#i feel like a hobbit for real

[eats-the-stars]

the curse of the family baby face strikes again. i have been mistaken for a high schooler at my place of work by a coworker that i have been working with for a whole week. the conversation went the way this usually does.

them: “so are you in school?”

me: “no i graduated.”

them: “cool which school did you go to?”

me: “[name of university]. it’s in [city name].”

them: “are you looking at colleges now?”

me: “...oh. [name of university] is a college.”

them: “oh so you’re in college!”

me: “graduated. but close.”

them, clearly assuming this is my first job: “so, in the work force now.”

me, 4+ jobs under my belt because I am 27 years old: “yep.” 

I think this is a combination of genetic baby face, not wearing makeup, having long hair, wearing leggings and simple clothing because i am autistic with sensory issues, oh yeah squeaky autistic person voice, being very short and slight of build, the fact that my glasses are purple, and general social awkwardness. the person who hired me knows that i am an adult probably. does anyone else in my workplace? i do not think so.

[brethilach]

I'm kinda scared to post this but it feels really bad being an actual schizophrenic person and looking at how people treat Thorin and talk about his "goldsickness" as if it's a moral failing. It hurts especially when people say or imply that his (psychosis-induced) actions wouldn't or shouldn't be forgiven by any of his family, friends, or his people and he wouldn't be accepted as King even if/when they discovered he only acted the way he did because he was just... y'know. mentally ill. Temporarily, at that! Because it was caused by a factor that can be permanently removed (the Arkenstone, I mean. It's painfully clear that the Arkenstone was the cause of it in the movies' canon)

"Oh, maybe his SICKNESS was caused by a magic jewel that is clearly cursed somehow, but it was still HIS fault that he was INSANE (never mind that he was actively delusional and hallucinating). He still loved and trusted Bilbo in the throes of his MADNESS, so it MUST have been a true reflection of his SELFISH DESIRE and GREED." This is how some of you sound.

It's even worse when people do the same thing to Frodo (even though both the book and movies depict him having delusions and hallucinations/visions akin to hallucinations, on top of all the other horrific things happening to him). "haha Frodo almost dies a dozen times and everyone else does all the heavy lifting just for him to STILL fail at the end. Sam was the TRUE hero of the story because Frodo was a useless whiny sad-sack and would have accomplished NOTHING without him" fuck you fuck you fuck you

I don't know where else to go with this. It just makes me question how some of you would treat me if you met me or knew what I experience on a day to day basis. It feels bad

[logosbot-tm]

If you're ever bored w far too much time on your hands, sit down, look up "Middle earth time line" and start reading. Click on whatever seems interesting. This will most definitely occupy you for a long while.

[professorjirt]

not to be bitter about the Durins again but it will never stop pissing me off to a burning degree that in the movies Kíli dies off in a little corner with no one but one elf he met two days ago around, and she’s nerfed to the point she’s utterly helpless until RIGHT AFTER he’s killed. It feels so bullshit and unfulfilling. I remember me and a friend were huge fans of the Durins (her even more than me) as well as the little Kíli and Tauriel side story back when the movies came out, and we watched it in theatres and she literally said she would never watch that scene again bc it disappointed her so badly. She skips it to this day. Bc why the fuck did they have Kíli die for an elf he barely knew (I like Tauriel but it is true— they’ve known each other for maybe two or three days total) over the family he ran out into battle to defend, the family he set out on the quest with and the family that he was so proud of. Why was he not with his brother, or trying to defend his uncle who was still very much alive and in danger? Tauriel literally just serves to get Kíli killed in that scene, bc they nerf her (CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD. Even against a tough orc she should be holding her own) but have Legolas out there holding his own, and it is nowhere NEAR as emotionally devestating as the single sentence we’re given in the book of how Kíli and Fíli went down defending their uncle. I can almost excuse the change in how Fíli dies bc it does hold emotional weight, but Kíli’s death going from the devotion of family even to his own doom into dying for an elf he has puppy love for while being totally cut off from the other dwarves fucking killed the scene for me. And there isn’t really even a good payoff for Tauriel afterward either. We just leave her there regretting she ever loved him. It hurts me so damn much, and not least of which is because for every video someone does as a tribute to Thorin and his nephews, it always takes a sharp left turn into Tauriel watching Kíli die all by himself and it doesn’t even feel related to the other’s deaths. I think it would have felt much more like the best of both if they’d kept Kíli dying defending his family, and then have Tauriel come to him as he’s dying. But that’s not what happened. It fucking sucks. I promise I do like the movies but I will stand hard by saying that it’s weakest writing is the latter half of the second and the former half of the third movie. It only really picks up to consistently good scenes at Thorin’s battle with Azog in my opinion. Sorry for another brief hater moment but man. Man.

[frodo-with-glasses]

Hobbit history, Aragorn

Hobbit History

If Aragorn learned about hobbit history from anyone, it would have to be from Frodo and Bilbo.

I mean, let’s be honest, if he’s gonna get any information about hobbits, it would have to be from the horse’s—or rather, pony’s—mouth. Hobbits tend to keep to themselves, and their doings and goings-on are generally of little consequence to the world at large. Of course Aragorn might know some things in broad strokes—at some point, he likely would have read in a footnote of some book of histories in Minas Tirith of King Argeleb II of the North-kingdom and his agreement with the Halflings concerning the settlement of the Shire—but information would be sparse, and many of the things hobbits would deem important about their own history would be completely unknown to outsiders.

Out of the hobbits he had the pleasure of knowing personally (he could say with all sincerity, if a bit of an ironic smile), the Baggins pair would be the best bet. Sam, though he did read and write well for his family, wasn’t terribly book-learned. Pippin rarely paid attention to his studies, if he attended them at all. Merry was more knowledgeable, but he was just as likely to share information that actually answered your question as he was to info-dump about his hyperfixation on pipeweed—on which he was a particularly good authority, if you wanted to know about that sort of thing. And then, there was Bilbo and Frodo, two old rich bachelors with nothing better to do with their lives than spend all day with their noses in books.

I can only imagine that some of those months in Rivendell—after the Council and before the Quest began—were spent with Aragorn, Frodo, and Bilbo walking in the gardens, or sitting on a high porch overlooking the valley, or huddling by the fire when it was cold and Bilbo was getting a chill, as they talked about hobbits and what they’d made of themselves in all these hundreds of years.

Aragorn would be surprised to hear that the Shire-hobbits sent some bowmen to the aid of the northern King in his war against the Witch-King of Angmar; “I have read many histories of Men,” he said, “and also the old Record of Kings, and I have heard the tallest tales of many lands, but never have I heard tell that the Halflings did this thing.”

“Well, we did,” Bilbo said with a huff. “We prefer peace, of course, and seldom go out looking for a fight, but we aren’t so fragile in a pinch, I hope you observe. Or do you think our aim is good only for darts?”

At that, Aragorn laughed. “As for darts, have beaten me soundly, my friend, and enough times that I should learn my lesson. I apologize. I did not mean to offend. If anything, I am more incredulous that such an act of valor should go without thanks or record from the Men of the North.”

“Well, that’s no surprise!” said Bilbo with a grin. “We’re used to being overlooked. Comes with the height, I suppose.”

Of course Aragorn would be very interested to hear about the Battle of Greenfields and old Bullroarer Took, and about the Thain and the Mayor and the general structure of power in the Shire (or lack thereof), but he was also interested in the little things—what Frodo and Bilbo called “family history”, and the invention of golf, and the gossip and rivalry between the Tooks and Brandybucks, about which he asked many intelligent and altogether too serious questions.

He had two motives in this, of course. The first—and the strongest—was that he wanted to know more about his new friends, and learning about their mundane and colorful history was an excellent way to do that. The second—less personal, but no less important—was to do his homework concerning this settlement of halflings that was, technically, still within the jurisdiction of Isildur’s line.

When he became King, he issued a proclamation that no Man should ever enter the Shire, and that it was a Free Land under protection of the Crown. When he came to visit his friends in the year 1436, he did not step beyond the Brandywine Bridge—even a King must honor his own edict, after all—but before he left, he did press a sizable purse of gold into the hand of the Mayor (that is, of course, Sam Gamgee).

“See to it that the best of your histories, and Frodo’s book, are copied by your finest craftsmen,” he said. “Your people have made for themselves an honored place in the history of our world, and so your stories deserve a place in the library of kings. This ought to cover all expense, and if there be any left over, keep it as a gift.”

Sam’s eyes went wide for a moment—the sum could have bought all the property in Hobbiton twice over!—but he was a little older and a little calmer than he was when he first traveled with Strider, so instead of a long string of exclamations, he simply clutched the purse to his chest and promised, “I’ll make every cent count, Strider. They’ll be the most beautiful books you’ve ever seen; save the ones the Elves keep, maybe.”

The work took years, but Sam would only deign to hire the best. Years later, when Sam travelled to Gondor with Rosie and Elanor, he had in his little wagon—wrapped carefully in cloth, and packed in water-tight chests—a beautiful little stack of books, bound in leather, dyed brilliant red and blue and green, with gold corner caps and satin bookmarks and woodcut illustrations on the inside pages.

Those books were kept in the royal library in Minas Tirith, and tended as long as their keepers could maintain them, and painstakingly copied for years long after the hands that made them had passed away. It was exactly was Aragorn would have hoped.

After all, hobbit history was Middle Earth’s history too.

WORD ASK GAME!

[rucow]

i should write a lesbian phantom adaptation myself actually

[myketheartista]

on my knees, crying, pleading, shaking my head and slapping the floor: please god, please stop putting really soft and cute jonmartin art on my twitter feed, i’m so weak and incurable, i’m trying to stay sane in these trying times, i don’t think i can take another picture of them hugging, i can’t stand how jon is so small in martin’s arms LEAVE ME ALOOOOONE

[sallyscardigan]

watching the hobbit movies with my dad is making me want to reread the book but the tolkien struggle is so real !!

[velvet4510]

The fact that The Hobbit is such a lighthearted family-friendly book, especially when compared to LOTR, actually breaks my heart when you consider that it is Bilbo’s writing. That journey was anything but a fun trip for him. He went through real dangers and horrifying moments. He saw violence for the first time. At the end of it, he lost his love. And he went home traumatized, heartbroken, and forever changed.

Yet when he wrote the story down, he emphasized the more successful and fun parts, and glossed over the depth of his pain and grief when the losses happened (even leaving Fíli and Kíli’s deaths to a throwaway line.)

Because what else could he have done? Nobody else could possibly understand his pain. Bilbo wasn’t like Frodo. He didn’t have a Sam who he shared the experience with and could talk to about it every day afterward, to help him work through writing down the details of the darker parts of the story. And his other friends lived far away and could only visit occasionally.

And the hobbit children were all full of wonder about Elves and dwarves and trolls, so he put the focus on that.

I feel like that was his way of dealing with his trauma.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes. 

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear. 

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home. 

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon. 

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

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[inkskinned]

okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.

[lovebugism]

eddie x shy!reader , she asks him on a date by giving him tickets to a concert and he thinks its a joke til she walks away feeling rejected & he realizes she’s like dead serious & goes up to her

thanks for your request! i sorta broke my own heart with this one — the one where eddie rejects you and immediately regrets it (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Robin tells you that he’s nice. She says he won’t turn you down because he loves Mötley Crüe too much and he’s called you pretty too many times. Robin Buckley is many things — a dork, a polyglot, and your best friend, to name a few — but she’s never been a liar.

She wouldn’t lead you to the slaughter that way. She wouldn’t just let you get your heart broken. More than anything, though, she knows Eddie far better than you do — partly because she’s actually able to talk to him.

So despite your lingering worry, you swallow her words like a shot of vodka and maneuver helplessly through the bustling crowd of the Hawkins High lunchroom.

Eddie Munson sits alone at the Hellfire Club table — the smallest one in the very back corner by the large square window. 

Instead of eating a real meal (even though the hamburgers might be horse meat instead of cow), the boy eats crumbled-up pretzels from a worn ziplock bag. He pinches them into his mouth blindly because his chocolate syrup gaze is trained on the well-loved book folded in his left hand. 

J.R.R Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.

It makes you smile softly to yourself. You hope one day you’ll have the courage to tell him you’ve read that book so many times you could recite it in your sleep. You hope that day comes soon.

“Eddie?” you call softly to him when you reach his table. Your sweaty fingers fidget with the concert tickets you clutch between them.

He just thinks he hears his name at first. It’s barely audible over the sounds of muddled chatter in the cafeteria. He glances up from his book, not expecting anyone to be there, and gaping when he finds you standing in front of him. 

His cinnamon eyes go wide. The boy blinks owlishly at you once, then flits his eyes behind you like he’s expecting to see someone there. When he doesn’t, he blinks at you again. 

“Hi…” you waver with a trembling smile.

Eddie grins back, still obviously confused. “…Hi?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if you heard, but— well, obviously you heard, that’s… that’s stupid,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut. You’re already stumbling all over yourself, and you haven’t even managed a full sentence yet.

“Mötley Crüe is coming to Indianapolis in a few days, and a friend of mine was selling tickets, so I bought them. For us. Potentially. You know, if you wanted to… to go… With me.”

Your offer lingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.

A smile quirks at the right side of Eddie’s pink mouth. It isn’t a kind one, though. It looks more cynical than anything else.

His head juts back. He’s almost peering at you from the corner of his eye as though you were some suspicious thing he needed to analyze. A laugh sputters from his lips. “Did Buckley put you up to this? Is that what this is?”

Your faltering smile fades entirely. Your features crumble in disappointment.

This worse he could say is no, Robin had told you. 

You hadn’t prepared yourself for this.

“…What?” you wonder, voice fragile like a wilting flower petal.

Eddie chuckles to himself. He sets the book down to give you his full attention, though you’re not sure you want it anymore. “You know, I knew she was upset about me trying to set her up with Vickie and all, but this is a… whole new low.”

“Vickie…?” you murmur through a tightening throat, brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand—”

“Look, sweetheart… Tell Robin that this was a real funny joke, but I’m not interested, alright?”

Your chest aches with an empty feeling. You think your heart might be breaking. “J—Joke?”

“—Actually, tell her that this was very not metal of her, and that I will get my vengeance,” Eddie says with a sardonic laugh deeply rooted in his chest. His smile looks almost like he pities you as he shakes his head, eyes twinkling with pessimism. “I’m sorry she sent you to do her dirty work, but… You should probably go now. This is, you know, the Hellfire Club table and everything, so…”

You swallow thickly, then nod.

Eddie doesn’t want you here. Eddie doesn’t want you at all.

“I’m— I’m sorry if I…” The words get caught in your throat. You clear it and blink back burning tears. “I was just… I thought that maybe—”

“Eddie!” a boyish voice calls from across the cafeteria, only halfway drowned out through all the noise. A group of guys in Hellfire shirts walk towards the table.

You take that as your cue to leave. You don’t want to burst into tears in front of your crush and all of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to choke out before turning on your heel and walking away.

He’d been smiling up until that point — like it was all a big joke to him — because it was. 

The girl he’s been fawning over since junior year comes out of nowhere with tickets to see one of his favorite bands? That was the kind of shit he dreamt about — the kind of plan only someone as vicious as Robin Buckley could concoct to hurt his feelings. And after spending so many years being the brunt of bullies, Eddie was tired of being embarrassed.

And at first, he thought you were just a really good actor. You did look almost genuinely confused when he’d snuffed out the plan so quickly. But those wide, glassy eyes you looked at him with — he doesn’t know if a person can fake that sort of heartbreak. That looked real.

Eddie had been close to commending himself for not letting Robin win. He thought he was a genius for not allowing Buckley to use you against him. Now he knows he’s the same dumbass he's always been.

“Hey, man…” Gareth wavers as he sits at his designated seat adjacent to Eddie’s. The boy’s forlorn and faraway gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the club. They all share looks of confusion, but the sandy-haired boy is the only one brave enough to speak up. “You okay?”

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on your figure as you maneuver through the crowd. Robin looks happy for you when you reach her, but the puppy-like excitement washes away when she notices how sad you are. 

He feels like someone’s shoved a knife between his ribcage. He wonders if this is what a broken heart feels like.

“I think I screwed up,” he answers, laughing cynically at himself. “Like, big time.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, right?” Dustin jokes before popping a fry into his mouth. He laughs, but no one else joins him. “…Right?”

Eddie glares at the boy.

He cowers. “…Kidding. I was kidding.”

—————

He stews over it all day — your offer and what he said to you and how sad you looked after he said it. 

He pictures your pinched brows and big, glassy eyes and his chest starts to burn a little. Everyone always thought he was some raging asshole just because he had crazy hair and a crazier taste in music. Now he feels like they were sort of right about him. 

Whatever chance he had with you has surely turned to dust by now. It wouldn’t surprise him after he shrugged you off like he did. But after waging a nearly four-hour war in his mind between lunch and dismissal, he knows he has to make sure. 

He has to know if he’s ruined things entirely or if there’s a glimmer of hope he can hang onto.

He comes to you at the end of the day, dripping in metaphorical blood from the mental carnage he’d endured. He stood across the hall from you for five whole minutes as he tried to come up with something to say. He walks to your locker empty-handed and just blurts, “I thought you were joking,” like a total idiot.

Through the muddled conversation in the bustling hallway, you hadn’t heard him coming. You didn’t know he was there at all until he was right next to you. Seeing someone so suddenly close to you makes you flinch — hard.

And it’s not totally Eddie’s fault. You’re jumpy and too easily frightened at times, but he can’t help but feel like he’s messing things up more than he already has.

“Oh…” you deflate with a sigh, eyes still wide and swimming with something he can’t quite place. You look like you’re almost relieved to see him. Almost. 

“Sorry— shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The boy stumbles over his words, then trails off when they don’t come out the way he wants. He shakes his head and finds it in himself to smile. It’s bitter, though, filled with self-abhorrence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

With one hand still clutching the door of your locker, and the other gripping a stack of textbooks, you peer at him through your lashes. “I know. It’s okay. I just— I wasn’t expecting it…”

He grimaces. “Sorry…”

“’S okay,” you repeat.

“I, um, I only came in so hot ‘cause I wanted to apologize— you know, for earlier. In the lunch room,” he stammers and puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more as an insincere puff of air. “Honestly, I thought you were joking.”

Your brows pinch. “Joking? Why would I—”

“I sorta locked Robin and Vickie in the old chemistry room in the east wing a few days ago,” he confesses, bouncing his shoulders. “Just because I know they both like each other and everything, and I thought maybe they’d finally admit it if they were alone together.”

“Okay…?” 

“Well, they didn’t. And Robin was pissed. So I thought she was using you to get back at me.”

“Using me?” you echo.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve kinda been into you since junior year and everything,” he admits with a nonchalant shrug. The corner of his rosy mouth quirks into a half-smile. “It’s, like, the one card Robin could use against me that would actually hurt, you know? If she did try to get me back.”

Your heart swells so much it hurts, almost — the same kind of hurt you'd felt in the lunch room earlier. It feels fiery, like someone’s taken a match to your ribcage and lit your heart aglow. But it’s different now. This is a good hurt, a happy hurt.

“Really?” you squint at him, your voice high and light. Your lips twitch like you want to smile, but you don’t let yourself — lest this all turns out to be some kind of elaborate dream. Or a joke.

“Since we had Mr. Kaminsky’s together, yeah,” Eddie affirms with a slow, confident nod. His chocolate eyes flit up to the water-stained ceiling. “Let’s see… We were learning about reproduction, and Tommy Hagan made some stupid joke about using you as a real-life model instead of the pictures in the textbook—”

“I remember,” you nod, trying not to shudder at the memory that still haunts you. 

“And I told him that he was making it real obvious that he’s never seen an actual vagina before and that the one in the textbook looked a lot like his mom’s,” the boy recalls with a soft laugh. “And you looked over at me, and you smiled, and I… have been a goner ever since.”

He looks down at you again, all sheepish like he isn’t gluing your broken heart back together again. His chocolate eyes twinkle in a way you’ve never seen before. They sparkle in their softness. You have to look away before it turns you into a puddle at his feet. 

You smile widely into your locker, pursing it off to the side in attempts to conceal its brightness. 

“No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before,” you confess quietly after a few moments, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m pretty sure I gushed to Robin about it for days.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums. He can feel his hopes getting too high.

“Yeah. I told her all about the pretty boy in the back of the room that finally got Tommy H. to leave me alone.”

“Oh… You think he’s pretty, huh?” the boy teases despite his pink cheeks.

You nod — made much braver by his previous admission — though you still have a little trouble looking him in the eye. You drag a notebook from your locker as you tell him, “I think he’s very pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the boy you think is pretty is super sorry for being such an asshole to you earlier,” Eddie murmurs, his nose scrunched and head tilted. “And that he’d really love to go to that concert with you— if you haven’t found some other schmuck to go with you, that is.”

Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree as you beam at him. No one’s ever looked at him that way before now.

“I’d like that,” you nod, then shrug. “I don’t think I’d wanna go with anyone else, anyway…”

“So, it’s a date?” Eddie asks, just to make sure. His raised brows disappear behind his fluffy bangs. His chin tilts to his chest as he smiles hopefully down at you.

You nod, and repeat it more softly than the loudmouth boy. “It’s a date.”

Eddie can feel himself grinning like an idiot. His cheeks ache with how wide he’s beaming at you, but he's too lovesick to stop. Like squinting into the sun, smiling every time he looks at you is muscle memory by now. 

And what did a freak like him ever do to deserve a date with the freakin’ sun?

[unstable-samurai]

The Shy Nerdy Best Friend is Actually Pretty Cool... and Hot

Minnie x Male Reader

one-shot

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, Confession, babying, drunk reader, penetration, blowjob, cumshot...

You don't remember much from that night. One of the few alcohol-induced blackouts you've had in your life, with fragmented memories blurred like a distant dream, some real, others not. Vague, like the first memory of your childhood, but not as special. Based on what Minnie said, you were brought to her house by some of your "friends" after drinking all you could at a stupid party you didn't even want to go to. The idea was for Minnie to take care of you, 'cause, in the condition you were in, staying alone at home was risky and, well, none of your "friends" - and these were their words - would act like your "mother"...

except for her...

The doorbell rang around 09:30 PM.

She answered the door with curious astonishment, probably having been asleep when this hurricane of voices hit her door.

"He's all yours!" said one of your friends, pushing you towards Minnie.

"HEY, WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!" she asked alarmed. "... What happened to him...?"

"He's drunker than the devil. We brought him here for you to keep an eye on him," said the other friend, the one who drove to Minnie's house.

"Me?!"

"Of course. We're not his mom to take care of the guy." They looked at each other and laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "You've done this before, right?"

"No. Last time he was sick. I don't know how to take care of a drunk person!" she tried to explain while using all her strength to keep you upright.

The problem was that you weighed almost twice as much as she did.

"Great. It's practically the same thing!"

"We're going back to the party! Tell him to call us tomorrow. See you later, babe!" he said, ironically, of course.

"Hey... are you okay?" Minnie asked you.

"Your hair is all messy," you said, messing up her hair even more.

"I was napping on the couch. And you're a complete mess. But let's get inside, you weigh more than a bull!"

You put your arm around Minnie and dragged yourself into the house with her. She helped you sit on the couch; your head was spinning and everything seemed terribly distant. When you looked at Minnie, she seemed to be staring at you, but you weren't sure. In your state, even her action figures seemed to be watching you.

"I think I'm bothering you. I am, aren't I?" you asked. "I can go home. I can walk just fine."

You made a motion to get up.

"Sit down, idiot!" she said, pushing you back onto the couch. "It's okay. I'm just worried about you. Did you take any drugs?"

"Hmm, I don't think so," you replied, terribly sincere.

She brought you a glass of water. While you were drinking, she asked:

"I tried to talk to you several times today. I called and texted you. I thought we were going to marathon that stupid Hobbit trilogy.”

"Looks like I had better plans," you replied sarcastically.

"Uh-huh, it seems so..."

"Can I lay my head on your lap? I want you."

You didn't notice, but she blushed.

"Alright, I guess."

You laid your head on her lap and closed your eyes. Minnie started to gently stroke your hair.

"You should stop going to those parties. There's nothing good about them. And your friends always abandon you at the end of them."

"I wished you were there with me," you confessed.

"You know I don't like parties. And if I went, your friends would probably just laugh at me if I were there."

"That's true. It's really true. Damn, it's a damn truth... I think I drank to try to forget about you a little." You revealed suddenly. "I was feeling bad for breaking my promise to you."

"Why didn't you want to come?"

"I've been a little irritated with you lately."

"Why? What did I do?! I'm sorry! ... But what did I do?"

You laughed like an idiot.

"Your way, your tastes, your clothes, your voice, your smell irritate me... man, the list is long."

She immediately stopped stroking your hair.

"Oh... got it."

"All of that irritates me because I... because I love all those things about you and I can't admit it. It irritates me that you're perfect... in a good way. Sorry. "You hugged her around the waist, hiding your face in Minnie's belly, who stood paralyzed.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"You're so good to me while I treat you terribly. I wish I were a better guy." You commented, sounding like an embarrassed confession.

"No, no! You treat me so well! You're so sweet to me."

"No... it's just... when I'm with my friends, they make jokes about you and say I hang out with you just to get easy sex or whatever... The problem is I never raise my voice to defend you, I just sulk or change the subject like a damn coward. No one should talk about you like that... Damn, I think I'm going to vomit!"

"Ew! Don't vomit on me!”

You stumbled to your feet and Minnie guided you to the bathroom. You managed to make it to the toilet in time, avoiding vomiting all over her bathroom.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

You waited for the sound of the toilet flushing to pass, then replied, "You could have held my hair while I was puking. Where are your manners?"

She chuckled and sat against the bathroom wall.

"You're such an idiot, you know."

"Do you still want to watch The Hobbit trilogy?"

"It's already too late, and besides, in your state, you wouldn't be able to focus on staring at a wall for 1 minute."

"I guess you're right."

"Hey, seriously, you should stop hanging out with those guys. They're not your real friends."

"I just hang out with them, you know, so I'm not alone."

"You have me."

You silently observed Minnie for too long, making her start to feel uncomfortable. You tried to think of something good to say to her, something that would make her feel better, because, well, after revealing that those guys were mocking her behind her back, it was the least you could do.

"Is that Tweety?" you asked, pointing to her blouse.

"Yep! Do you like it?"

"It looks like you. The glasses and all. It's pretty cute. Do you think I could get a Tweety shirt?"

"Finding a male Tweety shirt for you will be tough."

"No problem. I'll definitely look better in that baby tee than you, no offense. By the way, is Tweety male or female?"

"Tweety is male!"

"Ah, I never noticed."

"Hey, I was serious when I said you have me. You like me, right? We're friends?"

"Minnie you are my best friend, please."

"Then it doesn't make sense you to hang out with people who are constantly mocking me. Now that you've said that, I won't accept you continuing to be friends with them and me at the same time!" she protested.

"Hmm... Okay. That's fair. I'll kill all of them for you."

"I'm serious. You're going to have to choose between me or them."

"I choose you. You, Minnie."

You clumsily crawled over and hugged her, squeezing her small body against yours, which was one of your favorite feelings.

"Okay, okay. I get it! But I don't think this is the most hygienic place for us to hug." Minnie helped you to your feet. "Go take a shower and see if you can get rid of that vomit breath.”

“If I do everything right, do I get a kiss?”

“No way! You’re drunk. In the morning, I want you saying all this to me again. If it’s really true, then tomorrow will be a very special day for me…”

“I love you, Minnie,” you whispered, looking into her eyes. “I want to be your man so badly. It even makes me feel like crying when I think about it.”

She playfully tapped your chest and pushed you away, giggling nervously.

“I love you too. I really do,” she said with a shy smile. “I’ll get some clothes you left here for you to wear. Please don’t slip in the bathroom because I won’t have the strength to lift you.”

"I'm not an idiot to slip in the bathroom."

"But you can act like one sometimes." she said, before closing the door.

"Do you want to play Mortal Kombat?" you asked Minnie as she dried her hair with the hairdryer in her room.

"WHAT?!"

"I asked if you want to play Mortal Kombat!" You said, now louder. "This darn hairdryer sounds like a jet engine!"

She turned it off.

“If I beat you while sober, imagine drunk as you are now. No, you need to eat. Soup will be good for you."

"Cup Noodles, that's it!"

"No! Real soup. Light and with vegetables. I actually ordered some."

"Ah," you grumbled disheartened. "I've lost my appetite."

"But you're going to eat!"

"Fine, fine! If you insist... Hey, is that a Smurf on the table?"

"My goodness, you look so lost when you're drunk. Like your brain has shrunk," Minnie said casually, trying to hide a laugh. "That's a Squirtle. And you're the one who gave it to me as a gift."

"This is actually quite offensive on your part. I'm sharper than most drunks."

"Aw, don't be offended." She pinched your cheeks like a baby. Minnie was definitely taking advantage of the fact that you were drunk.

And in a way, you thought she was entitled to it.

Once again in her lap, you ended up discovering that night that this was your favorite place. Warm and protected from any harm. And even intoxicated, sparks of lucidity allowed you to see through the smoke that hovered over your mind. No, better than that, it allowed you to feel the security that Minnie had when she was by your side, singing "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles to you. And singing was something she didn't do around anyone; insecurity and shyness prevented her from doing so. In this way, she hid one of her greatest talents because she sang in an angelic manner, extremely comfortable with her own voice, sounding good without any instrument to accompany her. The fact was that if it weren't for the headache, you would have been sure you were in a sublime dream.

"That was the best lullaby I've ever heard," you murmured.

"I thought you were already asleep."

"Sing more."

"No, that's enough. You need to sleep."

"I want to hear you sing every night," you said, and Minnie laughed because you wore a silly, goofy smile. Apparently, your facial expressions weren't entirely under control.

"I hope I can sing to you every night. Just for you." Minnie slid her finger slowly across your nose, watching you with an enigmatic expression. She took advantage of the fact that your eyes were closed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh-huh... sure," you mumbled.

"Have you always been ashamed of me? Regardless of your answer, it won't matter because you're drunk."

You immediately stood up from her lap, feeling dizzy and alarmed, but rational enough to say:

"I want you to meet my parents, Minnie. Um, I was planning to tell you tomorrow, after you agreed to be my girlfriend. So consider this a little spoiler. I want to hold your hand and have the right to call you 'mine.'"

"Do you swear?" she asked, her lips trembling.

"Yes. All this time, the girl of my dreams has been right by my side, and I ignored it. My face is red with embarrassment now. From tomorrow onward, I'll make it up to you, and if you give me a chance, I'll make you feel special every day. Just as you deserve."

"Besides bad jokes and terrible taste in movies, you're also quite good at romance. God, I wish I could kiss you right now..."

"Okay, so I'll do it in your place. Excuse me, I'm going to kiss your forehead," you said, leaning closer to her.

Amid giggles, she asked: "What are you doing?"

"If you'll allow me..." You lifted Minnie's bangs as if checking her temperature and then planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

"You're such a goof, my goodness."

"And I'm also crazy about you."

"Let's hope these things still hold true tomorrow," she remarked, and you saw her eyes sparkle for you. "I want to believe..."

"Wait, was that an X-Files refer-?"

"Yep!" In fact, she said it by chance. "You're definitely sharper than most drunks."

“I told you, I told you!”, you exclaimed like a child.

The bedroom curtain wasn't fully closed, so a beam of light at 8:30 AM came through the window and hit your eyes, warming your skin until it became unbearable, and you opened your eyes to the whitish view of Minnie's room. Your vision returned to normal as your mind assimilated the facts. How the hell did I get here? And why am I in Minnie's bed? Oh, and It was strange for you to be in her room because when you slept at Minnie's house, you usually slept on the couch. It was hard to recap the events of the previous night, but they came to your mind in the following way:

I went to the party.

I was sad because of confusing feelings.

I drank.

I drank.

I drank.

I drank a lot.

Some of my "buddies" took me to Minnie's house.

She took care of me. Again.

Hmm, yeah, things probably happened this way or a similar version of it.

You looked at the clothes you were wearing. It definitely wasn't that stupid Zelda shirt you wore to the party.

Holy crap. Could it be that Minnie helped me change my clothes?

You felt completely embarrassed and afraid to find out what happened the previous night.

‘Don’t be an idiot and face it like a man.’

Words from your father when the two of you talked earlier that month about your internal conflict over admitting your romantic feelings for a particular girl. He didn't care about most of your problems, but this one irritated him. Your ridiculous concern about others' opinions on your life, your girl, who you should date... And staying silent in the face of offensive comments about your friend... He almost threw that beer in your face. If you don’t confess your feelings to this girl, then another man will, and then it will be too late. And I don't want you here ruining my Sunday afternoon because of your stupidity. He didn’t know how to say things without sounding like a retired army colonel, but you thought you deserved to hear those words in that exact tone. The time had come to put your old man's advice into practice. You quietly left the room and went to the bathroom to wash your face. From the noise, Minnie was in the kitchen cooking something. It wasn’t in your plans to confess your feelings to her with a horrendous hangover face, but damn it, you hoped she loved you for what you had inside: guts and true feelings for her.

When you got to the breakfast table in the kitchen, there was a plate of scrambled eggs, a cup of coffee, and warm toast waiting for you. Minnie was wearing an adorable overall and a gentle smile was on her face. You loved this morning view and wished it could be like this every morning.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?" she asked, sitting at the table.

"I slept well," you said timidly.

"Come on, eat your breakfast." She insisted, and you joined her at the table.

"And you? Did you sleep well? You know I could have slept on the couch."

"Nah, you needed a real rest. Besides, the couch isn't that bad."

"Sorry for ruining your night."

"I saved you yesterday, you'll save me tomorrow," she said cheerfully. "Are you feeling okay?"

"My head hurts a bit, but just being conscious is a relief... By the way, you didn't change my clothes, did you?"

She put her hand to her mouth in a mock expression of shock.

"Oh my God! How do you remember this?"

"Oh, man! Fuck!"

"Just kidding! You changed yourself like a big boy!" she revealed, laughing at your reaction.

"Thank God!"

After breakfast, you helped her wash the dishes and clear the table. There was a moment of rest when you both went to the living room, the glorious morning light shining renewed, somehow lifting your spirits and giving you a bit of courage.

"Listen, Minnie, I'm not sure what I said or did yesterday. I have a feeling I might have dropped a bomb on you because I noticed you seemed a bit off during breakfast."

"I'm just a little anxious."

"I need to tell you that I've been in love with you for a while. And I've been feeling bad for not treating you the way you truly deserve. You might say it's no big deal, but to me, it is. It's something that causes me anguish, and now I want to change that if you'll give me a chance." You held Minnie’s hands, her eyes reflecting the hope in her heart, your actions feeling right and natural, without shame or hesitation in saying: "I love you, Minnie."

"I love you too. I think I've loved you since that day we shared an umbrella while walking back from the movies. You and I walking together in silence, our shoulders occasionally touching, and the rain falling around us... Oh, and you looked so handsome that day.”

"Minnie... Can I kiss you?"

You and Minnie started kissing on the couch, desire and emotion burning uncontrollably between you. Your lips met with a mix of nervousness and passion, the first kiss an electric shock that coursed through your body. She was the girl of your life, there was no doubt anymore. The reciprocity was a wet and intense response, a kiss with your tongues intertwining as you both had secretly longed for. Her hands began to explore your body, sliding over your muscles with a provocative softness. "I've wanted this for so long," she whispered against your lips, her voice laden with desire. The room seemed to heat up with the energy emanating from you, also radiant with the morning sun, the birds singing outside, and the tension between you dissolving as you surrendered to the moment. Your bodies moved closer and closer, the excitement growing with each touch and sigh.

As the kisses heated up, the intensity increased, and you lost your balance, falling off the couch in a tangle of bodies. "Oh, wait, my glasses!" Minnie exclaimed, and you gently took off her glasses and placed them on the couch. "You still look handsome, even slightly blurry," she said.

On the floor, your hands were eager, sliding over Minnie's body as you pulled down one of her overall straps, revealing the warm, soft skin beneath. With a quick movement, you removed the other strap, leaving her in just her striped top and bra. Minnie let out a low moan as she felt your firm hands lift her top, slowly exposing her small breasts covered by the bra. You pulled the bra straps down, freeing her breasts, and immediately began to play with them, sucking and squeezing them with a mix of softness and firmness. "Oh, yes, keep going," she murmured, her eyes closed and head thrown back, deliberately feeling the heat of your mouth against her skin. Her sighs filled the room, each touch and moan intensifying the excitement. Her skin was soft and fragrant, and the sensation of her nipples hardening under your tongue was very, very good.

After dedicating yourself to Minnie's breasts, you slid your lips down her abdomen, pulling her overall down a bit more. Your tongue traced a slow, teasing path, exploring the sensitive skin of her belly. "You're so hot, Minnie," you murmured between kisses, your voice full of desire for her. Minnie moaned softly, her hips moving involuntarily as you continued to adore her. "Lick me more, please," she whispered, her face flushed with excitement. Your lips and tongue explored every inch of her belly, each touch sending waves of pleasure through her body. The combination of gentle kisses and sensual licks made Minnie gasp with pleasure, her body arching with each new stimulus. "Mmmm, I love it when you do that," she moaned, her voice sweeter than ever.

You took off your stupid Zelda shirt (hoping Minnie hadn't focused too much on it). When it came time to take off your underwear, Minnie took charge, deftly pulling it off and tossing it aside without hesitation. She looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes before wrapping her lips around your cock. "I always knew you had a big cock; I could see how it bulged in some of the pants you wore," she revealed. Somehow, Minnie's sudden confidence made her even sexier, and your arousal ridiculously uncontrollable. The warm, wet sensation of her mouth around you was overwhelming, each movement of her tongue making your whole body tremble with pleasure. The sounds of sucking and Minnie's muffled moans filled the living room, a rhythm so pleasurable to hear. Watching her alternate between gentle and intense movements, driven by such devotion, was... beautiful, an erotic work of art for your eyes. Her lovely lips wrapped around your cock with such need, her hands caressing your thighs with so much care and love, Minnie's eyes never leaving yours. Her hair was loose, the perfect invitation to grab it and thrust your cock against Minnie's throat, helping to make it even wetter.

Minnie begged you to fuck her, feeling increasingly aroused. You sat on the floor, leaning your back against the couch as she finished taking off her clothes.

"Is this your first time?" you asked.

"No. I actually used to see a guy back in college; we had sex a few times, but he was terrible... You're suprised?"

“Oh, no. Maybe a little. Bu- Hmm, well, do you happen to have a condom?"

"I'm the last person who would have condoms at home," she said with a silly laugh. “But I think from now on this will change.”

The moment you were sharing became more intense and intimate, and Minnie, feeling increasingly aroused, noticed how wet her pussy was. She decided to heighten the sensation, rubbing your cock between her pussy lips, moaning softly with each movement. "My god, I'm so wet for you," she whispered, her voice full of lust. Minnie began to slap your cock against her pussy, each hit making her moan louder. "Look how my little pussy is dripping, babe..." she teased, her eyes fixed on yours, full of desire. You couldn't resist; you grabbed your cock and started slapping it against Minnie's pussy. "Oh, yes... hit it hard..." "Fuck, this feels so good, Minnie." The contact between you increased the sexual tension, Minnie's moans becoming louder and more frequent. "My pussy is begging for you, babe," she said between sighs and moans. The friction between your bodies made the desire grow almost unbearably, leaving her even more excited and ready for the next step: Minnie finally slid your cock inside her, letting out a deep moan of pleasure. "Oh, yes, this is so good," she exclaimed, starting to ride you with rhythmic movements. The sensation of being inside her was indescribable, each pulse of excitement increasing your pleasure. Minnie moved with an intensity that made your whole body vibrate, her moans blending with yours. "You make me feel so good," she murmured, Minnie's hands resting on your chest as she rode faster and faster. Her petite body over yours, consumed by genuine passion for you and your cock.

The atmosphere between you reached its peak as Minnie continued riding you with fervor, her movements becoming more frantic as the climax approached. "I'm gonna cum... oh, I'm gonna cum so hard," she screamed, her eyes closed and her face contorted with pleasure. You could feel the heat and wetness around your cock as she rode faster and faster, her body trembling with excitement. "Yeah, come on, come for me, baby!" you said, panting, and with a final scream of pleasure, Minnie finally came, her body shaking violently as she fell apart on top of you. Sweat dripped from your bodies, your heavy breathing a testament to the intensity of the moment. She relaxed on you, completely spent, her eyes meeting yours with a satisfied and exhausted look, the glow of pleasure still reflecting in her pupils. The connection between you proved to be real; if the declarations, looks, and gestures weren't conclusive enough before, now every sigh and touch reaffirmed the intensity of the shared experience that only two people in love can feel.

But

Despite Minnie's intense orgasm, you still hadn't cum. Realizing this, Minnie smiled mischievously and murmured, "I'm going to make you cum now." She lifted herself for a moment, only to sit back down on your cock, her body still trembling with residual pleasure. Minnie began to grind intensely, her movements desperate and full of fervor. Your moans interspersed with your panting breath, your eyes closed, completely sedated by the sensation and the imminent explosion, still focused on not coming inside her. A lethal adrenaline rush. "Cum for me... please, cum for me," she begged, her voice broken by desire and urgency. "Oh, fuck, oh god! I don't know how much longer I can hold on, babe..." Minnie said, her words and the movements of her hips creating an irresistible mix of pleasure and pressure.

Then, the intensity of Minnie's movements, combined with her words, pushed you to the edge. Feeling the climax approaching, you announced, "I'm gonna cum, Minnie,"

Fuck…Her eyes shining with excitement… She got off you and begged: "Cum on my face... I want all your cum on my face." You quickly got up, your body trembling with anticipation. Minnie knelt in front of you, looking up at you with a gaze full of expectation and desire. With a final grunt, you stroked your cock rapidly and ejaculated onto her, the hot, pulsing jets covering her face. Minnie closed her eyes, moaning as she felt every drop, a smile of pure satisfaction forming on her lips, blending her shyness, naughtiness, and cuteness.

The room was filled with the smell of sex and sweat, the atmosphere still vibrating with the energy of the intense connection you shared. Minnie, still on her knees, wiped a drop of cum from the corner of her mouth, her expression one of deep and exhausted satisfaction.

With a loving gesture, you placed Minnie's glasses back on her face, your fingers sliding gently across her skin. "You don't know how beautiful you are now,” you whispered.

Your eyes met, sparks of desire still dancing between them. With a soft smile, you pulled her close and kissed her passionately. Your lips met in a final act of surrender to the intense passion that had consumed you both, the salty taste of your cum mixing sweetly and intimately between you...

And a couple of little yellow birds on the windowsill were silent witnesses to the newly blossomed passion.

[logosbot-tm]

If you're ever bored w far too much time on your hands, sit down, look up "Middle earth time line" and start reading. Click on whatever seems interesting. This will most definitely occupy you for a long while.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Do the ethnostates inherent in major fantasy ever feel real weird to you? You’ve got elftopia (full of elves, where everyone speaks elf and worships the elf gods), orc-hold (full of orcs and maybe their slaves, where everyone speaks orc and worships the orc gods), and dwarfton (made by the dwarves! for the dwarves!).

You might have some cosmopolitan areas, usually human-dominant, but those are usually rare enough in-setting that they need to be pointed out separately. Is this just based on a misunderstanding of the medieval era, and the assumption that countries were all racially homogenous?

This has been bouncing around my brain the last little while. Do you have any thoughts on that? Is it just in my head?

I think what you've noticed is a quirk of derivative fantasy writing, which like a lot of hangups with the genre originates in people trying to crib Tolkien's work without really understanding what he was going for:

Though it contains a lot of detail, Tolkien's world is not grounded. It functions according a narrative logic that changes depending on what work in particular you're focusing on at the time (The Hobbit is a fairytale full of tricks and riddles, Lord of the Rings is a heroic epic, The Silmirilion is a legendary history).

One of the reasons the races are separate is to instill the feeling of wonder in the hobbits as POV characters for the reader, other folk live in far off places and are supposed to feel more legendary than our comparatively mundane friends from the shire. The Movies captured this well where going east in middle earth was like going back in time to a more and more mythologized past.

In real life, people don't stay static for thousands of years, no matter how long their people live. They meet, mingle, war and trade. Empires rise and fall creating shrapnel as they go, cultures adapt to a changing environment. This means that any geographic cross section you make is going to be a collage of different influences where uniformity is a glaring aberration.

What the bad Tolkien knockoffs did was take his image of a mythical world and tried to make it run in a realistic setting. Tolkien can say the subterranean dwarven kingdom of Erebor lasted for a thousand years without having to worry about birthrates or demographic shifts or the logistics of farming in a cave because he's writing the sort of story where those things don't matter. D&D and other properties like it however INSIST that their worlds are grounded and realistic but have to bend over backwards to keep things static and hegemonic.

Likewise contributing to the "ethnostate" feeling is early d&d (backbone of the fantasy genre that it is) being created by a bunch of White Midwestern Americans who were not only coming from a background of fantasy wargaming but were working during the depths of the coldwar. Hard borders and incompatible ideologies, cultural hegemony and intellectual isolation, a conception of the world that focused around antagonism between US and THEM. These were people born in the era of segregation for whom the idea of cultural and racial osmosis was alien, to the point where mingling between different fantasy races produced the "mongrelman" monster, natural pickpockets who combined the worst aspects of all their component parts, unwelcome in good society who were most often found as slaves.

This inability to appreciate cultural exchange is likewise why the central d&d pantheon has a ton of human gods with specific carveouts for other races (eventually supplemented with a bunch of race specific minor gods who are various riffs on the same thing). Rather than being universal ideals, the gods were seen as entities just as tribalistic as their followers.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Inspired by the Hunt for Gollum 2 day fiasco (I suppose it wasn't really a fiasco, genuinely happy they came to such a quick resolution, I will give it to them), I noticed a bunch of people said they'd never heard of the Hunt for Gollum fanfilm and was surprised! So here are some more tolkien fan films on youtube that you can watch right now! A friend of mine coalated all of these for our server and we binged them all, which was a really great time and I would heartily recommend.

Obviously, first; The Hunt for Gollum, a 40min shortfilm pretty much entirely about Aragorn, you guessed it, hunting gollum. But there's also a few neat interactions with other characters too and the production is of an extremely good quality for what it is.

Then you have Born of Hope, from the same company as hunt for gollum, this one focuses more on Arathorn and Gilraen's relationship and Aragorn's tumultuous birth. It's very depressing but I also really liked the casting of Arathorn and is worth a watch.

Horn of Gondor is a short 20min fanfilm with a pretty inventive premise, focusing on Borondir's in-universe fabled ride to deliver Steward Cirion's request for an alliance with the ancestral rohirrim to Eorl their king, thereby saving Gondor from defeat. I find it a little lacklustre and it doesnt really measure up to it's concept but the attempt is still admirable and there is some real and clear passion behind it so still worth a watch.

Wings Over Arda is, gonna be honest, my favourite one of the lot. It is an hour long and extremely ambitiously attempts to feature events from Tuor's meeting with Ulmo, to the attack of the Sons of Feanor upon Doriath. It essentially fails to live up to the auspicousness of any of these things, but it is EXTREMELY earnest and the casting for Dior in particular is now just burned into my brain. It feels kind of like it was made in the 1980s too which I just love for a film that came out 2 years ago. It's really fun, give it a go.

One of the Seven is more of a hobbit movie fanfilm, referencing PJ's Thranduil backstory of losing his wife and the hunt for her jewels, but also involving dwarves and elves bickering over unspecified rings. It has the brightest colour pallette of all the films which is a visual relief and all the costumes are really detailed, mainly because I suspect this was made my cosplayers who just had some time on their hands. It's fun and campy and only 25mins so fully digestable, even if it's a little dwarf-ist.

Lastly there's The Peril to the Shire, even though cards on the table I have not watched this one. It is three hours long and was made by a bunch of homeschooled children somewhere, featuring entirely child actors and about Rosie Cotten defending the Shire pre-scouring. From what I've seen, the kids are having a great time doing it, but the audio is also really hard to hear clearly so this is more of a challenge than a suggestion.