#dedicated cycle track

[maretriarch]

really want to start working out i think itll be good for me but god theres so few hours in a day and I already struggle with finding the time for the things i love to do. the fact that you cant do anything artsy while also exercising shows that the jock/nerd dichotomy is natural and the way god wants it

[fikelove]

SUNDAY RESET

what is a ‘sunday reset’?

a sunday reset is essentially an opportunity to reflect on the past week, on your achievements, challenges, and lessons you’ve learned. this will help you make room for improvement and growth by setting new goals and dedicating a day to relax and enjoy a fresh start.

TIPS FOR A SUNDAY RESET

MORNING ROUTINE

SLEEP IN: take your time!! allow your body to wake up naturally.

SET GOALS: keep a journal close to your bed so that you can write down your thoughts, feelings and goals for the upcoming day/week. i recommend buying the ‘5 minute journal’ (or a dupe) as it provides short prompts and quotes each day! of course this is optional, what’s more important is the fact that you’re processing your emotions and setting your intentions for the week.

STRETCH: as soon as your feet hit the ground try some morning yoga, this is a great habit to get into as it boosts your energy levels, reduces stress, enhances mood, etc. this will automatically get you on track for a productive day!

EAT: enhance your sunday reset with a tasty, balanced breakfast to fill you with energy for the day ahead! do not skip the most important meal of the day!! if you’re unsure of what to eat, here are a few ideas:

avocado toast, any form of eggs, açai bowl, yogurt + fruit, oatmeal, banana pancakes

SELFCARE

RELAX: take a break from scrolling by unwinding with a book you’ve been longing to read, take a long bath, practice mindfulness, engage in a hobby

EXERCISE: do some form of physical activity! whether it’s going on a small walk, jogging, cycling or the gym, any movement is better than none!

[fakeboy-breeder]

I want complete control of a fakeboys schedule. Like, she has a google calendar or something but I’m the only one who can add to it and she has to do whatever activity it says for any given time slot or she’ll be punished. I start setting up full body waxing appointments every 3 weeks, she has to go. I put in a 4 hour block that just says “choke on dildo”, so she spends 4 hours with a massive dildo down her throat. I make her keep her cycle tracking app on my phone so i can check when she’ll be ovulating, then dedicate several hours that day to a block titled “get pregnant”, and if she fails to conceive that means a punishment for not doing what the calendar said. Some days i give her no guidance, she has no plans or orders at all, and that’s almost worse than the days where i micromanage her to the minute. Those days she’s overwhelmed, but she knows she’s doing things right. She’ll have to set little timers because she’s only allowed 3 minutes in the shower before she has to start doing her makeup. and i’ll know if she goes to long because i have cameras all through our house, and the block of time after i get home from work is marked for the tape for mistakes… and the block after that is just titled “punishment”

[love-toxin]

just read your latest billy fic and am now obsessed with the idea of billy babytrapping you and/or having a massive, unhinged breeding kink. in his mind you won't ever leave him if he gets you pregnant.

(please bear with my ramblings below)

billy obsessively tracking your cycle and going at it like rabbits when you're ovulating. sex that goes on for HOURS because he wants to get multiple loads inside of you, just to be sure. plugging you up afterward so all his cum stays inside. constantly telling you what a good parent you would be, and how beautiful your children would be because he's pretty, and you're pretty, so it just makes sense, right?

I really think he'd get so delusional about it. burying his face in your arousal and insisting he can tell you're fertile just by the smell/taste. bending down to whisper in your ear only to tell you how full and achey his balls are getting. leaving you little gifts but they're all pregnancy tests or baby clothes. forget whatever stage of a relationship or situationship you guys are in, he's starting a family with you. he'd get such an ecstatic glint in his eye when you finally tell him you're pregnant. don't get me started on the pregnant belly worship.

tl;dr if billy fucks me and I'm not sitting in a puddle of his cum afterwards, I don't want it‼️🗣

PRRRRRR!!!! yes. im into it. now u have to bear with MY ramblings

(cws: babytrapping, fem pronouns)

Feels like babytrapper Billy is an untapped gold mine--it's less that he wants a baby at first and mostly just that he wants control over you, but that switches up real fast when you actually get knocked up. When you actually wanna be sweet about it. Fussing about cribs and a nursery and having enough baby clothes, making him take you to the ultrasound appointments and actually getting a 'tude with him because he did this to you and now he's gonna have to deal with just as much as you have to carrying his baby.

But Billy ends up loving the shit out of it. He loves your attitude. He loves your mood swings. He loves your hormonal cravings and your tears when you throw up morning after morning. He loves holding your hair back and stuffing your bed full of pillows so you're comfortable, and he loves laying his head on your belly and hearing those little gurgles and feeling those little kicks from his baby.

At the same time, however, it makes him emotional. If this is how he feels before his baby is even here, then why would...how could his father ever treat him the way he does, and did? How could anybody do that to a kid? It makes him angry at himself for the way he was treated and the way he took that out on Max, too. He's got lots of apologies to make. Those experiences don't take up all his attention, though--he has a pretty partner to care for now, and having that to fill his time over bouncing from party to party and girl to girl just to feel something makes him unbelievably satisfied.

It honestly makes him glad that he never knocked anyone up accidentally leading up to when he met you. It had to be you, he knows that now. It had to be you that he coerced, begged, and fucked into submission to make you his, it had to be your womb that he wanted so badly to break and your pussy he wanted to risk going raw into. Wouldn't you just be the cutest with a baby, anyways? You're such a catch and you're so pretty. You'd make such adorable babies. It's obvious he never wanted to be one of those guys with a handful of baby mamas and kids he rarely sees; he wants you and your kids and that's it. It's official--you've hooked Hawkins' resident playboy into a dedicated partner and father, whether you wanted to or not.

If there's one thing he loves most about your pregnancy though, it's that he loves your neediness. He loves that something seems to click in you that makes you pine for the man whose seed you've sown, like there's an invisible connection between you two that pulls you both closer. It's like you're instinctually drawn to him and he hopes, god he hopes that continues after you've had the baby. He's ready to make love to a woman after she's had a child (after you've healed sufficiently, of course, he can wait) it's like that next stage of maturity for him. He can't wait to see how far you've come and how much you've sacrificed just to have his baby, and he can't wait to look you in the eyes and tell you he wants another. No, he doesn't want you to work off the baby weight first or fuss with your hair or your clothes to try and get back to looking like you were before. He wants you now. As you are. Raw. He's sick of those prissy party-girl snobs and their perfect bodies and their permed hair that they can't let get messed up. He wants the woman who stays up all night feeding his daughter and rolls her eyes at his flirting attempts in the morning. He's totally whipped, and even with those bags under your eyes and that tension headache behind his from the crying of his precious baby girl, he still wants another. And he's got ways of making sure that you do, too...after all, he got you into it the first time, right?

[kithtaehyung]

would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

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Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

“Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

“Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

[m4nj1r0s]

Hanma relationship headcannons

- He definitely pulls, so he’s been with a ton of girls. None of them lasted more than 2 months, and he just used them. You were supposed to just be another girl he used then tossed away, but he ended up staying. You were fun, and he needed more people apart from Kisaki to annoy.

- This mf is definitely annoying. Can and WILL ask you if you’re on your period whenever your mad (he knows you aren’t, he’s probably being creepy and tracking your cycle too.).

- The boys in Valhalla probably ask him for advice with girls. His advice is bad.

- “Girls hate it when they call you and you don’t pick up straight away. So if you can’t answer your woman, just switch your phone off. She can’t question you if you do that.”

- “When you guys go out, don’t pay. Let the girl pay, or you’re executing toxic masculinity, and she won’t like that. You guys need to be more woke.”

- He KNOWS his advice is bad, which is why he doesn’t use any of those tips with you. If you guys go out, none of you are paying. He’ll dine and dash. Want something from a shop? Distract the guy at the counter and he’ll grab it and run.

- At this point in your relationship, he’ll probably catch feelings and he won’t just randomly dump you over text.

- When Halloween rolls around, you two prank call Kisaki and literally everyone in Valhalla.

- Despite how annoying he is, he never forgets a special occasion. He’ll act like he did only to surprise you later. Probably got you a pet chicken for your birthday but then you made him take it back because he stole it.

- Would rather DIE than admit he gets jealous whenever you interact with boys. Not just any boys, but specifically those nice guys who are sensitive and are genuinely sweet to girls.

- He can’t be like that, he’ll forever have a reputation of playing around with girls and being a womanizer. Even if he’s in a dedicated relationship with you, he still gets paranoid you might realize that you deserve better and leave him.

- Definitely high maintenance when he catches feelings. Texts you 20 times a day and expects you to reply and have a conversation with him.

- Has a bad habit of sneaking into your room whilst you’re asleep and standing over you until you wake up to scare you.

- Refuses to stop until you move in with him, and one day you do!

- Leaves empty noodle cups, dirty socks and drinking glasses all around your shared room. He won’t even help to clean, he’ll just give you a big ass grin and promise not to do it again.

- Likes to catch you off-guard, like twice a year he writes you a very meaningful poem and leaves it in the pocket of a piece of clothing you wear a lot. He expects you to give him tons of kisses whenever he does.

- Doesn’t stop talking about you to Kisaki. It’s always “Oh yeah, Y/N likes that.” “I wonder what she’s doing right now..” “Y/N says she doesn’t like you.”

- Yes, he does tell people you are pretending to like but don’t actually that you dislike them. So you probably shouldn’t tell him if you don’t like someone..

- Accuses Kisaki of being jealous whenever he tells Hanma to shut up. “Jeez, Kisaki! If you want a girlfriend, I’ll be your trusted wingman. First off, make sure to disappear randomly to make yourself mysterious, girls love that…”

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

Partly for the prolific volume of projects artists release each year and partly for the fluid definition of an album (running anywhere from three to 13 tracks), an annual ranking of K-pop albums is never easy. As South Korea continues to extend its global musical influence, certain projects transcend hit-song compilations, presenting larger visions and conceptual narratives.

In 2023, stars like V, WOODZ and ONEW used their latest solo projects to share the music that inspires them at their core as artists and let listeners settle into sonic worlds they’ve developed.

[...]

First Place: Onew, Circle The First Album

While it’s somewhat criminal to think that 15 years after ONEW’s debut with SHINee in 2008 we only just received his first full Korean album, the singer-songwriter himself would say that now was the perfect time for Circle. A musical journey unlike anything released this year, ONEW shared that he had attempted to record the album’s title track before dropping his Dice EP in early 2022, but felt it wasn’t at the level of perfection it deserved and held onto the song. ONEW then involved himself in every aspect of Circle‘s production process, from meticulous mixing and mastering to tuning, beats, recording and mastering, attesting to the singer-songwriter’s dedication to artistic expression.

The single “O (Circle)” opens the album with an intriguing blend of electronica and strings, while its gospel-tinged chorus emphasizes lyrics about the circular nature of life and how memories, feelings and dreams are all fleeting. The 10 tracks on Circle develop unique transformations from start to finish: the breezy melodies in “Cough” are paired with loneliness-themed lyrics and a melancholy instrumental breakdown, while “Rain on Me” starts with aggressive acoustic guitar strumming before transitioning into an atmospheric, percussive ballad. Sweet surprises abound, too: ONEW scats on the jazz-rap hybrid “Caramel” and gives a glimpse into his indie-rock side on “Parachute.”

The album’s effortless flow is anchored by ONEW’s famously solid yet understated vocals. As Circle concludes with the tender piano ballad “Always” which addresses themes of loyalty and resilience, the listener wonders if it’s an allegory for ONEW’s public journey through health challenges, including vocal cord surgery. Even without any writing credits on Circle, ONEW’s presence is undeniably felt in this seamless collection that boasts an emotional depth brought on by 15 years in the game. That’s the kind of introspection you can’t rush or doctor through A&R but need to cycle through and arrive at when the moment is right. From scheduling this album’s release to the messages on the final track, time is definitely on ONEW’s side to deliver such a project. — J.B.

source

[fruitcoops]

Hopelessly Devoted

O'Knutzy Week Prompt C2: "Hello, There". Prompts by @oknutzy-week-2024, and characters (of course) (with love) by @lumosinlove <3

TW for joking mentions of romance-novel smut

Leo had never seen someone work as hard as Finn O’Hara. He saw it in the straight line of Finn’s back and the solid set of his shoulders, even when he was calm. He saw it in everything he did—in love and, up until recently, in hockey. He was unequivocal dedication, embodied.

He was sure Finn would say the same about him; he was sweet like that, pretty face and prettier words that were always so honest they made Leo’s ribs hurt with the pounding of his heart. Finn liked to call him brave. Leo had started believing it after the last decade had proven it true in more ways than he cared to count.

And, Christ, Leo counted everything. Endless cycles of goals-assists-saves-loss-win-horror-victory that left him bolting upright at two o’clock in the morning well into his first season of retirement. Netminders kept perfect track of the game and every player coming at them. Remus’ mental playbook of every player in the NHL was only uncanny because he was out of the goal. Leo still remembered the tics and tells of most everyone he’d ever faced.

But what was there to count, now? Beautiful mornings? Those happened every day, though he hadn’t been awake for sunrise in three blessed years. Exotic vacations? He had a wonderful time on their honeymoon (all three of them), but he’d always prefer visiting one of their families.

The pan sizzled softly when he flipped the bagel with a practiced flick of the wrist. Leo smiled to himself. Maybe he should start counting Finn’s annual bacon-egg-and-cheese total. He’d probably come up with the same number if he bought a calendar and ticked the days by hand.

Finn’s commitment to his mid-morning snack was rivaled only by his unwavering passion for bodice-ripper novels, and the evidence of said passion filled their kitchen with a flurry of furious clicking while Leo slid the bagel carefully onto a plate.

See, Leo thought it was a joke, at first. A funny little prank Finn was playing on his new rookie roommate, tucking raunchy paperbacks into the bookshelf between Brontë and Dickens to make him blush. Har-dee-har-har, you got me, I’m such a prude.

Finn had not been joking.

And then it was endearing, like all the other Finn-isms of which he was so fond. It was just…such a silly hobby for an athlete—a former frat boy, no less!—to have in an environment like the NHL. It felt absurdly right that Finn, with his big smile and open heart, would unabashedly love books with oil-paint cover art of a lady fainting into the arms of a conveniently topless bodybuilder. Leo had tucked it into his heart and let it lie.

Finn retired.

Finn was utterly horrific at sitting still.

Finn started with Marie Adkins’ 1942 classic A Rogue for a Lady and ended with Eleanora Zimmerman’s yet-unpublished installment of Zoe Cross’ Cross-Continental Affairs: Volume III, officially clearing the romance collections of all three public libraries near them. His whoop of joy when Ms. Zimmerman answered his email inquiry with a PDF of her manuscript had startled Logan so bad he spilled coffee across the kitchen island and into his lap.

But reading—devouring—the books wasn’t enough. Finn’s systematic rip-through of every literary soap opera he could get his hands on came with an elaborate Goodreads account as well as a nightly debrief.

Leo fucking loved it. Listening to Finn parse out his opinions like an Ivy League lecturer quickly became the best part of his day, especially when the season wound down. It was permanence and consistency while his head whirled with thoughts of this one, just this one single last year and then I’ll really be done, this time for sure. Finn loved hockey like everything else: with no holds barred. He left it, and he was okay. More than okay—he was thriving.

But no hobby was without its faults.

So fucking stupid, Finn had muttered with a sharp shake of his head. I just can’t. It’s a disappointing plot and, worst of all, it’s poorly paced.

Leo and Logan had shared a look across their spaghetti. Finn could give no greater insult to books known for their overdramatic style than ‘poorly paced’.

Well, Logan had said, carefully, almost casually. We all know you’d write it better.

Damn right I would, was Finn’s forceful answer as he stabbed a noodle onto his fork.

Then do it.

Leo had to admit even now that he hadn’t expected that. Perhaps he should have, from Logan. There’s an issue? Solve it. His ‘no more running, no more bullshit’ oath when they were first starting latched into most things he did.

Finn had wavered about it for three days. Once (and only once) he nudged Leo awake at 7:30 in the morning, still sweaty from his run, to ask him if he thought publishing under his real name was a bad idea. He had been forced to mull that one over on his own when Leo banned him from post-shower, mid-coffee cuddles for the crime of dripping sweat onto his pillow.

Finn decided to start writing a book on a Thursday morning in the middle of March, bought a new notebook and a nice pen, and promptly didn’t write a word until his birthday in August.

I’m a failure, he had moaned into Leo’s chest, half-suffocated by the thick fabric of his hoodie. I’m so stupid.

No, baby, you’re not stupid, Leo had soothed. It was a little hard to breathe with the full weight of him splayed useless across Leo’s body, but that was nothing new.

I’ll never write a word. I’m cursed to keep reading forever and being mad about shitty romance with bad, boring characters. The 70s did it best.

Leo remembered sighing in sympathy. But they’re all straight.

But they’re all fucking straight! Finn had groaned. He didn’t move from his puddle of misery and writer’s block until Logan came home and knocked on the back of his head with a pack of pre-sharpened pencils and a cow-print composition book.

Goodreads reviews became graphite smudged on Finn’s hands and cheeks. Small spiral notebooks cropped up around the house, and eventually settled as Finn’s stalwart companions on his morning jogs. When the pencils wore down to nubs, he bought the crappiest pen Leo had ever seen in his life—when that ran dry, he bought another, and a third, and then all the notebooks grew into a teetering tower on Finn’s desk overnight.

A stapler followed, and red pens.

March rolled around again and the tapping of Finn’s laptop became a comforting ‘hello’ when Leo came home from practice. Finn didn’t talk about his book, but Leo didn’t mind. As long as Finn was happy, he could be patient, even if curiosity chewed at him day and night.

When do I get to read it? Leo had finally begged in the heat of June, turning over in bed four nights after his final NHL game. He was restless already and hardly sleeping. He needed something other than endings to occupy his mind.

Finn had smiled at him. The point of his nose pressed to Leo’s. I sent the manuscript out last week. The first copy is yours, Peanut.

Leo had kissed him for that most thoroughly.

“Hello, there.”

Leo smiled into a hidden freckle behind his ear and wrapped his arms around Finn’s chest, giving him a squeeze. “Hey.”

“This for me?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah.” Finn’s head rested back on his shoulder. Leo took the weight happily. “But not really. Ugh, my eyes hurt.”

“Wear your glasses.”

“I wore them yesterday.”

“Didn’t realize they had a recharge time.”

“You know, plastic and glass can be really high-tech these days.”

Leo covered Finn’s eyes with one palm; his lashes fluttered and his chest shook with a laugh. “Glasses,” he insisted, dragging his hand up to Finn’s forehead to tilt his face all the way up and meet his gaze. “Keep this shit up and I’m not putting special sauce on your bagel sandwiches anymore.”

Finn’s soft doe eyes went bright. “What special sauce?”

Leo quirked a brow at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“C’mon, that’s not—”

“Glasses or I eat it and you never, ever get to try it.”

Finn gasped. “You’re starving me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Fucker.”

“You’re just mad yours never turn out as good as mine.”

“Poltergeist.”

“It’s because you don’t heat the pan enough.”

“I do!” Finn protested, sitting up and turning sideways in his chair to face him. “I did everything right when you showed me. It doesn’t taste right.”

Leo shrugged. “You’re cursed. Sucks to suck.”

Finn groaned and thumped his forehead against Leo’s collarbone. The hair at the back of his head was soft when Leo scratched through it; the muscles of Finn’s neck relaxed on a slow exhale.

“Same or new?”

“New,” Finn mumbled.

Leo hummed. For three weeks, he had been waiting for Finn to scatter his attention to the handful of ideas that had been left in the void. He refused to send books to his publisher until he could read them aloud to his captive audience of two without turning five shades of red and blowing a frustrated raspberry at the draft. Many had not yet passed that test. “From your list?”

“Nah.”

He nuzzled his nose into the top of Finn’s head. “ ‘S it about, then?”

“A prince.” Finn raised his head slightly. A kiss found the neckline of Leo’s shirt. “And a knight.” A second alit on his bicep, lingering long enough to feel his lips move. “And the sun.”

“That’s cheating,” Leo whispered through his smile. “You’re not supposed to write about us.”

“The New York Times bestseller list disagrees.” Finn lifted his head. His nose scrunched. Confidence rouged his cheeks, and Leo wasn’t a writer, but he’d pen poetry about that any time. “My self-imposed rules can wait. I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Finn raised his eyebrows and leaned close like he had a secret. The plate with his cooling sandwich chimed at a tap from his pen. “It’s funny. Something tells me they’re gonna end up together in the end.”

Leo looked at him for a long moment, then darted a kiss to the bridge of Finn's nose. "Are you putting porn in it?"

"Are you going to let me eat my bacon-egg-and-cheese with the special sauce that you made because you love me so much and you think I'm so cute and sexy?"

"Yes."

"Sunshine, I will write all the porn you want."

"Hmm." Leo let his eyes drift to the laptop screen (just a little peek, a tiny one, not even a real spoiler) but Finn's hand lowered it before he could catch more than a glimpse. He made a disgruntled noise and straightened. Foiled again. "Wear your glasses and I'll make you one tomorrow, too."

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst. The Winter Soldier and Bucky existing in one body. Hurt/Comfort

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬  Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 the Soldat’s head. Darker than the cell he had been confined to, denser than the Hydra womb that held him before his birth.

His memories ebbed and flowed like shifting tides, tugging at his subconscious. Sometimes, he overexerted himself, forcing the memory of Y/N’s torture to the forefront of his mind to ensure that whenever Bucky resurfaced, he would never forget his vices.

The shifts happened without warning. His awareness was elusive as he trod the thin line between being an Avenger and a Hydra Asset, time passing around him in cycles he couldn’t track. Bucky didn’t know if he resisted or resigned himself to his punishment. It was all a blur. So, when he blinked back the haze and found himself standing before a door, he grappled with consciousness enough to realize two things:

One, the soldier had been momentarily drowned.

Two, Bucky was no longer in his cell.

Bucky blinked languidly, struggling to raise his lashes enough to dispel his stupor. He scanned the hallway, eyes roving the expanse of a familiar space. There stood a man, he noticed, blond and bulky. A soldier, he thought to himself until his mind whispered a name. Steve.

Steve stood a few feet away, arms crossed, veins protruding. A woman stood beside him, her short stature belying the fierce energy emanating from her fiery red hair. Enigmatic and strong, she was the embodiment of intensity. Red Room, he recalled immediately. Romanoff came after.

“Where am I?” Bucky questioned, the thin thread of his consciousness studying the two for any sign of injuries. Neither sustained more than days-old lacerations, easing his dichotomous mind. They regarded him idly, almost as if they didn’t know how they were supposed to feel.

Bucky’s thoughts weighed on him, visions and discordant memories playing in a loop. He was ready to surrender to the Soldat’s call until he heard Steve say, “Why don’t you go inside and find out?”

There was a spark of recognition or a warning sign at Steve’s words. Whatever it was, it forced Bucky’s focus afloat. His legs moved, crossing the distance between the hall and the door in less than two seconds, leading him into a large room bathed in the smell of antiseptic and medication. A hospital room.

He panicked then. His mind, so distraught, couldn't decide which persona should take control. His once steady hands shook, tremors shooting from his fingertips up his arm. Leave, his mind ordered. But he couldn't even interpret the meaning of that single word.

While his thoughts were in a frenzy and his body in unbridled mania, his eyes were transfixed on the hospital bed, specifically, its occupant, who greeted him with the same warmth she had always dedicated to him.

Inviting Y/E/C eyes and a winsome smile tore through his inhibitions when Y/N whispered one word that threatened to tear his soul apart, “James.”

She was a sorceress, if not in this life then another. Inherited or acquired, her words held a penetrative power, breaking through his mental defenses and compelling him to move closer. His fingers ached for touch, tingling by his sides, begging to reach for her. Stop, something—someone inside him growled. Since when did he itch for physical contact?

Bucky realized he hadn’t spoken to her yet. The past discourse was only a fleeting thought in his mind. He cleared his throat then, though that action was nothing more than a front. Nothing about his demeanor was pristine, not his speech nor his thoughts. But a part of him implored to reach for Y/N in any form possible.

So with all his nonexistent assurance, Bucky braved himself. “You’re still here,” he commented, feeling woeful at his choice of words. God, he was pathetic.

To his surprise, Y/N smiled broadly. “Yes.” Her saccharine voice filled the room. “Thanks to you.”

“No,” Bucky rebutted immediately.

“James—”

“I’m not—” Bucky lost his voice mid-sentence. He looked past Y/N’s small, disheveled figure, eyes raking over the slightly open window. “I’m not James.”

Y/N didn’t question his evasion.

He felt her fidgeting in her bed. His gaze shifted to her, watching as she repositioned the white sheets, letting them settle at her waist. The movement exposed her bandaged arms, the discoloration clear even under the thick cloth. Vulnerable, his thoughts murmured. Weak.

“Who are you then?” she asked earnestly.

Bucky’s mouth went dry, his mind spiraling as he confessed, “I don’t know.”

“Can I tell you who you are?” Y/N asked.

He considered her question, his response wavering with every shift in his stance, fingers drumming against his thighs. Should she? It seemed simple, yet it felt like he was seeking permission. It was absurd. Bucky Barnes was now a rusted war machine, seeking approval from the ghost of his past self. 

Who was he beyond the torment and devastation? And who was the Winter Soldier beyond the atrocities etched in angry red on the remaining flesh of his prosthetic arm?

He found his answer.

“You don’t know me.” 

The finality in Bucky’s tone did little to deter Y/N. She reached out, an oximeter latched onto her forefinger. Back away! the Soldat hissed. Bucky wasn't sure whom the command was directed at.

Delicately, like the gentle caress of a butterfly's wings against his skin, a tingling sensation raced along his pinky. It was a subtle yet electrifying touch, igniting a warmth that seemed to radiate from the very core of his being. As Y/N entwined her fingers with his, the sensation only intensified, enveloping him in a cocoon of unexpected comfort.

“I might just surprise you,” she murmured. When he didn’t respond, he expected her to continue. Instead, she leaned back, her head resting on the pillow. Her breaths were steady, the machines around her beeping rhythmically. Before he could process the sounds, Y/N tugged on his hand. Somehow, he moved closer, his body hovering above hers.

Cynicism darkened Bucky’s features. "What will you explain to me?" he asked. "Beyond what history has already confirmed."

"I’m going to tell you who you really are," Y/N said, her voice firm. And if that alone wasn’t enough to pique his curiosity—his willingness to listen despite his inner turmoil—Y/N added, her thumb gently tracing patterns on his skin, "And what you mean to me."

Monster, his brain hissed, a sharp reminder of his past sins. Years of indoctrination under Hydra taught him to suppress and conceal his discomfort. Yet, he couldn’t suppress the wince that escaped him, the Soldat clawing at his consciousness like a venomous serpent.

“James,” Y/N uttered, her voice barely audible to his ears.

Bucky craved silence again, a part of him recoiling from the truth. He drew a deep breath, his silver-lined irises betraying the turmoil within. “What am I?” he asked rhetorically, the answer already known. At least to him. “What am I if not the cause of your suffering?”

“Perhaps, let’s start with the fact that you’re the reason I’m alive,” Y/N offered.

“No,” Bucky refuted. The hospital bed threatened to collapse under the weight of his tight grip. But the weight of his compunction, the Soldier’s remorse, proved heavier. “Don’t you dare say that!”

“James,” Y/N sighed, her voice gentle yet firm.

Bucky snapped, interrupting her before she could continue, “You are in a hospital room.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, “although I am alive and healing, not on the brink of death.”

“What difference does it make? You’re still here because of my past actions. My volatile mind!”

“Your volatile mind, in case you've forgotten, is also what saved me, us, from the clutches of Hydra.”

“Saved? I endangered you!” Bucky spat, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “We endangered you.”

“You and the soldier are one.”

Though her tone was gentle and her demeanor warm, her words ignited a storm within Bucky. He wanted to deny her claim. But to his surprise, he found himself agreeing. “Yes, we are,” he admitted, noting the subtle shift in Y/N’s expression as she silently acknowledged his confession. “He and I are both the villains in your story.”

Y/N shook her head, silently dissenting, but her silence only amplified the turmoil raging within Bucky's mind. Insidious, his thoughts whispered. Monsters like us only bring harm. Our hands are stained with the blood of our victims.

“This is my truth,” Bucky declared, the monotony of his voice betraying the fray within. “The world knows the atrocities I’ve committed. I remember every one of them. Including the ones involving you.”

“James, listen to me,” Y/N urged.

“Your lies once drowned out my admissions. But after what happened to you, even you can’t ignore the dangers lurking within me.”

“Who you are is subjective!” Y/N defended vehemently. “No one sees the other in the same light. You asked me who you were, and you’re not allowing me the decency to explain what you are to me.”

“I shouldn’t mean anything to you!”

“Well, it’s too bad you mean to me more than you’ve accounted for!”

Bucky was beginning to grow frustrated. Nothingness, the reminder swirled in his mind. You mean nothing to her. To anyone. Not even to yourself. The jarring reminder pricked at his sanity, forcing him to lose his grip.

He refused to continue this conversation, finding it a waste of energy and effort. Wordlessly, he turned his back to her, ready to be consumed by his ear-splitting thoughts in his desolate chambers. But something else flared within him, something both docile and menacing.

Y/N had caught his metal arm, her heated touch seeping through the advanced neural simulators. But there was a turning point; a shift where her touch transformed from winsome and appeasing to tumultuous and thundering. 

Bucky bellowed, uncaring whether Steve or Natasha would burst into the room.

He rounded on Y/N, his metal arm pinning her wrist above her head. A gasp escaped her parted lips, hitting Bucky in his face and punching him in his gut. “Hurt,” he articulated his thoughts aloud, saliva dripping from his chin. Metal pierced deeper into Y/N’s skin.

His ears acutely picked up the cacophony of noises surrounding him—from the loud beeping of her heart monitor to Steve and Natasha’s sudden interference. 

“Look at me!” Bucky demanded, his electric blue eyes locking onto Y/N’s. Though he was tormented by his madness, he pressed on, instilling Y/N with dread. “See what cannot be undone. I am the Winter Soldier. A menace, a lethal weapon, Hydra’s enforcer. I am not your hero in metal armor or your misguided redemption project. You can’t fool me or anyone into believing there’s a good side to me. There isn’t.”

“What if it were me?” The question hit Bucky like a freight car, rendering him immobile and halting his thoughts. Y/N’s eyes brimmed with tears that trailed down her cheeks to her lips. “What if it were me?” she asked again, her voice faltering.

Bucky hadn’t noticed his grip on her had slackened until he asked, “What if you were what?”

“What if I was the villain?” She refrained from saying anything more, her silence bathing the entire room. Bucky picked up on Steve and Natasha’s bated breaths. They all remained silent, anticipating the implication behind Y/N’s words. “What if Hydra had used me? Manipulated my powers into hurting you and—”

“Don’t—”

“You have spent the better part of this hour, no, these three days, punishing yourself for something that was beyond your control! You didn’t choose to hurt me.”

“I could have fought it!”

“And you did! You fought tooth and nail till the last second, James. Or else you wouldn’t have saved my life. When your choices were restored, you chose me.”

“At what cost?” Bucky argued, his voice laced with frustration. “You survived today. But what about tomorrow or the day after? What will happen to you then when I fail to control myself?”

“I can ask you the same thing,” Y/N countered, indignance flaring in her tone. Bucky shook his head, the unwillingness to listen explicitly drawn on his face. “What if they didn’t restrain my powers and had exploited them instead? I’ve vowed to never force my powers on you. Even now, when I want to help you, I refuse to use them without your consent. But what if I had to?”

“You can’t hurt me,” Bucky attested.

"Can't I?" Y/N's voice quivered as tears streamed down her cheeks, her lower lip trembling in tandem. “They replicated my powers, James. That’s how they hijacked your neural frame. That’s how they brought out the Soldat.”

“Just because they replicated your powers doesn’t mean you hurt me.”

Y/N cried out, her breath shaky and feeble, “You don’t get it! They planned this whole charade out because they wanted us to hurt each other somehow. But what if the roles were reversed? What if they manipulated me into directly using my powers against you?”

It was a strange twist of fate to see her engaging in the very behavior she had argued against. Manipulating him. Not through her powers, but through his emotions. And Bucky was angry, furious because she couldn’t hurt him. Deep down, he knew that Y/N could do even the most nefarious things to him and he’d see them as nothing more than a measly scrape, easy to heal from.

“Y/N,” Bucky huffed, his fingers threading through his dark hair. Her name made heat spark within his senses and ice run down his spine. “Stop.”

“Don’t you remember what I told you?” Her tears fell in torrents against her cheeks, glistening under the light of the hospital room. It was impossible to ignore them or the way they made Bucky feel. “You’re my home, James.”

“I’m your demise.”

“You’re my lifeline,” Y/N countered. “You understand me more than anyone ever will. When everyone fears what I can do, you trust that I won’t ever hurt you.”

“You cannot hurt me.”

“Because you don’t give me the power to. Just as I've refrained. You cannot hurt me, James. No matter how much you try, deliberately or inadvertently, you can never hurt me.”

A heavy pause veiled the room. Silently but deafeningly, a wave of uncertainty permeated the air. Bucky didn’t know what to say. He wanted to argue and refute all the words that had been uttered and the nonsense that was spewed. But Y/N was right in a way yet wrong in many others. Her love was blinding, to him and her, pulling them both to the abyss of sanity and forcing them to drift away from it all.

He didn't want to waste time arguing, torn between holding on and letting go. But the tingling sensation he had felt before came back, teetering on the edge of his fingers. He looked down then, sensing a force. His fingers were bathed in silver mist, swirls of light dancing across his metal arm.

“I give you the choice,” Y/N stated, pulling his gaze back to hers. He regarded her with wide and curious eyes like a child born into a vast new world. “Isolation is not retribution. Withdrawal is not the answer. You’re good, James. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have fought back.”

Bucky’s mind was a storm, the conflicting emotions clashing violently. He felt the weight of his past, the horrors he had committed, pressing down on him.

“Y/N—”

“The only way you can hurt me is if you let me go. If you distance yourself and leave me to fend for myself with all these fears and thoughts. I need you, James. I believe in you and the goodness that you hold. You’re not a monster, a villain, or anything remotely close to it.”

“What am I?” Bucky asked, his question vastly different in strength and nature than when he had first voiced it aloud.

The tendrils of light were now wrapped around his waist. Like an angel’s breath, they started tantalizing his senses as they climbed up his arms, imbuing them with serenity. He felt them tug at his heart, almost whispering to it in a language he wasn’t privy to but understood nonetheless.

Y/N shuffled in her bed, kicking the sheets further down her body. She hid her winces well, or maybe she was too focused on closing the distance between her and Bucky to acknowledge them.

Get back, the Soldat ordered. Don’t accept sympathy.

“You are James Buchanan Barnes. A melodramatic centenarian with the most mystifying blue eyes that I both love and cherish. You have a very bad habit of second-guessing your actions and striving for perfection in everything that you do because you think that you have something to compensate for when you don’t. Love is given; trust is earned. And I grant you both of them because I know that even in the middle of the tempest, you will never drift too far away from the shore.”

“Y/N. I’m not…” Bucky began, but the words faltered. He wanted to argue, to push her away for her own good, but her light was too strong, too compelling.

“You’re not what?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his. “Not worthy? Not good enough? Because you are, James. You’re more than enough.”

Her words cut through his defenses, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. The Soldat within him snarled in defiance, but Bucky’s heart ached with a different truth. He was tired of fighting, tired of pushing away the one person who saw him for who he truly was.

“I can’t allow myself to hurt you again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“You won’t,” she replied with unwavering conviction. “Not if you stay. Not if you let me in.”

The silver mist enveloped him completely now, soothing the chaos inside. Bucky felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. He took a hesitant step closer to Y/N, then another, until he was right beside her bed.

Y/N reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and touched his cheek. His thoughts quieted at her touch, a tranquil sensation rushing through his mind. It was quaint like a mother’s lullaby and soft like a child’s laugh reverberating in bustling boulevards.

Those silver tendrils caressed his consciousness, seeping through the dark cracks and painting them with a kaleidoscope of colors. The anxiety in him relented, preening at the feel of Y/N in his mind. Even the Soldat bowed his head, snarls and whimpers shushed and eased by the delicate hum of her magic. He heard her voice, whispered promises and beloved attestations, following them as he strolled through forgotten avenues that he had tried to repress.

And there at the precipice, basked in stardust and moonglow, stood Y/N. Her skin was flawless, silky, and luminous with no trace of the unforgiving scars he had inflicted on her. Her pink lips were upturned, a wistful smile decorating her ethereal features. “Come home,” she called for him, like a siren luring a sailor in the tempest, a shooting star carrying a wish across the skies.

“You’re my home,” Bucky swore reverently, worshipping her after God, swearing his devotion and fidelity.

Fingers interlaced with hers, he watched the silver twirl happily against the gold of his metal plates. The colors contrasting yet befitting, something that reflected them in a bejeweled portrait of understanding and individuality. He tightened his hold on her hand, allowing her magic to seep through his veins. His eyes closed, a blinding light casting over him, embracing him with the strength of a thousand twilights.

When his eyes opened, the silver hadn’t waned. Not in Y/N’s wide eyes nor the remnants on his hands and certainly not in his own gaze.

“Angel,” the word slipped past his lips, wistful and solemn.

Y/N’s silver orbs swiftly regained their normal color. Though no trace of her magic remained, her eyes didn’t lose their natural luster. Her gaze rekindled a comforting warmth as she greeted him, “Welcome home, James.”

Truth, his mind preened. He broke down, fingers raking through Y/N’s hair, lips pressing kisses across her face. 

Y/N was his only truth. Her soul the sanctuary he could never—would never forsake.

I know it's been a long while since I updated this story, but I'd like to thank everyone who stuck around this far! It's been hard sitting down, pulling out my laptop, and writing just for fun... to bring those characters and these story arcs to life. But I'm glad Bucky and Angel's story found a befitting and dulcet end.

Check out my Writing Celebration to request your thoughts and ideas, experience fun little writing challenges, and get to know the blog!

My next Tumblr focus will exclusively be on Varicolored Schemes, a mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader series for anyone interested in seeing a new, dangerous side to Captain America! I might take on a few requests or release a few one-shots if motivation permits it, but this series will receive the most of my attention.

Happy reading, witchlings. Enjoy the start/rest of your weekend���🦋

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn @justafangir1

Series Taglist: @msoldier @kandis-mom @nobodycanknoww

[55sturn]

Hey!!!! Do you think you could do a husband/dad Matt headcanons???

✮ HUSBAND + DAD!MATT WHO…/ HEADCANONS

BF!MATT who was so nervous to propose, he takes you back to the place you had your first date in boston, it was not your first official date overall, but it was the first one you had in his honetown after you met his parents a year prior, the same night his mom gave him her engagement ring.

the two of you were sitting on a bench at some park late at night, just talking about everything and cuddling, and he just blurts it out because he can’t wait any longer, he’s not on one or anything, just sitting there beside you.

“marry me.” “w-what?” “i’ve got a ring in my pocket right now and i’ve had it for a year, i’ve carried it around for a year straight because i’ve been wanting to ask you since the second my mom gave me the ring the night you met her. you are the person i want to spend my life with, my family adores you, i adore you, there’s no better match for me, so marry me?” “you’d be an idiot if you think i’m saying no.”

and the second you two get back to his parents house, he’s waking up his brothers and telling them you said yes.

FIANCÉ!MATT who doesn’t want a big wedding, but he is willing to give you whatever you want because he has already and will forever dedicate his life to making you happy.

FIANCÉ!MATT who settles for a small-ish wedding with close friends and family in the backyard of his parent’s cape cod house.

FIANCÉ!MATT who decides chris and nate are going to be his best men and he asks nick to get ordained so he can play an equally as important part in the wedding.

HUSBAND!MATT who the second you two are officially husband and wife and in your way for your honeymoon, he’s doing the cheesy movie scene and carrying you through the door way.

HUSBAND!MATT who is such an acts of service husband, like he’s doing everything you want and ask for.

HUSBAND!MATT who 100% gets cheesy mr and mrs. monogrammed mugs and dishes for you both.

HUSBAND!MATT who cries when he finds out your wedding gift to him, which, with the help of his family, is his own vacation home in vermont.

HUSBAND!MATT who gifts you your own house to raise a family with him in.

DAD!MATT HEADCANONS

DAD!MATT who knows you’re pregnant before you even tell him, he tracks your periods and everything and has your cycle memorized so when he sees that your box of tampons/pads is unopened underneath the sink two weeks after your period was due, alarms are going off in his bed because he’s sure you should’ve used majority of them by now.

DAD!MATT who and picks up a couple tests for you, and places them on the table in front of you and you’re shocked that he’s aware because you had only just started suspecting that you were pregnant.

DAD!MATT, who the second you see the positive test, is pulling you into such an intense kiss, one so full of love and passion that you have to pull away to breathe and then you’re joking “be careful a kiss like that is what got us here.”

DAD!MATT who when you guys find out the gender, you also find out that you’re having two twin girls and is so unbelievably happy.

DAD!MATT who wanted to do a big surprise when you guys’ visit his family back in boston but matt being matt, he accidentally tells them so casually in the middle of dinner that his mom chokes on her water and is like “wait what?”

DAD!MATT who is buying every tiny pink thing he sees, you’ll tell him that the babies don’t need another pink pacifier because you’ve already got a drawer full and he’s like ��i don’t care i’m buying it for them.”

DAD!MATT who, just like chris, had his brothers help put all the furniture together while you’re out because matt doesn’t want you do anything heavy lifting.

DAD!MATT who is extremely overprotective of you.

DAD!MATT who will not hesitate to bitch someone out in public if they stare at you funny.

DAD!MATT who had to-go bags in the car before you found you were pregnant, they were packed and ready the moment you agreed to try for a family.

DAD!MATT who, the girls are born, is an emotional wreck, he’s just so in awe and love of what you did, of the fact that you carried and made life. he doesn’t acknowledge his part in it because he’s like “you did all the hard work.”

DAD!MATT who is wrapped around his daughter’s fingers.

DAD!MATT who struggles to say no to them all the time.

DAD!MATT who is so protective of all his girls.

DAD!MATT who raises them to not take any disrespect because he girls deserve the best.

DAD!MATT who also sets the standard for what kind of partner the girls should be with.

DAD!MATT who is so supportive everything they choose to do.

[jewish-vents]

This is an incredibly petty and incredibly specific vent. I'm an American Jew who engages in the study of Jewish mysticism. I had preordered a planner from a somewhat popular Jewish blog/shop that teaches about Jewish mysticism & antisemitism (I don't have to name them - you either know them or you don't) months and months ago.

I was so excited to have a convenient tool that tracks the Hebrew calendar, the Gregorian calendar, moon phases, along with other useful information. I was hoping to use it to help be more in touch with my Judaism and the Jewish reckonings of time and cycles of the year.

Months later, the planner finally arrives. Its gorgeous cover art in flowing Hebrew calligraphy seemed so promising.

I open it… and the entire thing's dedication is focused on Palestinian suffering. Not Jews. Not Judaism. But another people and the suffering they're enduring.

I feel for them, I really and truly do. The violence they're experiencing between Hamas's tyrannical control and Israel's aggressive right-wing government is an atrocity. It needs to be acknowledged.

Yet, can Jews have nothing separate from the suffering of our neighbors?

It's not about the planner; that's a symptom of a larger problem. It is about how every single thing about Jews is only acceptable now… if it's about Palestine first.

Am I now to expect every time I pick up a kippah or tallit, that on the underside is stitched "& also Palestine." Every siddur containing the dedication "& also Palestine." Can we have nothing that is ours separate from the conflict? Are we not allowed to seek respite in our own spirituality? I'm so tired.

I don't even want to use the damn planner anymore.

.

[merlinbbcolympics]

Merlin Olympics is back just in time for the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris!

Due to the short delay before the opening of the Olympic Games, this will be a low-key version focused on sharing our love for Merlin and the Summer Olympics!

🌞WHEN?🌞

From the 26th of July (start of the first competitions) to the 16th of August!!

3 weeks to create, share, react, cheer and have fun!

🌞WHERE?🌞

On merlinolympics on LJ, here at merlinbbcolympics on Tumblr, and on our dedicated channel on The Tavern's Discord.

🌞WHO?🌞

Anyone can take part : writers, artists, podficcers, lurkers...

🔞 Be aware that this is a +18 fest and that the Tavern's Discord is a +18 place!

🌞HOW?🌞

There are multiple ways to take part in this fest! You are free to participate in one way or in multiple ones!

There is no need to sign-up.

🥉COMMENTING🥉

Leave comments on old works from previous fests or on this year's works.

AO3 Collection

🥈PROMPTING🥈

Leaves prompt for artists and writers to use on this post on livejournal or in our ask box!

🥇CREATING (fic, art, vid, icons, podfic...)🥇

Create anything you want!

There are no words limitations or anything!

You can pick a prompt (no need to claim it officially) or you can use your own ideas! If you pick a prompt, just let the prompter know! (one prompt can be used more than once).

If you need inspiration, go check our prompting post or the asks we post here!

🥇POSTING🥇

You can tag us here on Tumblr and use the tag #merlinolympics24

You can also add your work to our AO3 Collection and post your work to our Livejournal Community using the header.

You can post whenever you want during the fest duration.

🥇CHEERING🥇

Encourage all the participants on the Discord channel!

🌞RULES🌞

All content created for this fest must be linked to the Summer Olympics.

- Any Olympics (past, present, imaginary)

- Any pairing (M/M, F/F, M/F, Gen, multiple,..)

- Any rating

- Please tag your works appropriately for any kinks, triggers, warnings needed.

- All content must be original. Any use of AI-generated images or words is prohibited for this event.

List of Summer Olympics sports :

-Archery

-Artistic Gymnastics

-Artistic Swimming

-Athletics

-Badminton

-Basketball

-Basketball 3x3

-Beach Volleyball

-Boxing

-Breaking

-Canoe Slalom

-Canoe Sprint

-Cycling BMX Freestyle

-Cycling BMX Racing

-Cycling Mountain Bike

-Cycling Road

-Cycling Track

-Diving

-Equestrian

-Fencing

-Football

-Golf

-Handball

-Hockey

-Judo

-Marathon Swimming

-Modern Pentathlon

-Rhythmic Gymnastics

-Rowing

-Rugby Sevens

-Sailing

-Shooting

-Skateboarding

-Sport Climbing

-Surfing

-Swimming

-Table Tennis

-Taekwondo

-Tennis

-Trampoline

-Triathlon

-Volleyball

-Water Polo

-Weightlifting

-Wrestling

If you have any questions, just drop an ask!

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

random julien baker headcanons

Julien is the type of lover to keep track of your cycle, she knows what days you get really crampy, and what days you crave your favorite foods. She always has everything you need before you even know you need them.

If you’re the type to get your nails done every few weeks (or even just for special occasions) she definitely loves going with you to get them done. She loves to help you pick out the color and shape and sit and talk to you while the nail tech does their thing. Especially if you get anxious going alone to get your nails done!!! She for sure has a hand on your thigh lightly tracing circles the whole time to keep you relaxed!1

Along the line of nails I feel like Julien would send you inspo pictures to help you figure out what color/design you want, if you’re like me and never have any clue what to choose.

Julien definitely is the chef in the relationship, all the food she cooks is always perfect. I think she’d also like to take control in the kitchen, she cooks/bakes, you set the table and just sit there and look pretty.

OMG matching tattoos!!! Depending on your personal preferences on tattoos I could see them ranging from a cute little flower on the sides of your fingers or like a huge intricate design on any empty space you both have, like maybe on your thighs. 

But I think Julien would get tattoos dedicated to you even without them being matching, just little things that remind her about you. 

Also if y’all were to get married I could definitely see you both getting each other's names tattooed on your ring fingers.

[tendaysofrain]

“How Often Does Such a Bright Moon Come Around?” (水調歌頭 · 明月幾時有) Translation

(Another year, another Mid-Autumn Festival, another poem translation. This particular poem is very famous because of the first and last lines, which are frequently referenced in popular culture. Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!)

How often does such a bright moon come around?

By Su Shi (Song dynasty, 1076 AD)

Mid-Autumn of the year Bingchen (2), drank all night in celebration, became heavily inebriated.  Composed this poem to commemorate this occasion, and in dedication to Ziyou (3). (4)

How often does such a bright moon come around?  With wine in hand, I ask the heavens.

Wondering what year it is for this day in heaven (5), in the palace high above.

Wishing to ascend on the wind, yet I cannot stand the chilly air around those lofty towers of jade.

Dancing and amused at my own crisp shadow, the frigid heavens surely cannot compare to the mortal realm below.

Rounding the vermilion building, hanging low near the intricate windows, the moon casts light over the sleepless (6).

The moon should not feel bitter jealousy, so why is it only full on parting?

Humans feel grief and joy, partings and reunions, just as the moon waxes and wanes.

For both of these heartening things (7) to happen together is very rare indeed.

May we be blessed with longevity, so that even when thousands of li (8) apart, we can still gaze upon this wonderful moon together.

—————————-

Notes:

This poem is in the Ci/词 format, and follows the rhyme scheme (Cipai/词牌) called Shuidiaogetou/水調歌頭/水调歌头.

Bingchen/丙辰 is a year in the Chinese Sexagenary Cycle, which is known in Chinese as Tiangandizhi/天干地支 ("Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches") or simply Ganzhi/干支 ("Stems and Branches"), and is used to record time. This system has been in use since at least the Shang dynasty around 3000 years ago (oracle bone artifact bearing inscriptions of ganzhi has been found at Yinxu/殷墟, the archaeological site of the ancient capital of Shang dynasty; however, during Shang dynasty the Ganzhi system was used to track days and not years, unlike how it has been used in later times). Because there are 60 years in one cycle, it is possible to trace back to specific years. In this case, Bingchen would be exactly 1076 AD.

Ziyou/子由 is the courtesy name of Su Shi's brother, Su Zhe/蘇轍.

This section is a short introduction to the poem, which begins after this section.

This may be a reference to the concept that "a day in heaven is a year on earth" ("天上一天，地上一年"; famously included in Journey to the West), which in turn is a reference to the ecliptic plane (called Huangdao/黄道 in Chinese), since for an observer on Earth, the Sun appears to move in an elliptical path throughout the year. This means that it takes a year (i.e. "a year on earth") for the Sun to "complete" one round in this elliptical path (i.e. "a day in heaven").

Here, "the sleepless" is a reference to the poet himself.

"Both of these heartening things" refers to reunion with family and/or friend, and the occurence of a full moon.

Li/里 is a traditional unit of distance. During Su Shi's time (Northern Song dynasty, 960 AD - 1279 AD), 1 Li ≈ 576 meters = 0.576 km or 0.36 miles (Note: link leads to pdf).

—————————-

Original Text (Traditional Chinese):

《 水調歌頭 (1) · 明月幾時有 》

[宋] 蘇軾

丙辰中秋，歡飲達旦，大醉，作此篇，兼懷子由。

明月幾時有？把酒問青天。不知天上宮闕，今夕是何年。 ��欲乘風歸去，惟恐瓊樓玉宇，高處不勝寒。起舞弄清影，何似在人間。

轉朱閣，低綺戶，照無眠。不應有恨，何事長向別時圓？ 人有悲歡離合，月有陰晴圓缺，此事古難全。但願人長久，千里共嬋娟。

[chaosology]

mayflower i

warnings: ivf, pregnancy mentions, slight angst

pairing: sam kerr x fem!reader

my masterlist | series masterlist

“Ouch! Do you mind?”

“You’re so dramatic; it’s just a pinch, dummy.”

“Why are we even doing this?”

You giggled, putting the needle in your newly dedicated sharps bin as Sam re-tied the strings of her grey track pants. 

“I’m starting to become uncomfortable about how much you enjoy this,” she teased, staring you down from the counter she was currently perched on. You passed her the icepack as she continued, “in fact, I’d go as far as to say you look forward to it.”

“Oh do you, now? I’m hurt, Sammy. Truly hurt. I’m thinking about the children, and if you just can't see that - Well, I just don’t know if this relationship will work out..”

“Oh, piss off!” She laughed, shoving your shoulder lightly as she leaned in for a kiss, her hand coming to lift your chin. 

“But do you kiss all your patients after you stab them, babe?”

“Only the cute ones” You fired back. She laughed softly, repeatedly poking and then wincing at the injection site. Her thigh was littered with small purple splotches, something she was strangely fascinated by.

You finished up what you were doing in the bathroom, following her out into your shared kitchen. Sam pottered around beside you, chopping vegetables before haphazardly throwing them into the bowl. It was a comfortable silence that you revelled in, but one you both secretly wished to be soon filled by a small baby's soft, nonsensical babbling.

“Did they say we could confirm the ninth for our retrieval date? I’ve got training the next Friday so I’ve got to be back at it by then and I swear that woman over the phone wasn’t even listening.” She asked from across the kitchen, passing you a pan. 

“Yup. And it’s Michaels for the procedure, so don’t worry about one of those Jane the Virgin things happening. She’s great.”

Sam’s response came almost immediately, followed quickly by a small laugh. 

“Why can’t you do it? I don’t need a stranger poking around down there.” 

“I’m not even on gynae rotations, dumbass. No way they’re letting me near something that precious… they barely even trust me with forceps.”

Sam only grunted stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest as she sighed deeply. She was stressed about the procedure, you could tell. It was your first cycle of IVF, and you were still young but the success rates weren’t in your favour. The ultrasound had confirmed everything was going as well as it could, but that couldn’t settle her nerves. And how could you blame her? With the retrieval procedure only days away, the whole process was beginning to seem more real. 

Besides, the extra dosage of hormones wasn’t helping. You noticed at around day three of the injections when you walked into Sam hunched over on the couch crying at the tv, because “all the dogs just look so sad”. You cursed out the RSPCA, joining her on the couch and pulling her into you. She sniffled into your neck, slightly embarrassed by her outburst. 

“Are they moving? I swear they are, I can feel it!”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she squinted towards the bottom of the bed.

“Sam, your toes definitely aren’t moving. I’m looking right at them.”

She huffed, fiddling with the hem of the light blanket covering her. The walls of the room were a soft yellow, with two small chairs and an instrument trolley in the corner. 

A knock at the door caught your attention, watching as your fellow resident (and closest friend) Carmen walked in. Her blue scrubs were swapped out for a soft, baby pink set - a sign she was working on the OB/GYN floor today.

“Piss off, you are not doing my procedure,” Sam yelled jokingly, reaching for a small balled-up tissue to throw in her direction. One of your favourite things about Sam was her ability to fit seamlessly into your friend group. When you first started dating, you were nervous to introduce her to your friends - after all, they were such opposites (or so you thought). But in true Sam fashion, she found her place within minutes, joining in on jokes and insisting on hanging out more often. You loved it. 

Carmen deflected the shot with ease, coming to hug you from the side. 

“No way, mate. You wish. Just here to yell at Y/N for getting today off when we’re all stuck doing paperwork.” You smirked proudly, jabbing her in the ribs as she released a small oomf. 

“You’ll be right though, Sammy K. Michael’s is a beast, this is her bread and butter. Like, I dunno, your equivalent of lightly tapping a ball.”

“Hey,” You intervened, “they miss the ball half the time, you know!”

“Y/N!”

You laughed at her shocked face, affectionately ruffling the top of her head until she swatted your hand away playfully. Carmen rolled her eyes at the two of you, pulling out her phone to capture a sweet photo.

“Look, I’ve gotta run. But let me know when Sammy has to put the hairnet on, I’m going to make it my contact photo!”

Sam scoffed as Carmen left the room, returning to quietly picking at her nails. You watched intently, coming to rest your hand on hers.

“How are you feeling?”

“I dunno, I’m not super nervous. But I am a little bit…regular nervous,” she replied, looking up at you. “What if something goes wrong and it doesn’t work? What if the injections haven’t worked?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, baby. The scans looked good, they said it looked better than they thought.” You stroked her arm, kissing her forehead before you continued. “We’ll be ok, I know we will.”

She sighed into your neck, allowing herself just to breathe. For a moment, it felt like just the two of you in the whole of the hospital as you lay together, hand in hand.

The room was lit a soft, pale blue. The whirr of the ceiling fan filled the silence, the only other sound being the soft breathing beside you. Sam’s body was spread to your left, her legs twisted around the duvet, reminiscent of a pretzel. She always slept so strangely (and apparently the general aneathesia just exaggerated it).

You stared longingly at the space beside your bed, which had been cleared of its normal pile of junk. Up until recently, it was Sam’s throw-it-here-and-worry-later spot, often home to a few different pairs of shoes and a jersey that probably needed a wash (or two). Now. it was cleared in the hope it would soon be filled with a tiny little bassinet, and, of course, your tiny little baby. To others, the clearing of that part of your room probably didn’t mean anything at all, but it was so much more than that.

“Y’know,” Sam said, panting as she rolled off of you,  “you’re so lucky we’re gay.”

“W- Huh?”

She giggled breathlessly, turning onto her side to look into your eyes. 

“Because if we were straight, you’d so be pregnant right now… it’s a thing! It’s our wedding night, and everyyyone knows the first baby is always conceived right then.”

Your face fell into your palm, hiding your smile. 

 “Oh my god, Sam.” You playfully flicked her forehead, watching as she only smiled in response. 

“That implies no sex until marriage, and last time I checked,” you brought your hand to your duvet, lifting the covers to show your uncovered, tangled-up bodies underneath, “we did NOT play by those rules.”

“Technicalities” she waved dismissively, “You’d be knocked up and everyone would be like, ‘yeahh, they did it on their wedding night’.”

“You’re such an idiot…. And no thanks to you, everyone already knows we’ve done it anyway.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Alanna overheard… that hotel had thin walls, I swear.”

You both laughed at the memory, recalling Alanna’s shocked expression and furious apologies as she walked in on the two of you years earlier. She was just drunk and stumbled into the wrong room by accident, but she sobered up pretty quickly afterwards. The next morning at breakfast she affectionately congratulated Sam and you at breakfast, giving Sam a firm pat on the back as she did so. 

You both lay quietly, your head nestled into Sam’s neck as she played with your hair, twirling the same little strands back and forth. 

“Do you ever think about it?”

“Kids?” 

Her hands stopped briefly, before continuing with their rhythmic motions in your hair. She hadn’t predicted that.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I think about it too.”

“A lot?”

“Yeah.”

She waited a few moments, before lifting her head and turning to you once again. Her eyes were serious this time, almost a little glassy. Almost.

“I want kids. With you, Y/N.”

“I want kids with you too, Sam. I always have.”

She smiled back at you, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. You couldn’t help but notice the faint red blush that painted her cheeks; she must’ve been sitting on this for a while. 

“I dunno…It’s so scary, though. And it’s such a long process, I feel like I’ll always be too nervous to say anything. What if it’s the wrong time?”

“Yeah,” her hand coming to delicately line your lips, “I know. Maybe we can just take it slow, build ourselves up to the idea?”

You grinned back, holding back a small giggle. “You’ll have to make space in our room, you know - are you ready to part with your messy pile?”

“I didn’t even think of that,” she exclaimed, teasingly feigning shock. “We may have to reconsider this whole baby thing.”

Silence fell over the room once again as she wrapped her arm around you, the both of you off in your own little worlds. The post-sex fatigue was creeping up, pulling you down into a peaceful slumber.

You yawned, opening your eyes to look at her for the first time in what felt like ages

“How will we know when we’re ready?” 

“Well, you said we have to make room for the bassinet, right.”

“Mmm?”

“I think when I move my shoes… and you don’t move them back. Then we’ll know.”

You smiled at the memory of your wedding night, looking to your now wife by your side and the gold ring that sat perfectly on her finger, then to the small clock on your bedside table - 12:51 am on the 23rd - almost two months from the day you both decided.

You had spent the morning ambling around the apartment in the early morning light, taking sips from your coffee each time you walked past the mug on the bench. Sam was already at training, having left your sleeping form with a small peck on the cheek and water boiled in the kettle. 

Laundry on your hip, you picked up her bright pink soccer boots from their home on the bedroom floor and put them back in the cupboard, along with a few crumpled hoodies and spare jerseys. You often wondered if she had forgotten what you had spoken about the night of your wedding… After all, she DID have a lot to drink. 

The day lagged on until Sam came home, rushing through the door with the energy of a hyped-up golden retriever.

“My god, swear Guro was on fire today. She must’ve had crack for breakfast because I couldn’t even keep up, my calves fucking kill!”

You greeted her with a kiss and another mug of coffee that she delightedly accepted, walking into the bedroom to shower and change. The ache of last night’s…activities were still fresh on your mind, and the sound of the now running water drew you to the ensuite.

Instinctively, you went to kick the clothes Sam undoubtedly left on the floor out of the way

“Fuck!”

Your foot hit the side of the bed, a warm ache spreading up your leg. You looked down.

Nothing.

Upon opening the cupboard, you found Sam’s shoes tucked neatly on the rack with the rest of them, her uniform in the hamper. The floor was completely clear, not even a sock in sight. Maybe it was a mistake, did she really mean it? Maybe she was just worked up from training and forgot about your unspoken rule. Right? 

You were in a state of almost shock, walking slowly into the bathroom. Your attempt to close the door was futile as you mindlessly stepped forward, kicking off your slippers to stand opposite Sam, separated only by the glass door.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Sam’s face was fresh from the shower, her eyebrows creased slightly in the middle. You could see from her face that she was deep in thought, most likely overthinking her decision to move the mess on the floor.

“You didn’t move it back.”

“I didn’t.”

You opened the door to the shower, now face to face. The hot water let occasional spits hit your skin, your clothes getting more and more wet by the second. Sam’s soaked hand reached out to find yours, her fingers nervously interlocking around them as her eyes met with you 

“Are we having a baby?”

Yeah,” she cried, pulling your face to hers under the water, “we’re having a baby.”

“Oooh, I’ll take that.”

In the blink of an eye, Carmen had snuck behind you to steal your freshly poured coffee straight from your hands. Sam had designated her the official “Y/N watchdog” for the time being, seeing as Sam couldn’t keep an eye on you around the hospital. 

“Hey! It’s decaf, plus I’m not even pregnant yet anyway.”

She took a sip, immediately wincing at the bitterness

“Fuck no it’s not decaf,” her face soured, “is this a double shot? Christ.”

You laughed, reaching back for another sip that she barely resisted. You paced around the wards, chatting on and off about the consultants and the latest nurses station gossip. You were likely to be the next topic of conversation once they found out about your plans for a baby. 

It was hard enough being a female resident. The medical profession was still far behind the rest of the world when it came to gender bias at work, and you were no exception. There were whispers of the male paramedics that frequented the ER doors having a “rating” for the female staff; they called you over for gruesome work in your first weeks just to see you squirm. Where the boys could slack, you pushed to work overtime and impress the old consultant who saw you only as hospital decorum.

Getting pregnant during residency wasn’t as dangerous as it once was, but you were still fearful of the strain it would put on your career. Would they look at you differently? Would they exclude you because of your “condition”?

It was one thing you and Sam were able to connect over. Sexism in your respective industries was so prevalent, both of you were often overlooked for your male counterparts despite performing equally as well (usually better). Despite these shared experiences, it was still the cause of one of your most heated arguments with Sam.

Sam’s hands ran down her face, dragging the skin in exaggeration as she sighed with frustration. She was opposite you, standing across the shared bed as she attempted to defend herself. It had started as you both made the bed that morning, pulling up the duvet and chatting about whatever was on your mind. However, Sam’s offhand comment of “when you’re pregnant”  had thrown a curveball on the mood.

“Oh my god, I don’t even know why you’re being like this. You know I can’t afford to be pregnant right now, Y/N.”

“Oh, and I can?”

You were fuming, arms folded across your chest as you stared her down, challenging her to continue. If she wanted to go there, you’d happily comply. She wasn’t wrong when she said that, after all, her career was physically demanding and undoubtedly dangerous for a pregnant woman further along. But why did she have to assume that it would be you? She didn’t even ask. Your job was just as challenging in other aspects, why didn’t she understand that?

“No- You know what I mean.”

You did know, but there was no way you were backing down now. 

“I get bashed all day, Y/N. And if I stop to have a baby now, then take leave and recover? That’s ages gone, they might not put me in next time.”

Sam worried constantly about her career; if she was taken seriously, if she could keep playing for as long as she wanted. 

“I get it, Sam. I do. But you didn’t even stop to ask me. A baby could fuck with my career too, you know. Did you even think of that? I’ll be the hospital liability.”

Sam’s eyes briefly flicked to concern, watching as yours welled up and your face reddened with each passing moment. But as soon as it came, it was gone, and she was back to her previous exasperated expression. She grabbed her keys from the nightstand, slipped on a pair of sneakers and turned to walk out the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I can’t even deal with this right now, I’m going for a walk.”

You stood in the doorway as the front door slammed shut, Sam exiting your vision. Your face fell into your hands, the tears falling freely as you cried silently. Were you really ready for this?

The memory of your argument was still fresh on your mind as you paced the halls, now separated from Carmen as you continued with rounds. Knocking on the door of your next patient, you shuffled your thoughts to the back of your mind.

“Aye, a bit shorter than the last one. Tall and mean, she was.”

Mrs Zielinski was newly admitted to your ward on account of her stomach pains. She was short and slight, with a thick accent - Eastern Europe, you guessed. Her notes had a little warning at the bottom, stating she was confrontational and suspicious of most treatment she was offered. You had heard rumours of how she apparently threw her ice chips at Alex for offering some ibuprofen. 

You only smiled, flipping through her chart and making your way to her bedside. You fiddled with the heart monitor, watching her stare intently at you. You grimaced at her heart rate - she was still tachycardic, with her blood pressure having risen from last night.

“Mrs Zie- Martyna, may I call you that?” 

“No.”

You had hoped to be friendly with her in an effort to persuade her to accept treatment, but it seemed no matter how many smiles you offered, she only intensified her glare. 

“Well, Mrs Zielinski, have the nurses been in to talk with you about your heart?”

“Heart is fine. Nice and strong.”

She patted her chest as if it was an achievement, smiling proudly. You held back a small laugh, difficult patients, while annoying, were often the most entertaining.

“Actually, it’s going a lot faster than I’d like it to.” You explained, smiling down sympathetically. “I’d like to give you something to calm it down.”

“Pfft, none of that. You people always trying to poison me, heart is fine.”

You sighed. While aggravating, the well-being of patients was always at the forefront of your mind. You often struggled with watching people make decisions that harmed them further, coming home and crying to Sam about how tough it was to sit back and watch. She would stroke your hair and soothe you, rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled. She was your rock in this profession, answering her phone late at night even when she was exhausted just to listen to you rant.

“Alright. Can I cut you a deal?”

She looked up suspiciously.

“If you let me take you to get an ECG and see what’s going on, I’ll get that male nurse back in here for you to throw ice at.”

She hesitated, before scoffing. You piqued your head towards her for clarification, and she sighed a quiet fine under her breath. A gleeful smile painted your face as you grabbed your pager, letting her know you’d be back later to take her down to the cardiac floor. 

Two hours and an argument with the technician later, you were pushing Mrs Zielinski down the halls towards the elevator. It was around 9 in the evening (maybe even later; you could barely tell these days) and the halls were quiet, filled with the soft beeping of machines and the nurses chatting at the stations. 

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the small cable running across the floor. The bed jolted as you pushed over it, snapping you back to reality.

“God, girl, look where you going!”

“Sorry, sorry. We’re almost there.”

“Take me to basement to kill me, ‘ey? Sound like first husband.”

You laughed, continuing to wheel her carefully into the ECG suites where you would hand over to the technicians. Bidding her a polite farewell you left, heading towards the locker room.

Finally you could return home to Sam. With the embryo transfer tomorrow, you had taken a week's leave to recuperate afterwards. Sam would stay home with you for company, ensuring you didn’t find an excuse to just “pop over” to the hospital. 

Maybe this round would be successful, maybe not. You pushed it from your mind as you packed your things and walked through the hospital door, the setting sun shining straight in your face. You could barely see right in front of you, almost missing the figure right in front of you.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, darl"

Sam! There she was, standing by the door with her sunnies on and a bouquet of flowers in hand. She smiled at your shocked face, grabbing the stethoscope from around your neck to bring you in for a kiss.

"Ready to get pregnant?"

"Wha- Sam!"

[hekatean-path]

Ways I connect with Hekate and my deities when I am feeling burnt out

Sometimes, there are days or weeks when I feel so burnt out that I forget to pray or worship my deities. It happens to all of us, and it is perfectly normal. So, I have found subtle ways to pay my respects to my deities that are meaningful but also don't weigh too heavy on my mind.

Hekate:

In Sorita d'Este's book Hekate: Liminal Rites, it mentions that some of Hekates devotees were vegetarian or did not use meat in their rituals. So, I have made 95% of my diet plant-based as a devotional act to Hekate.

Another thing I do is if I can not think of anything to say as a prayer to Hekate when I am at her alter, I play TikToks or Reels of prayers and hymns other people have created. It's not as powerful as saying your own prayer, but it is a good substitute if you can not think of anything.

Aphrodite:

I have a playlist of devotional songs to Aphrodite, which I play in the shower. These songs are also centred around the sea. I find the ocean sounds and songs soothing and cleansing.

I dedicate my makeup and skincare to routine to Aphrodite.

Selene:

As well as being the goddess of the moon, Selene has also been linked to the menstrual cycle. So I have dedicated mine to Selene, and at the start of my mind, I ask her for a good cycle.

I also track the moon cycle and plan my activities around the position of the moon. If the moon is close to a new moon, I will take things easier and put more effort into my self care routine.

Nemesis:

Out of all the deities I worship, I work the least with Nemesis. Not because I don't like her, it's just because my connection to her is not as strong as it is with others. Saying that, one of my small devotional acts to Nemesis is standing up for myself when I am being bullied. I am a quiet person, so standing up for myself is hard. But I do it as a devotional act to Nemesis.

Thanathos:

My route to my nail salon goes through a cemetery, and ravens/crows frequent the area. When I walk through the cemetery, I pay my respects to the crows/ravens that guard the area. I also take the time to honour those who are laid to rest there and reflect on my life and how much love there is.