily awoke hours later, feeling warm and groggy.

It was quiet.

The TV was off and the window was shut.

He was none the wiser in his hindered state of being as he lifted himself off of the floor and trudged to the bathroom, the soft sound of his bare feet pattering on the wood floor like rain drops on a window, encompassing his apartment in a soft echo.

He turned on the soft bathroom light and twisted the cold faucet on, leaned down and scooped cold water in his hand, and poured it on his face. Supporting himself by his forearms, he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of cold on his face and cascading down his neck.

The water felt warmer now and had a distinct iron smell to it.

He opened his eyes and was met with his hands drenched in blood. Blood flowing into the sink from the tap.

He slowly turned to meet his reflection. Met with the cold, dark, blank eyes of the Winter Soldier. The blood stained leather vest, black muzzle, and the long brunette hair stained black from blood falling over his face.

He was there with him, as clear as day.

He felt a stark and deep rooted sense of fear awaken and burrow itself in his chest as he quickly retreated from the sink, pressing himself against the opposing wall. Eyes wide and breathing heavy, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting him.

The Winter Soldier reached out his metal arm, severing the separation between the mirror and his bathroom, and brought it down onto the counter top with a resounding crack, small remnants of the cheap countertop tumbling to the floor. He lunged for the door and twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Desperately, he tried to break down the door, knuckles bleeding and eyes teary. He could feel the Winter Soldier getting closer to him and was too terrified to turn back and face him. He broke through the door with a splitting crack, splinters in his hands. Awaiting on the other side was a long dimly lit corridor lined with bars and cold concrete walls.

His heart stopped.

He knew this corridor.

He would always know this corridor.

He didn't want to go forward, but he had no choice. Breaking into a sprint, not looking back and praying he didn't trip over himself, he felt a sudden, strong grip on his leg, pulling him backwards. Landing on the hard concrete with a groan and turning himself to face his captor: Two dark, army clad figures awaited him. He shuffled away from them as fast as he could but couldn't get to his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged to by his feet towards the bathroom. His screams echoing off the walls, and hands burning from friction against the cement floor at his attempts to escape their grasp.

He couldn't believe what was happening, he thought he was free from Hydra.

Free from these corridors.

Free from the chair.

He felt his nails fruitlessly catching on the small ridges of the cement floor as he was mercilessly dragged. The hallway enclosed in darkness behind him and the bathroom light ahead of him, serving as a beacon of pain and suffering.

He was left on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying, accentuated by the sound of the slamming of a steel door. His teary eyes searched for the figures but found none. Instead, his eyes landed on the dull gleam of the worn metal frame in his bathtub, tinged with small droplets of blood, smoothed down edges, and strained leather straps.

If he wasn't sobbing before, he was now. He felt so trapped, his heart beating out of his chest; his lungs made of tin, unable to expand.

His shaking frame was folded on the floor by the bathroom door. A few moments of silence flooded by the drops of his sink tap and his attempts to catch his breath.

Abruptly, a handful of his hair was grabbed, his body dragged to the chair as he let out seethes of pain and cries.

He was held down in the chair as he was strapped in by faceless, dark army figures. Soft whispers and murmurs of pleas for mercy and forgiveness settled around him, originating from every vent and faucet in his bathroom, nestled their way to his ears.

They grew louder and droned out the sound of leather going through buckles and the mechanical "wrrrrr" of the head plates assembling towards the top of the chair.

He struggled and screamed, but it was no use.

Trapped in the chair, no chance of escape; Limited by his mind and not his body.

He anxiously waited and dreaded for the excruciating pain of electricity to course through his body, to hear the words Hydra spent so much time and care to drill into his mind.

But both never came.

He awoke with a startle, eyes wide, body and blanket soaked with sweat, lungs gasping for breath.

His window open, letting in his neighbors everyday routine squeeze into his apartment.

The TV on a low volume, playing auctions for nic-nacs and heirlooms people didn't find use for. All drowned out by his racing thoughts and attempts at breathing.

The blanket pooled around his waist as he shifted to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing.

He needed his hair gone.

Like a wounded animal, he made his way to the bathroom with shaky breaths and uneasy strides. He flipped the bathroom light on, feverishly opening and closing drawers to find what he needed most.

A pair of scissors.

A raspy sigh left his lips as his hands met the plastic frame of the twin bladed tool.

His eyes shifted from his reflection to his hold on the scissors.

Carefully, he brought his metal hand to his hair, extending one of his many locks of hair.

His eyes drifted from the lock of hair to the metal blades that almost fully encased it.

Snip.

He watched as the lock frayed till it was severed completely, feeling the freed lock in his hand and watching it fall to the counter.

A sigh of relief left his lips as tears pricked his eyes as he met his reflection in the mirror.

Snip.

His tears were flowing fully down his cheeks as almost the entirety of his left side was covered in frayed, unevenly cut hair.

He gingerly ran his flesh hand along his head, relishing in the short tufts of hair, and began repeating the same frenzied cutting on the other side of his head, and towards the back

If the tears weren’t flowing before, they were now.

He placed the scissors onto the hair ridden counter with a clang, keeping his relieved gaze on himself, feeling his chest wrack with sobs, body slowly crumbling against the sink and to the floor.

He had never felt such relief in his life.

His hands ran over the chopped hair, savoring the uneven patched of hair, his head laying back to rest against the wood cabinet below his sink, eyes fluttering shut.

Muffled knocks softly rose his mind from the depths of sleep.

He let his eyes adjust to the bathroom light, feeling his neck ache from how he slept against the drawers of the cabinet.

Sam.

He rose up to his feet with a groan, trudging to his front door.

His front door opened with a click.

“Hey, man-woah.”

He rose his eyes to meet Sam’s wide ones, giving him a small smile, “Hi, Sam.”

Sam swallowed.

“Late night hack job, huh?”

He gave Sam a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

Sam’s lip quirked.

“I, um, I made something for you if you’d like to try it.”

Sam watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.

He moved from the door, leaving it open for Sam to come in.

Sam carefully stepped into his apartment, taking in the rumple of blankets on the livingroom floor.

“It’s chicken tikka masala, my therapist recommended it.”

Sam took the plastic container he held out for him.

“Thanks for this…We should go get you a haircut. You can’t be walking around Brooklyn looking like you had a blender cut your hair.”

His lip quirked, nodding.

After a few minutes, he met him back at the front door in jeans, a t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, and glove.

“Ready to go?”

He wordlessly nodded, closing, and locking the door behind them.

—

“Alright, what do you think?”

The hairdresser adjusted his chair so he could see himself fully in the mirror.

He could feel his eyes glaze over.

His previously poorly chopped locks were no where to be found, replaced by almost buzzed cut hair with a bit of length towards the top. Barely enough for anyone to get a good grip in.

“It’s perfect, thank you Melissa,” he muttered to the woman that gave him a kind smile in return.

He tried to hand the man at the cashier station some cash, but Sam interjected with his card.

He looked at Sam with slight bewilderment.

“You’ll cover me next time.”

His lip quirked, as Sam nudged his shoulder as they made their way to the exit.

He stopped in front of a window for a store on the way back to his apartment, seeing his reflection in the storefront.

And for once, he didn’t have a deeprooted distaste or fear of what he saw.

It almost made him cry.

He needed this.

His long hair gone. The last remnant of his time in Siberia, of the shackles that held his mind down under water like an anchor, gone.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Sam stopped a few paces ahead of him.

“You wanna stop in?”

Sam’s voice broke him from his trance.

He gave Sam a small smile.

“No, just taking it all in.”

Sam gave him a comforting smile as he caught up with him.

They continued on to his apartment to give Sam some of his chicken tikka masala, running his hand through his hair periodically with a smile on his face.

#bucky barnes #marvel mcu #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson #winter soldier #mcu fanfiction #mcu #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

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amazable01 · 10 months

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New mindscape hc dropped

Okay, but about thinking the incorrect quotes vid as well as rewatching the plushie ep gave me an idea: what if it's like an apartment building? It can be altered for people to live together if they so choose or it's called for, but everyone has a similar set up to Thomas' canon home with a room, a open-floor plan house, and a bathroom. I also imagine there's a communal area with a lounge, a gym, the entrance (which is also how to get to the imagination), and other party rooms and breakfast nooks and other mishmashes of hotels/apartment buildings.

More under the cut, cause this got longer that I was planning-

The twins obviously share an apartment, as much Roman hates it, and it's a messy blend of creative passion and hulking monstrosities. Depending on which of them Thomas is drawing from, the colored lighting and atmosphere will shift to reflect that. They have a habit of decorating into each other's spaces, which causes fights and snapping at one another. They have too many weapons, and they use them more frequently than you'd hope.

Patton and Logan moved in together awhile ago, and their space is fairly similar to Thomas' normal apartment, generally. The two keep to their own spaces, unless Thomas is choosing to indulge in either one of them, and then the main area becomes a mess for a while. They do have dogs, they're not supposed to have dogs, but Logan can't bring himself to make Patton depressed by removing the dogs. Very 'sitcom from the 90s' vibes w/ them and the others.

Janus and Virgil have their own places. Did they live together before? Maybe. Janus still has a key to Virgil's apartment, and Virgil has an empty room that collects dust and random memorabilia, but regardless, they don't live together anymore, and their spaces are very carefully personalized. Both have multiple pets (snakes and spiders respectively, but also many others depending on their moods), and they've made a pact to not tell Logan. (This pact has been broken so many times that Logan doesn't bother anymore.)

The Neighbors are those who have not been introduced, but do in fact exist. Janus, Remus, and Virgil know a lot about them, but the other three know significantly less.

There are all kinds of shenanigans happening. Pranks wars on holiday decor, an indoor pool which is the sight of every pool party, a fancy ballroom for more formal events, a continental breakfast that appears every day at the same time but is gone mysteriously by lunch, and plenty of other areas that can be found if you just know where to look. And then everything else you would need is just outside the front doors.

Lemme know what you think about this idea, cause I kind of love it? And I'm tempted to play around w/ it a bit. And feel free to add onto it, if you'd like! There's a lot of exploration with this concept.

#sanders sides #mindscape #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #orange side #I think it's fun and chaotic #and I love the idea that they're all in one place #but still given separate spaces

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rainydawgradioblog · 4 months

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Interview with Samba Jean-Baptiste

The other day I came across an article about AI bots mass-releasing auto-generated music on Spotify under different names. A concept as democratic as “unfettered access to music by way of streaming services” was bound to be corrupted by bad actors. Artists are consigned to grueling tour schedules in order to make a living because streaming pays them in Monopoly money. Pitchfork is gone and the writing is on the wall for Bandcamp, because curation is now being handled by algorithms. It’s important to keep in mind that any artist releasing music today has to navigate a culture in which there’s more out there than ever before, it's all at the tip of one’s fingers, and everything except for the music itself is worse than it used to be.

The topic of how the internet has shaped music came up frequently in my discussion with Samba Jean-Baptiste, an independent artist out of Brooklyn. I discovered his work after seeing Dean Blunt’s music video to “Felony” (his best song? I’m ready to make the argument), and the Algorithm decided I might like a video titled “talk / pleasure.” Behind a camera that might be a flip phone, somone offers Jean-Baptiste directions: “Wait, look off that way, and start the song. Then just start doing your shit.” The music plays and we hear Samba’s subdued voice over acoustic guitar strumming. He crosses a wide urban boulevard. All of it is easy and unforced.

youtube

“Talk / Pleasure” was released on Cardinal, a project that’s difficult to categorize and beautiful and disarming. Jean-Baptiste chiefly uses acoustic guitar and his voice to create stripped-back art pop, as if the Young Marble Giants grew up listening to Stereolab instead of Lou Reed. The relationship between skilled yet raw guitar playing and more attuned peripheral production toes a line between an open mic performance and sound leaking from someone else’s headphones. There’s some really incredible interplay between organic and auto tuned vocals on “Windows.” The string and warped piano accompaniments on “A Wish Slanted” perfectly compliment Jean-Baptiste’s rhythmic strumming. It seems like he’s drawing from so much, because he’s had access to (and has seeked out) so much. The internet has given us windows into every corner of musical expression imaginable. If you’re an artist, how do you reckon with that, how does it find its way into your art? I didn’t want to put words in Jean-Baptiste’s mouth, so I reached out to see if he’d be interested in an interview for the Blawg.

He was kind enough to agree back in early December; we spoke over the phone for about 40 minutes. I think he was playing Dave Bixby in the background. In addition to the internet’s impact on the music landscape, he touched on song-writing, looping, and Veeze. Hope you all enjoy it. Please, check out Cardinal on Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube, and Bandcamp (before it’s subscription based).

Can you tell me a little about yourself?

Yeah, I’m 22, about to be 23, I live in Bedstuy, Brooklyn, I cook at a Japanese Breakfast restaurant that’s also in Brooklyn. That’s kinda what I do four days a week. I grew up in Massachusetts playing classical music, me and my sister, I played Cello, my sister played violin and we grew up playing in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. That’s where I gained a lot of interest in music, because when I wasn’t playing cello, everyone would be showing off like, what pop song [they] could play on the piano, and from there everything trailed into, you know, writing a little song about a crush or something when I was a kid.

My family is from Haiti. That’s important to me. In middle school I used to just make beats so I was really into dubstep and a bunch of stuff on youtube. I was always big on youtube, listening to people make beats at home, and then soundcloud blew up, which gave so much access to random nooks and crannies to the country and world for that matter. Got into songwriting a little bit. Used to make a lot of different sounding stuff to now. Picked up guitar, somehow, and I guess that landed me to where I’m at now.

Songs like “Better Now” from Cardinal feature a lot of looping. Do you find that to be a big part of your process?

It’s funny because looping, from making beats in middle school, looping is such a big part of it. You make something, you loop it, you progress from there. But by the time I realized I could be playing actual instruments in my recordings, I still had that mentality. I’ll record something and think: “this part is great, I’m just gonna loop it.” And it doesn’t feel unethical. Cause for me, for a long time, looping other people’s music was like, “you’re going to hell, you’re not making music” but somehow my eyes have opened up and my ears have opened up to so many new ways of sound creation, rather than seeing it like “you have to create from the sound up like you’re fucking Beethoven.” You can hear something and make something out of that and that’s ok. It’s not yours, it's everyone’s.

Looping is really interesting too because everytime you hear something or see something you can see something new about it. There’s albums I’ve listened to kajillions of times and it’s like I’m learning something new about it every listen. The same thing can happen with a simple loop, it’ll just be new information, newly perceived information each time. So yeah loops are super important to me.

When you’re writing a song, do you have an idea of what you want the finished product to be, or does it evolve naturally over the course of the entire process?

Definitely the latter. That’s funny I was talking to my dad *today* that when I make songs, or work on an idea, I have to like make the whole song, just so that when I go back to these drafts, I can see the full blueprint. [...] It’s definitely a process. If I write a song in one sitting, I’ll kinda just… show a friend. That’s not the stuff I like releasing.

How did Cardinal become more acoustic than your previous album, Pandora?

It wasn’t so much a conscious decision to be like, I have to be different from the last record, but it was a conscious decision in my process. Because Pandora was made while I was still primarily recording through my laptop, and like, there’s guitar on there, but it’s all pitched up, and my voice isn’t in my natural cadence. But in the same way I realized I could use my instruments and play them in my recordings, I was like damn. That feels natural. I can also just sing in my natural low voice, I don’t have to be reaching for something that I’m not. So it sort of just trailed in that direction naturally.

I was wondering if playing the cello made picking up guitar easier, or otherwise informs your guitar playing? You said you “stumbled on guitar,” which sounds like a bigger undertaking than you make it out to be.

Yeah, picking up guitar was pretty simple for me because of that knowledge, but like, there’s six strings on a guitar [compared to cello’s four], so I’ve found new ways to approach an instrument, because there’s a learning curve there. A lot of my songs, if you listen to them, it’s all the same chords, because I only know so much, and sometimes I’m fucking lazy and I know certain chords and they make me feel good enough.

Also it's funny because some songs are written on different guitars. “I Could Have Cried” was written on a guitar with five strings (the high E is gone) because my roommate didn’t finish stringing it. The other one I got in London, that one plays “Talk/Pleasure” and “A Wish Slanted” and it has four strings because two of them snapped. Each weird situation lends itself to a new creation, which is like a huge part of my process anyway. Error is so acceptable, if not sought out.

The stream of consciousness of it? Less premeditated?

Right. There’s a mix too though. I love when records have noise added after cause that’s real. You can only listen to so much perfect, cookie cutter stuff.

When you were making Cardinal, were there any major songs or artists that you took inspiration from?

Nah I had no influences, I came up with this shit. I’m playing, of course, of course, there’s so many. I feel like a lot of people are finding my music through like Dean Blunt youtube wormhole, and he’s for sure one of my big influences, like all my influences are like 30+ year old black people doing their thing. But the main influence is music that sounds like wind, water, grass, and that all relates to guitar.

I wish I had a list of my influences, cause on this record there’s a lot you know? I had a lot of people in my life showing me new things, because I’m so closed minded often. And I like to try to surround myself with people that will show me something new. A lot of inspiration is what’s new to me.

I think wind, water, grass sums it up great. Wrapping up, would you have any recommendations for me and the good people of Rainy Dawg Radio as a whole? Movies, music, books, etc?

Hell yeah. I just finished this book called Your Love is Not Good, by Johanna Hedver… Movies? I’m still learning about movies. Two or three things I know about her. I’m into Jean Luc Godard, that slice of life stuff where nothing happens, cause it’s just like looping music to me. Music? I’ll just give you what I’ve been into recently, cause I have huge influences but they’re probably everybody’s. I’ve been listening to this song called “Tea in Bed” by Blessed and Blushing. That shit’s incredible. I’ve been listening to this song called “Everybody Knows” by Glucose. I’ve been listening to a Serge Gainsbourg record, The History of Melody Nelson. I’ve been listening to Veeze, you know, Ganger. There’s so much shit. There’s so much out there. Michael White is this great jazz violinist, I’d definitely recommend him. Forma Norte, that guy’s incredible.

Who’s that, Forma Norte?

Yeah, you know what’s funny is I found him on my “related artists,” online, and sometimes I find stuff I really hate through that. But sometimes I think “damn this guy’s awesome, how’s he related to me?”

It’s so interesting to hear an artist’s perspective of their “fans also like” on Spotify.

That first one I said, Tea in Bed by Blessed and Blushing, is just blowing my mind recently. I’m like, “who is sitting down and making this shit?,” it’s so good. And that’s what’s crazy is there’s so much music now, it’s like, is there even a point in trying to make a career out of this? No. I don’t think so. Which I think is lending itself to the best music ever, cause people are like “there’s no fucking way I’m gonna make a career out of this, I might as well just make what I want, whatever I want.”

You used to have to deal with the label, but now everything is just, “yeah go for it.”

It’s such a blessed time in that regard, but at the same time… let me chill on that. Let’s say, Marvin Gaye, “I Want You”? We’re not getting that right now. And that’s no hate to right now. But it’s just like that was a whole different way of living, thinking, moving, breathing you know. It’s just a whole different way of recording.

But we’re so blessed to be able to do exactly what we want without the idea of needing to make money off it. Obviously it would be nice. But it’s unlikely so people are just making cool shit. And I’m really thankful for that.

You can find Samba Jean-Baptiste on Instagram here and YouTube here. Once again, listen to Cardinal any way you get your music.

#Spotify #Youtube

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the-fiction-witch · 1 year

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Blu P5

Media TMR AU

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet + Spooky

Concept Spa

I woke up again after good while noticing it was literally another day, oh my god. I don't think I need a spa I think I just need to find a dragon cave and just sleep for a few million years. I got up and had a nice hot shower using some of the nice soap they supplied and a fresh fluffy towel once I got dressed I noticed some paper slipped under my door for a moment I was concerned but I picked it up noticing it was my schedule for the week breakfast, dinner and various experiences booked in at various times and a note I was welcome to any amenities outside of my booked treatments, my first wasn't till eleven today so I had time to go grab my breakfast, I headed out locking the room up and going to the restaurant it was all very much the same style wooden tables with metal legs and slate place mats large windows making it sort of look like a greenhouse or conservatory with a glass roof and a glass wall to overlook the scenery with the same blue pool outside my room just out the snowy window.

And I found Thomas and Minho at a table with a open seat they waved me over so I went and sat with them,

"We were starting to think you were dead" Minho laughed having a coffee

"Yeah sorry I'm not good with travelling I just was knocked out as soon as I got in my room"

"It's cool, I think everyone kinda was" Thomas shrugged

"Yeah, so what's the food situation?" I asked

"You just wait" Minho shrugs

"Wait? How do they know what we want then?"

"I don't know but they seem to be pretty good"

At that moment a man arrived in the same uniform as the men who met us when we arrived they brought us each a plate, Minho was more coffee and a breakfast sandwich, Thomas had chocolate chip pancakes with syrup and I had french toast with a side of fresh strawberries they wondered off leaving us to it and immediately I was confused

"How did they know that's what we'd each want?"

'I don't know, maybe they're magic. Don't question it just enjoy it" Minho told me

I guess he's right no point arguing so I had my breakfast and it was delicious and we all decided as we weren't busy till later to go for a jump in the pool so I went back to my room and changed grabbing a towel heading out to the actual spa area, again the theming had stuck giving it a very onsen kinda vibe there was so much to do saunas, pools, massages, different things to bathe in and shower under, anything relaxing you could imagine was back here, and then the main attraction. It started inside a wood lined pool of this blue water steaming as it sat there then doors out to the main area, a huge outdoor pool of the same blue, steaming in the cold snow, with various hot tub area's, small nooks to sit, a waterfall of stone in the corner, even a swim up bar all overlooking the mountains.

I was kinda nervous looking at the strange colour of the water but Minho and Thomas basically forced me, the bottom was strange it kinda felt like wet sand but smoother, silkier, but strong not like you could sink into it, the moment my skin touched the water I felt relaxed as if a wave went over me as the water touched me flexing and relaxing each and every muscle in my body the smooth warmth cradling me like being wrapped in a soft blanket even though it was busy with people it was so quiet where everyone was so relaxed we swam out into the outside section sand for a while I just sat on a little seat watching the waterfall and the snow

"Oop- sorry" a voice spoke up as someone bumped into me

"Ohh it's okay" I muttered back quickly turning to see, her the girl from the room nextdoor "hi"

"Hi" she smiled in a little blue swimsuit with black cat faces all over it her hair up in a bun "y/n" she smiled taking her hand from the water

"Newt," I smiled giving it a shake immediately i saw Thomas and Minho out the corner of my eye clearly taking the piss but she was actually really cute and I do want to compliment her atleast to try and keep the conversation going "I uhh I like your ti- kitties. Kitties. The cats on your swimsuit"

She giggled a little a little red in her cheeks I'm pretty sure I completely turned red "I like your stripes" she smiled

"Uuhhh thank you" I smiled nervously fixing my hair and my striped shorts a little "have uhh you been here long?"

"No, got in a couple of days ago. You?"

"Yesterday"

"Aww you ever been before?'

'no, never, you?"

"A few times yeah, I'd be more then happy to show you some more secret things or help you out if you get lost"

"Thanks that'd be great"

"You wanna swim to the bar and grab a drink?"

"Yeah sure" I nodded

#thomas brodie sangster #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagines #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas sangster #newt maze runner #newt #maze runner newt #newt imagine #newt imagines #tmr newt smut #tmr newt imagine

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100dayproductivity · 1 year

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65/100.

Finished my taxes! Submitted it yesterday.

Last time we talked, I was trying to figure out my business-use-of-home expenses for the pet boarding part of my business. It was making my head hurt trying to figure out how I should calculate this.

I finally decided I should treat pet boarding like a bed and breakfast for the purposes of filing taxes. So to that end, I had to figure out what percentage of my home I use for boarding and for what percentage of the time.

First I considered what percentage of my house is used for boarding. The thing is, all dogs and some cats have free range of the home 24 hours a day. That translates to 100% of the home 100% of the time. But I'm pretty sure that's not gonna fly for deducting business-use-of-home expenses. The CRA wants a "reasonable" prorating of the expenses.

So I thought about what parts of my house I actually use for boarding. Generally, I confine cats to one bedroom. Two cats from the same household stay together in the same room, so it's not one room per cat, it's one room per booking.

For dogs, even though they have free range, they generally follow me around the house, which means that during the day they rarely go upstairs at all. Mostly they are in the two rooms I use the most during the day: the living room and the kitchen. If I leave the house, I'm pretty sure they just nap in the living room the whole time I'm gone. At night, some dogs sleep in the living room, others follow me upstairs to my bedroom and sleep next to my bed. However, if cats are boarding in my room and can't coexist with dogs, then the dog is shut out of my bedroom and lopes back down to the living room, or sleeps outside the bedroom. At this point I was considering dogs as using half the house for calculating purposes.

But then I thought about the times I've had multiple dogs from different households boarding at the same time. Often they just all nap in the living room, but sometimes I have to physically separate them, especially during mealtimes. At those times, I generally either put up physical barriers, or I tether the dogs in different rooms, usually one in the kitchen and one in the living room. I also thought about the fact that I sometimes block off the living room or the kitchen in order to keep a boarding dog away from my own two cats. Furthermore, nobody really hangs out in the dining room, which separates the kitchen and living room. It's more of just a pass-through. So in the end, I decided to consider dogs as using one room per booking as well, as per cats.

I then had to figure out what percentage of my home "one room" constitutes. I didn't want to use square footage, because honestly then I'd have to measure and that would be a huge pain in the butt. But also because it doesn't really matter what size the rooms are, it's the doors and barriers that are important. So I mentally divided my house up into the usable rooms or areas for keeping pets separated, safe and comfortable. Upstairs there's three bedrooms. The bathroom doesn't count because I don't put pets in there. The main floor is open, no doors, but not "open-concept"--there are walls and doorways, so I am able to put up barriers. I considered the main floor as consisting of three rooms.

Now the basement, I mostly just use it for storage, and also I keep the basement door closed, so no one goes down there. However, in high-season when it's super busy with multiple bookings, I do use the basement bathroom as over-flow to house cats. And when it has been super super busy, I have had one cat in the bathroom and another cat outside of the bathroom. There are no rooms in the basement other than the bathroom and the tiny boiler room/washer & dryer nook, where I do NOT house cats. So essentially there are two spaces in the basement cats can be housed: in the bathroom, or outside the bathroom. So for pet boarding purposes, I consider this to be two rooms.

That makes 8 rooms in total: 3 upstairs, 3 on the main floor, and 2 in the basement.

So the portion of my house that a pet/two pets from the same household use when they board with me is 1/8.

Phew!

Next, I had to figure out what percentage of the time a pet uses 1/8th of my house. A pet uses their portion of the house 100% of the time they are staying with me, but I don't have pets staying with me 100% of the time. To figure this out, I needed to add up how many days of the year I had a pet staying with me. I'll walk you through that calculation in the next post.

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versatilerenovations · 23 days

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#room additions in Austin TX

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