#it refused to stay in my brain and fester

[find-the-path]

Oc-tober Day 17 - Legend - Lastadron

It was perhaps impolite to barge into a person's private rooms without permission, and even downright stupid to do so with an Elf-lord's private rooms. Lastadron would like to think that this was a special occasion.

"What do you know about Angmar's champion?"

Laerdan didn't jump (not that Lastadron had really thought he would) but rather looked up with a mildly surprised expression, which quickly turned to concern.

"What on earth happened to you?" For anyone else, it might have been an emphatic, the hell?

“Yesterday--- you said something about Angmar having a champion. What do you know about her?

Laerdan didn’t react right away--- which was fair, considering Lastadron’s appearance.

He hadn’t been conscious when the blood-sworn had dragged him from Minas Deloth and dumped him in the wilds of Himbar, but they or their mistress apparently had something of a sense of humor. He’d been dressed in what was either Angmarim ceremonial robes or perhaps a demented bedsheet. It was long, tattered, blood-red, and did not in the least fit. 

His own clothes had been nowhere to be seen, and as he hadn’t crossed paths with any Ranger besides Areneth on his breakneck trek through Gath Forthnír, he was still dressed in them.

After only a moment, however, Laerdan focused, and a crease appeared in his brow as he concidered Lastadron’s words.

“I know much of her, my friend, but what has happened to you? Those are the robes of acolytes in the service of Angmar.”

Good to know.

Lastadron sighed. His blood was still fizzling from the horrific spectacal he had been witness to, and his mind had not yet fully cleared of the strange fog.

“A long story,” he said.

It was only nearly an hour later, dressed in spare clothes of the Rangers’, that Lastadron was at last able to tell his tale in full. Of the strange, winding journey into that dread tower, he said little, but spoke in length of the meeting hall, the rows of fell spirits, the palantír, and at last the uncloaking of Sara Oakheart and the conference with the Lidless Eye.

When at last he fell silent, his throat was dry and the room dead silent. Only Golodir, Laerdan, and two of the most senior Rangers of the Second were present here in Golodir’s own chambers, and every one focused entirely on him. Lastadron self-consciously took a sip of the water he had been supplied with, and his jiggling hands stilled somewhat.

One of the Rangers, Maerchiniath, at last spoke up. “If this is the same Amarthiel of which our legends speak, at the battle of Fornost---”

“It is.” Laerdan’s face was pale, and tense.

“Fell news,” Golodir, of them all, looked the least affected, still as grimly determined as ever. “She has a palantír, you saw? The same Mordirith kept?”

Lastadron nodded, and turned once more to Laerdan. “You said you knew much of this Amarthiel, and the rest of you know her name. Who is she?”

“She was Angmar’s champion, in the days of its rising.” Laerdan’s voice came slow, and his gaze directed into the fire. “All through the Witch-king’s conquest of Eriador, she marched with his forces, fought with his minions, and before her, the good people of the North quailed. The armies of Angmar marched behind her on Fornost, and Fornost fell.

“Yet Eärnur came out of the South, and Glorfindel from the East, and together their forces retook that great city. History records that she was defeated upon the fields of battle that day, by an unknown Elf, and I had thought her dead. But now, you say she has arisen again in might.” he fell silent, staring into the fiery depths of the hearth.

“This Sara Oakheart,” Golodir spoke again, “She has shed her guise at last, but why did she bear it at all? She was there, that day, when Mordirith was felled, but she did not come to his aid, nor even appeared before the palantír was unguarded. ...Is she allied with him, or isn’t she? And if she is as mighty as you recall, Laerdan, then why has she not risen to strike us all down, here in her own land where none might know?”

A faint shudder passed around the small room, and the fire, the only light to be had this deep in the caverns, sent ominous shadows scurrying about the corners. The two Rangers, Brúnfair and Maerchiniath, regarded their captain warily, but he heeded them not, fierce gaze levelled solely on Laerdan until the Elf at last looked up.

“The majority of Amarthiel’s power, they say, came from a mighty ring: Narchuil, forged by the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in their days under Antheron. Few alive still remember this, and most pass it off as fantasical horror-story. Still, the tale has the right of it. Not a Ring, as Sauron himself helped to forge, and still not one of the Three Rings of Elves, that Celebrimbor himself wrought in secret. A lesser ring, by all account, but evil, and one that could lend devestating power to its bearer.”

“Could? Did she lose it?” Lastadron said, and immediately found himself subject to the full force of Laerdan’s ancient gaze.

“Yes, she lost it, that day upon Fornost hill, but it was not destroyed, and I believe she must seek it still, for her only power without it is the loyalty of her minions, great though that is.”

“What happened to it?” This time it was Brúnfair who voiced the question.

“It was broken, they say, and hidden, but where none know, not even Amarthiel. She has in her possession a palantír now, though, and with it she will learn of its location with time. I am afraid there is little we can do regarding that.”

A silence fell on the chamber then, of consideration and brooding. At last Golodir rose, and drew aside the rough-hewn door that led to the rest of Gath Forthnír. A dim, torchlit hallway lay beyond, and the faint echo of voices could be heard somewhere down it.

“You have endured a great trial,” he said gravely to Lastadron, and as if drawn by his words a wave of exhaustion passed over him. “Rest, and take food. We will plan our next move.”

Areneth, now off duty from the surface, led him to one of the cavernous barracks that housed the Rangers, and he passed out nearly immediately upon lying down. He did not sleep well, though, and his dreams were troubled.

[tiyoin]

pt .3 | 📍pt. 4 | pt. 5

this chapter is disorganized cause i refuse to proofread

there was a festering rot in your heart….

you couldn’t explain it.

you were jealous, you were angry, you were frustrated. most importantly; you were tired.

the days mushed together the more you rotted in bed. your stomach seemed to shrink the less you ate, your eyes began to sag the less you slept.

grim has been a doll, really. always trying to drag you on adventures, always tugging you to go to the monstro with him, or just staying back with you to lay in bed.

the company was much appreciated.

yuu tried to help, they really did… but with being so popular there was only so much screen time the protagonist could give you.

there was some resentment.

and there were the reasoning you told yourself;

why didn’t they invite you out with them?

your social life isn’t their responsibility. they have a life outside of you.

how come they didn’t introduce you to their friends? the only ones you knew were adeuce

they’re allowed to have other friends too, sevens why are you so clingy??

why is it okay for them to do spontaneous plans, yet when you do it it’s a bad time?

they’re a busy bee, just like you’re supposed to be… so they have to work twice as hard when your mental health plummeted.

and yet they do it with a hearty smile a word of understanding. cheering you up momentarily with their kind yet blunt words. telling you to take all the time you mean and that they don’t mind any of the work. truly.

maybe it was guilt that stopping you from asking yuu to introduce you to their friends. i mean, they already do so much and yet here you are. a leech.

sucking off their social life, work life, and home life. maybe you weren’t made to have any friends? maybe you didn’t even deserve to be yuu’s friend.

the muffled sounds of the classroom slowly turned to whispers the more you walked along your brains pathways. the more you discovered more negative things about yourself.

why were you here? there could’ve been anyone else here and yet it was you. if there was someone else here they would be more social, everyone would be having a more fun time, and maybe they could be of use to yuu.

maybe they could’ve played more of a role in the overblots than you, after all you just planned it. the group deciding before hand to not let you in on any of the ‘dangerous missions’ that could get you seriously hurt.

yet that’s how they made friends with each other. if you could make friends that way, you would put the blot in people’s stones yourself.

you sighed, head shaking in silent disagreement.

you looked up at the board a few rows in front of you. it was history class, a class you rather enjoyed. albeit the times and dates weren’t my your favorites. but just hearing about all the events in the past, all the tragic wars, the culture, how people lived in the olden days with magic.

you could only daydream about being some kind of royalty and having lovers fight over your hand with a magical duel.

your imagination slowly started to slip into the chosen daydream.

“y/n!” trein’s face appears- alarm bells sounded through your head as you teared your eyes away from your textbook and resting them on the angry, old man.

“because you love the textbook so much, how about you tell us why kind na’jeri decided to stop the caravans from passing through oasis city for several hundred years after the war of ‘the watering hole’”

trein usual scowling face held a hint of amusement, eyebrow quirked up as the top of his lip started curling.

crap. fuck. you knew this. you knew this. after reading about the handsome king na’jeri you know exactly why he did that.

and yet… the question was wrong, the information was wrong. king na’jeri didn’t not just ban caravans from entering the city, he completely locked the city up. no one could get in or out for several hundred years all because of his paranoia.

yet you froze.

eyes staring back at him in horror as you felt your body heat up. you could physically feel the heat slowly travel along your neck and to your face. where you swore you were turning red with how much you were blushing.

you mouth gaped open a slightly closed, like a fish out of water as your eyes flickered between him and the board. between the board and your textbook.

“ you know this y/n.”

no the fuck you didn’t.

if you did then you wouldn’t be floundering like a fish to get an answer.

and it’s just your luck that the first day you came back to school you would get ambushed by trein. you have gym next and you were surely positive the ghost of vargas was haunting you through the classroom’s window.

YOU KNOW THIS

yet with each passing second more pens stopped and more eyes wandered to you. watching you.

you tightened your fist, suddenly feeling like a monkey in a zoo as all the humans picked and poked at you. laughed and sneered at you.

“u- uhh- uh, king na’jeri.. he ih, decided to close off the city to the car-caravans-“ you cleared your throat a phlegm and took a shallow, yet deep breathe.

deep enough for you to calm your nerves, shallow enough to not make your breathe look obvious.

“he decided to cut off all paths to the kingdom instead of just the kingdom itself. the king was ex-extremely paranoid that the devastation from the war, and another war would happen again if they let outsiders in.” you paused, quick to have your mind catch up.

trein just gave you a nod as the mischief left his face, he opened his mouth to keep going but you weren’t done.

“so-“

“go-

there was an awkward lash of sentence starters.

the boys sitting on either side of you tensed. it was never a good idea to cut off trein. ever. it was never a good idea to talk when he was teaching, let alone talking as that gave you a one way ticket to detention.

you apologized sheepishly, eyes breaking from his as you went to back to mindlessly scanning your textbook. trying to appear busy as you waited for you punishment.

“if you have something to add, then go ahead” looking up, trein gave you a nod as

“s-soo he didn’t just ban caravans from entering the city. in a book i read, they said that he prevented everyone from entering and leaving the city for several hundred years because the paranoia ate at his blood line. there were so many casualties that roughly around 40% of the population was wiped out so to prevent that, the king and the royal family decided to take radical measures..”

“beautifully put y/n.” he smiled, nodding in approval as a spark ignited through your chest, you fought back a giddy smile. you felt so energized. you content...

your smile faltered.

you can’t remember the last time you were so happy.

grabbing your pen, you went to your notepad and started taking notes. started doodling. started doing whatever to distract yourself from the feeling.

“y/n, stay after class for me?” you paused, the grip you had on your thick textbook loosened. curling your fingers against the perked spine, you managed to save it before it crashed down onto your seat.

“ye- yea..” looking back, you shared a look with yuu as adeuce around them started chatting.

waving off the trio, you said you were fine and that they didn’t have to wait. you’d hate for them to miss lunch.

they started walking off the podium, as ace, yuu, and grim all bantering about something you didn’t bother to tune in for.

you weren’t involved in the conversation after all.

“hey y/n” you looked back up, no, down as you saw deuce in front of you. he had an uneasy look on his face as his arms were tightly holding his books against his chest. a little blush adorning his cheeks as he looked up.

“you’re more than welcome to come with us to the cafeteria, you know that right?”

puzzled at where this was coming from, your eyes watched the backs of the redhead and the ravenette as they laughed merrily through the doorway.

you looked back at a now determined deuce, “it get that it’s hard to adjust to a nice environment, believe i know” his smile faltered.

the eyes were the window to the soul as you saw nothing but compassion, understanding in the murky depths of his blue eyes.

the heat came back as you looked to trein. he was sat down at his desk writing. yet this pen seemed to hover too long in the air to be considered ‘writing.’

“i- uh, yeah!” you blurted out, nodding as that was the only thing you could trust yourself doing.

quickly packing up your stuff, you sped down the isle and down the steps and down to deuce.

you should’ve stayed up there, was the first thought you had once you were in front of the fellow freshman.

fixing your hair, you looked back to trein, whose pen was writing a mile a minute, showing no previous signs of stopping.

“ye- yeah! uh, i’ll definitely remember that!” you took another deep breath, finding the courage to once again look him in the eye.

it made everything too… real for you. your body surged uncomfortably as you once again thanked him. “i appreciate it deuce, truly”

the smile on your face felt so natural, so… real that you couldn’t help but look up at the crimson boy.

you could almost chuckle at how the color of his hair contrasted with the red paint on his face. it looks like they missed a rose.

“uh- ye- yeah! no problem! i’m gonna go now” and with that, he ran off.

not before tripping over himself, a loud screech from his sneakers echoing the lecture hall. he looked back bashful, before he sprinted out.

“i’ve never seen a boy in this class get so flustered. and me calling on them unprepared doesn’t count” you brought your attention back to trein.

and yet a horrifying thought bubbled in your head.

you didn’t pass the bechdel test.

i got lazy. plus i have class el oh el

tag list: @xingyunny

[highvern]

Say So

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

Genre: suggestive, frenemies to lovers

Warnings: no actual smut but implied at the end, references to nakedness, Wonwoo gets a boner bc he’s kinda a loser

Length: blurb

Note: enjoy :)

“Hey, Y/N, can I ask you a question?” Wonwoo starts.

You pull your eyes away from the tv screen to look at his face. “Ugh, I guess?”

“Why don’t you go back to your own house and stop bothering us?”

“Sweetie, if you’re in love with me just say it.” You try your best at an earnest expression, proving to piss Wonwoo off more.

“Get out of my house!”

Wonwoo is at his wits end. You’ve been sleeping on the couch of his shared apartment with Mingyu after a leak from upstairs flooded your room. Lucky for you the repairs were only supposed to take a week and a half, unlucky for him since it’s been the hardest (pun intended) week of his life.

At first Wonwoo was more than fine with you staying with them, unbothered by your presence since you were out and about most of the day. In reality, you were a better roommate than Mingyu was sometimes. You cleaned up after yourself, insisted on chipping in on groceries, and caused as few problems as possible. But Wonwoo’s attitude shifted after the first few days, frustration seeping in, leaving resentment to fester.

It started with your showers. You were a night owl like Wonwoo and showered last thing before bed. But it wasn’t when you took your showers that Wonwoo had a problem with, it was more so how. You were rather… vocal during the minutes it took you to bathe. Dreamy sighs and moans prompted by the relaxation of tense muscles penetrated through the wall Wonwoo shared with the bathroom. They filled his brain with foggy images of you naked and wet, skin flushed from the hot water and slick with soap. Even the times you hummed a familiar tune, the throaty noise entranced him him like a siren song, only proving to make his infatuation worse.

Then came the clothes you slept in. At first glance there was nothing wrong with your attire, some variation of baggy shorts and a T-shirt each night. Neither showed enough skin or clung to your figure in a way that was remotely suggestive. But in the mornings, when Wonwoo left his room, he could see the way the fabric rode up from your tossing and turning. Your bottoms bunched around your thighs, accentuating the plush flesh. Your shirt slid up so far it barely covered your ribs, making Wonwoo privy to the fact you sleep without a bra on. One morning, he exited his room to witness your shorts rode up so high he could see the bottom of your ass hanging out. From that day on he refused to come out of his room until he could hear you up and moving.

Wonwoo tried. He really really really tried not to be the weirdo that gets riled up just because a pretty girl is in his general vicinity. Especially when he knows you’re not doing it on purpose. He feels like a pervert when the moans you release in the shower make him hard. Or the fact that since that morning he saw you on the couch his thoughts are haunted by all the ways he would wake you up if you were in his bed in the morning.

“You wanna kiss me so bad, Wonwoo.” Your teasing suggestion pulls him back to the present.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” He’s trying his best to stay cool; however, the blush that races across his face and burns the tips of his ears could be spotted a mile away.

“That’s not a no.” You sing, turning around on the couch to face where he stands in the kitchen. Your head tilts to the side, gaze daring him to correct you.

“Yeah well it’s not like you’re any better.” It’s a weak response but he hopes it’ll get you off his back before he does something embarrassing.

“You’re right…”

He says nothing. He can’t have heard you correctly. Even so, Wonwoo is pretty sure his heart has stopped beating.

“I want to kiss you.” Your eyelashes flutter and now Wonwoo knows for certain he’s hallucinating.

“You what?”

“I. Want. To. Kiss. You.” Each word is enunciated, clear as can be.

You wait for a response, but Wonwoo doesn’t look like he’s even registering your words let alone comprehending what you’ve asked him for. You’re beginning to lose your nerve when he shakes his head.

“I—“ he clears his throat and starts towards the couch, “I can do that.”

Across town, Mingyu is unaware how very lucky he is to be sleeping at his girlfriend’s apartment for the night.

[munsonmuses]

Noise Complaint

Modern day AU

College Boy Eddie Munson x RA Reader

Inspiration credit to my dear friend Bug, who listens to my ramblings about being an RA at my teeny little university. And dropped the idea of Eddie being a resident. Thank you @munson-blurbs

Warnings: Shameless smut with light buildup, definitively just a bunch of hate fucking, p in v, oral (reader receiving) reader has female anatomy but isn’t referred to directly as a woman, light choking, creampies, light amateur bondage, Eddie is a shithead and kind of a bully (and kind of a kinky mf)

Word Count: 2.6k

This is mostly to tide y’all over until the next chapter of Spiritual Reserves

——

You carefully walked your weekly Thursday night rounds of the building, each floor more boring than the last. A menial task between desk shifts, programs, door decs, duty phone calls and staff meetings. Lightly drumming your hands along your hips as you listened to your music through your earbuds. Humming along to Moonwalker as you finished your rounds on the fifth floor. Keying into your room and flipping down on your bed, going to close your eyes.

Until violently interrupted by the incessant ringing of your duty phone, picking up and frowning deeply to yourself. “Thank you for calling the Creel Hall Duty Phone, what seems to be the problem?” You spoke in a customer service voice, carefully waiting before hearing a familiar sigh as you quirked a brow. “Nancy?”

Your coworker, Nancy Wheeler worked the front desk while you did rounds, and called you every Thursday around midnight. Each time it was the same thing.

“Hey um, Jason Carver called again, about being unable to stay in his dorm room, as his roommate is playing music too loudly, as always…” she spoke softly as you pushed yourself to sit up, sighing in frustration.

“Room three forty nine right? Down the west wing…it’s Eddie Munson? Again?” You asked, earning a confirming hum as you wished her goodbye and pushed to your feet. Slipping on your house shoes and making the trek down to the third floor.

As you descended the stairs, the loud screeching of an electric guitar through a well abused amp grew louder. Causing your brain to rattle as you grit your teeth. Pushing down the hall and stopping at the door. There was a white board stuck to the front, with a messily scrawled poll on it, something that changed each week. Likely Munson’s doing. Although a bit of a social reject, he took attention in any way he could get it. Much to your chagrin as you pounded on the door.

And again…

And again.

By the third knock, the playing stopped as the door flew open, Eddie Munson stood with a shit eating grin. Currently chewing on spearmint gum that wafted on his breath as you crinkled your nose. Wearing nothing more than black sweats wearing the schools logo, his rings, and his hair in a low bun. Tattoos littering his arms and chest, a tattoo of gnashing fangs on his ribs as you rolled your eyes.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Did someone narc again, or do you just wanna see me that bad, trying to sneak a free concert mmm?” He asked with a grin as you cleared your throat.

“You do this every goddamn Thursday. If it’s not loudly playing music? It’s you and your idiot friends racing the halls. Or you holding the main lobby hostage, or losing your id and getting locked out. It’s only ever on Thursdays. If anyone wants to see anyone bad, it’s you wanting to see me-“ you hissed as you jutted your chin towards the inside of his room. Signaling you wanted to be let in as he gallantly threw his arm out, gesturing for you to enter as he bowed lightly. Earning a sneer from you as he relished in your contempt. He drew a sort of joy from your anger in him, the attention was invigorating. In being refused love so much by his peers in high school, he’d learned to adore the hate that was sent his way.

Hate festers, it meant he was always in the minds who despised him, like a catchy commercial jingle from the early 2000’s.

He watched as you poked around his half of the room. Littered with posters, lewd art, and piles of clean and dirty clothes. The light smell of sweat, spearmint and pine coming with him as you scoffed lightly at him.

His amp was in the center of the floor right by the foot of his bed, something you clearly missed as you fell, landing flat on your stomach and chin on the cold tile with a sturdy thud. Groaning in pain as Eddie’s smile faltered and he immediately walked over, offering a hand to help you up.

“Holy shit I am so sorry, are you okay?” He asked as he held his hand out to you, watching as you took his forearm in your hand, before yanking him down as he met the same fate. Harshly hitting the floor as you laughed at him harshly. Snorting at him as he held his mouth, his two front teeth having lightly punctured his lip. Not enough to split it, but enough to draw blood.

“You are the only resident I have problems with…” you started as you glared at him harshly. “You’re loud, messy, pushy, you torment the hall-“ you continued as he glowered at you while sitting up.

Licking the blood from his bottom lip, he looked at you bitterly as he quietly listened, cutting you off.

“You’re a prissy, shrill, overly sensitive brat-“ he hissed, big eyes dark as he looked you over as you hummed.

“I’m doing my job Munson, I get paid to do this-“ you hissed as you looked at his lips. Full, pouty, with the crimson stain of fresh blood.

“You need to get fucking laid, maybe then you’ll pull the stick out of your ass-“ he snapped as he leaned in closer. “Stuck up bitch.”

“Idiot.” You hissed back, getting closer as you bumped the tip of your nose with his own, earning a growl from Eddie.

Your skin was prickling with heat as you stared him down. Trying not to fold as you felt his breath fanning across your lips.

Before you could fully process, he pushed his lips against yours. Harsh and feverish as you groaned into his mouth. The light taste of iron mingling with the spearmint in his mouth as you shuddered lightly. Letting him pull you in tight by your sweatshirt as you ran a hand up the back of his neck. Undoing his bun as you tangled your fingers into the base of his scalp, brown trellises of hair tangling around your fingers.

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed as you pulled back for air, glaring at him as he rolled his eyes. Discarding his gum and pulling you to stand with him.

Backing you up, he pushed you up against the metal and wood bed frame that held his shambles of bedding. Continuing his kissing at you as he pawed at your sweatshirt, getting it off and over your head as you shuddered. His hands so warm opposed to the cold trapped within the room.

“For a total bitch? You have great tits…” he murmured as he lightly took hold of them. Large and calloused hands groping and squeezing, earning soft whines and heavy breaths from you as he laughed. His thumb and forefinger taking hold of your stiffening nipples, lightly pinching and twisting as you whined out his name, clearly worked up as he laughed lightly to himself.

“You’re a lot nicer to listen too when you’re not bitching at me…” he mumbled in your ear, lightly nipping at the lobe as you shuddered harshly.

Trailing your hands down his chest, you worked your fingers down, stopping over the stiff outline of his cock as you lightly ran your hand over him and earned a light but deep groan from him. Working your other hand into his waistband as you went to work his sweats off. Earning a harsh pinch on your left nipple as you looked at him.

“We’re doing this my way. I’m in charge now.” He insisted harshly. “Now, up on the bed.” He pat your hip to motivate you, watching as you used the step stool to get up and sit on the mattress. Watching as he rooted around in his closet quietly.

He apparently found what he was searching for, coming over with a well worn black belt in hand. Quietly climbing into the bed alongside you as he hummed.

In silence, he took your wrists, wrapping the belt around them firmly, and around the wooden bar at his headboard. Pulling tight as he checked to make sure they weren’t so tight he’d cut off circulation. Once sure, he hummed in approval and lightly pat your cheek. “Good, you look so pretty like this…” he cooed down at you, watching as you chewed on your lower lip and nodded lightly. The confidence in you dwindling.

“You’re a lot prettier when you’re not making everyone’s ears bleed you cu-“ you were cut off by a harsh kiss, his hand lightly making its way up your stomach and chest. A gentle pressure applied to the sides of your throat. A gentle choking sensation applied as you moaned lightly into his mouth. Feeling his cock twitching against your thigh as you gave into the kiss.

Eddie pulled back for air, lightly patting your cheek as he released his light hold on your throat. Sliding his way back down to the edge of the bed.

His hands took hold of your waistband, working off your shorts and underwear agonizingly slow. Eyes trained on yours as you whined lightly.

“Hurry the fuck up-“ you hissed out as Eddie smacked your inner thighs lightly. Glaring at you as he rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking impatient…” he muttered before working his hand further in, humming as he lightly cupped you in his hand. Running his middle finger up your slit. Stopping at your clit as he worked in small, circular motions. Watching your face as your lashes fluttered and your mouth formed a soft ‘o’ shape. “There we go, see? I can do a lot more with these hands besides playing guitar like a fucking god…” he hummed out softly as he continued. Drawing soft moans from you as he nodded.

Applying a bit more pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves, he laughed lightly as he gently worked on getting you relaxed. He was a dick, but he was considerate. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this…all pink in the face, mouth open…let’s give them some real noise to complain about,” you could see him cringe a bit at his statement, cocky and a bit cheesy.

He pulled your legs apart slowly, bowing his head down as he placed soft and deep kisses along your inner thighs and trailing inwards. His lips stopping at your clit as he pressed a slow and deep kiss to it, humming lightly as he tentatively listened for your reaction. Wanting to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable or unhappy with his actions.

“Eddie don’t tease…fucking hell.” You hissed as he laughed lightly. Taking it a step further as he lightly sucked on your clit, circling it slowly with his tongue and applying tentative amounts of pressure. Earning a full moan from you as he carefully worked on his middle finger. Pressing in slowly as he curled and flexed his finger. Getting you to cum first was his goal.

He kept his ministrations going, refusing to let up unless asked as he laughed lightly. Sending vibrations through you as you arched your back lightly, pressing further into his face. “Fuck! Eddie keep going-“ you demanded as he eased in a second finger. Beginning the slow thrusting and curling. Flexing his fingers apart as he increased the pressure on your clit. Feeling your walls flutter around his fingers as he sped up. Getting a bit overeager as your thighs clamped around his head and squeezed.

Your eyes rolled back as you cried out desperately, babbling. Eddie was right, you did need to get laid. The stress of the job was melting off your shoulders as the knot in your lower abdomen came undone. Earning a desperate cry from you as you came, soaking his mouth and chin as he hummed. Pulling his fingers out as he worked in his tongue slowly, humming as he made his way back up and eventually pulled away entirely. Sitting up as he looked at you.

“So fucking good…” he eased both fingers into your mouth, urging you to taste yourself as he hummed. “See sweetheart,” he crooned, laughing lightly to himself as he pulled his digits from your obedient mouth. Patting your cheek lightly and getting to work on removing his own bottoms.

His cock was undeniably hard, unable to be ignored as he hummed and slowly stroked himself. His other hand grabbing your chin and tilting your head down to get a look at him.

“Watch me. Don’t take your eyes off of me, I want you to watch me fuck you…” he ordered as you nodded your head lightly, watching as he lined himself up, and got to work.

Pushing into you, he groaned lightly. Watching as your mouth fell slack and lashes fluttered. Grinning in pride as he eased in inch by inch. Panting and rambling praise as he bottomed out within you. Holding your hips firmly in his hands as he lightly rolled his hips.

“So fucking gorgeous, you take my cock so well honey…” he took hold of your calves. Bending your legs up and back before pulling them upwards over his shoulders. Pressing light kisses to your ankles and calves, before biting down lightly as he took a deep and long thrust.

Your head fell back, eyes rolling back as you moaned desperately. Unable to fight the pleasure that washed over you in overwhelming waves. Moaning desperately as you clenched your fists and whined desperately. “Don’t fucking stop, good god-“ you growled out as you took each bruising thrust. Eddie was filled with lust and stamina, his hips knocking into the backs of your thighs as you grinned. “So good-“ you whined lightly.

Eddie laughed to himself as he listened, his thrusts deep and overdrawn as he rocked into you. Each thrust felt deeper than the last, the pressure building up was addicting. His necklace thumping with each thrust against his chest. Your breasts lightly bouncing as he drank in the sight of you. You were gorgeous underneath him. Fucked out and pliant as he pat your cheek.

“Don’t stop looking at me sweetheart. Look at what you do to me…look at how good you make me feel.” He ordered as he felt himself getting worked up, losing a bit of control as he grinned to himself:

He leaned forward, pressing your legs into your chest as he angled your hips upwards. Causing him to reach deeper inside you, grinning. “You’re squeezing me real good, see, you can be real nice to have around…nicer to look at from this angle at least~” he cooed in a patronizing manner as he grinned.

The cacophony of moans, thrusts, panting, and the creaking of the mattress felt ridiculously loud. Flooding your brain and making your brain feel like putty as the pressure in your abdomen grew. Stomach growing tight as you whined.

“Eddie? I’m gonna cum-“ you whined as he laughed lightly.

“Not yet honey, not till I say…” he insisted as he kept his thrusts going. Making sure to hold you firmly in place beneath him. He was drunk on you.

“I’m getting close sweetheart, so what you’re gonna do is cum with me…okay? Can you do that?” He punctuated each question with a harsh thrust as you nodded your head obediently. “Good-“ he hummed as he carefully sped up, leaning down ad he pressed impossibly deeper.

Nose to nose with you, he hummed. His breaths growing ragged as he held onto your chin. “Now-“ he pushed.

You let go, whining as a searing white wave of pleasure rolled over you. Your orgasm rocking you as you whined. Coming back from your delirium as you felt the heat of his own orgasm filling you. His light rutting causing some to spill over as you whined and groaned.

Pressing a light kiss to your lips, Eddie hummed. “Same time next Thursday?”

——

Taglist: Open

@munson-blurbs

[sapphic-scylla]

Nimona illuminates the final part of my entire gender crisis and not only what led up to who I am but the truth of who I am and who I know myself to be.

I use she/her, they/them, and any and all pronouns.

I grew up knowing I was different like most trans people. I could never explain it because I never had the words. That inability to understand what any of my confused and festering feelings meant.

I grew up alone. I had family, but they were so invested in turning me into the ideal man that they refused to meet me at my level.

As I entered school, friends didn’t last very long. My longest friendship was 4 months until I entered college. I still don’t talk to anyone from high school because no one cared to invest their time into me. So I stayed lonely.

It had been long past the time I’d discovered it was a gender issue. At 12, I discovered that being a guy at all was distasteful to me. Acting masculine felt like I was pouring acid on my skin while being told to not act feminine was, fittingly, like stifling tears. You know they want to come out and they will eventually and you can’t stop it no matter how hard people tell you not to, but you bottle it anyways because people won’t like you if you cry.

That bottling.

That shoving down all of those trans emotions.

They don’t go away.

And when you also live in Utah, the state of the high and mighty. The self-righteous. And you hear EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. For 21 years. “Being gay is a sin.” “Being trans won’t get you to heaven.” Hearing the scoffs of disapproval at a guy acting feminine. Seeing the bullying. Witnessing the abuse and control your parents carve into you by saying things like “stop acting like that” or “walk it off” or “you do what we tell you because you live in our house.”

They wait. And they bubble.

It’s like a volcano. Pressure builds. For 10 years, it builds. And that volcano does release steam every once in a while. But it sits. And waits. Until it can’t anymore. And then…

People used to think volcanos were monstrous creatures that sat beneath the earth. It’s not true for real volcanos. It’s true for people.

It hit in high school. All of that pent up frustration. All of that anger and rage and sorrow. Just slowly releases for 5 years. And the wild thing is that it just. Kept. Going. I hit 22-23 and I was still ripping my own world to shreds. Friendships, family relationships, a marriage. All torn into tatters.

And it wasn’t just the undiagnosed ADHD. It was a person who kept forcing herself to fit into the boxes and the roles and the expectations of a girl who was trying to fit the mold of a lie. A false ideal. A belief that someone else had shackled her with.

And when she broke those shackles, she saw how people saw her.

As a monstrosity. An abomination. A creature. A demon. A nameless entity that people refused to care about or accept.

That monstrosity tried to kill herself 3 times over that span of 7-ish years, almost adding another tally to Utah’s record of being the state with the most suicides. Because like Nimona said…

"I don't know what's scarier. The fact that everyone in this kingdom wants to run a sword through my heart... or that sometimes, I just wanna let them."

I’m much better now. After my marriage fell apart, I got into therapy. I got my ADHD diagnosis and I’m working towards getting an anxiety diagnosis and maybe a few other things that are screaming inside the cage that is my brain.

I’m still not good at making friends. Between the neurodivergence and the transgender pride that I carry and wear out in the open, not a lot of people want to hitch their cart to a fluidflux creature like me.

I don’t bottle my feelings anymore. I also don’t take shit from the people that continue to view my existence as a threat or treat me like a villain, an abomination, and a curse. Because as we all know, people fear what they don’t understand. And even when what they don’t understand is me, a “monster”, they try to kill me or force me outside the walls or attempt to capture, restrain, and shove me into a box.

I considered letting them win several years ago. Never again.

However, that ideal that Nimona carried sits within my soul.

Maybe I am a monster. Maybe it’s why I hyperfixate on gods and monsters and myths and the darker side of the stories we’re told and the creatures that loom in the shadows.

Because I know how the world sees me. They see a monster.

And maybe that’s not so much of a bad thing. Maybe it’s better to be the thing they fear.

[sketchy--akechi]

(apologies for going on rants about it but i have so many thoughts lmao) been looking at the asks and stuff for the palace au and i am. so ill over it already. joker palace aus grab my brain and shake it around so much bc of how it can be played out with how yeah joker's the leader, but with a group where he helped shoulder all their problems and doubts on top of having to destroy a reality where all his friends could have everything and the true reality where he couldn't save a genuine life, it's so???? you think about how they're all teenagers and how much that is so have on one person's shoulders who probably built up a complex of being unable to truly confide in anyone

and giving a deadline is so unique bc i don't think ive seen a palace au with a full deadline. plus there's smthn so like,,, horrifying about being given a deadline for this case?? because it's not just like a deadline until something very bad happens like being arrested or expelled. it's literally a deadline counting down days until someone dies. it's a deadline ticking down until you're too late to save someone from themself and the personification of doubt, grief, anger, blame, and probably hate wearing their face. having to fight so much harder because you missed fighting at the start and the longer it's left to fester the stronger you'll have to be to even have a hope to make up the time difference.

anyway love the au and i am patiently (excitedly) waiting

YEAH IKR!!! honestly ive seen many fics with the concept already but it's still sooo interesting to think about and has so much potential so i wanted to give it a try too and now it's living in my head rent free i LOVE the headcanon that akira feels like he has to shoulder everyone's burdens while not being a burden to his friends himself - he has to be the strong leader, he's the one supposed to help them, and that's why in the fic the phantom thieves can't access his palace, except for akechi - the one person akira wasn't able to help. there's so many negative emotions bottled up inside akira and his shadow truly is the worst version of himself - and he's able to manipulate akira into thinking staying in the palace forever (aka: letting himself get killed by his shadow) is the best solution; even when akechi finally finds him, akira refuses to believe he's real and isn't willing to leave the palace. in most fics i've read akechi was the unhinged one and akira helped him getting better, so i really wanted to reverse the roles here: akechi has more or less moved on from everything that happened and got his shit together, while akira is literally going insane. akira can be a little messed up, as a treat!!!

[yumiis]

TUPELO HONEYYYYY OMG MY MOM USED TO BE OBSESSEDDDD

also not that butt thing by horace trahan being in the suggested 😭😭 thats one where you try to convince him to dance with you to and he refuses cuz he thinks its a dumb song, until someone else comes up to you and offers to dance w you instead and suddenly nothing is funny anymore 💀

ALSO ROPING BACK TO DAD!SCHLATT, HERES A HC THAT HAS FESTERED IN MY BRAIN FOR MONTHS BUT I DONT WRITE ANYMORE SO ITS STAYED IN THERE: when you and schlatt have kids, its like a personal goal to create the most frankenstein accent ever. every new word the kid learns has him hoping they'll say it with a new york/northeast accent while you hope its a southern one. it's turned into a challenge at this point and one day while you're running errands he calls you to rub it in your face your child says "fahrest" instead of "forest" LIKE CHILLLLL.. when they pronounce oil like ole its a huge W for the southern accent enjoyers (™️)

🎲 anon

AAAHH THESE ARE SO GOOD!!! imagine schlatt just does not wanna dance but SUDDENLY someone wants to dance so schlatt sobers up for 2 seconds and decides to dance with you anyways

AND THE ACCENT THING THATS SO FUCKING FUNNY !!!! TO GO TO ACCENTS AND WORDS AND STUFF YOU AND SCHLATT ARGUE OVER WHAT YOUR KID IS GONNA CALL A GROCERY BASKET

"it's called a buggy."

"ITS A CART"

"BUGGY."

"WHO THE FUCK CALLS IT A BUGGY?"

OR WHEN YOU TELL YOUR KID TO GO TO BED YOU SAY "go do-do!!" AND SCHLATT IS LIKE "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO OUR CHILD" LMFAOAOAOO THERES SO MANY THINGS (sorry it's like almost 1am here i'm so tired)

[kylekozmikdeluxo]

#Long post... Diary entry:

At the beginning of May, I went to a presentation at my old high school. A place I haven't stepped foot into since graduation... It was a whirlwind of emotions.

It was an art night, featuring works made by all the grades in town from multiple schools, from kindergarten to high school seniors. My 6-year-old nephew's little ceramics project was part of the show...

I met up with some family, and also hoped to see some faculty from way back when. I had seen some teachers of mine out in the wild every now and then, especially at my movie theater job, but there were some teachers who I haven't seen since 2010. Before, even. Despite all my bad memories of high school, rarely any of them were with the teachers, as such... I would love to see some of them again, and they get to see a much older, better me.

And I did... With one...

I've been making art since I was a kid. Like, when I was really little. Sitting with my paternal grandpa at a workbench of-sorts against a '70s-style wood paneled wall, circa 1995... Drawing trains and all sorts of things, with details and everything. Formative stuff. I draw a lot.

But for a while, I don't think I had any real artistic skills. At least, if I had any, I didn't build on them. Middle school art classes mostly didn't do it for me, I didn't want to do things the "traditional" way. When I had an idea, whether it was for a story or a comic or whatever came to mind, I just wanted to put it on paper. Middle school was a whirlwind time that really chewed me up and spat me out, a place not fit for the particular kind of autistic that I am. And that's not even getting into the confusion over my sexuality, something I really put a lid on for so long. (For context, I barely came out in 2022, months before I turned 30.)

I staggered into freshman year, still holding on despite a few emotional setbacks... And then one day, in a "computer animation" class that was otherwise pretty cool, I was told by another student that I wasn't a good drawer...

Still, freshmen year ended where I was still creating, still drawing, still somewhat hanging on despite a nasty lingering demon of self-hatred that was festering within me month by month. And I think it fully took hold by November 2007. Yes, I memorize months/years when these things happen. My file cabinet brain just does that for some reason.

And this was when I was in a drawing/painting class. I thought my instructor was pretty cool, but I was not where I needed to be, mentally. She wouldn't have known, I was collapsing in real time and I sometimes foolishly showed signs of it. I remember nonchalantly answering a sort-of "what does this art piece mean to you" question on a sheet of paper with "I am a jerk". She was rather taken aback... and within weeks, I just straight-up dropped out of the class. It was a combination of me thinking I was an irredeemable bastard, that I couldn't actually draw, and me still refusing to learn the traditional way so I could in turn establish myself...

One of the biggest mistakes I made in life. I went through most of high school, letting stuff just pass me by. Things I should've gotten involved with, but I was embroiled in self-hatred and later fear of falling back into it... Going about a lot of things so timidly... I had seen this teacher a few times thereafter, up until my senior year. Our encounters were friendly, but that was about it. I don't recall if she ever said "you should've stayed in my class"...

Nearly 11 years later, I got a cum-laude degree in art... That was in June 2018. At age 25 1/2...

And yet at the age of 31 1/2, I feel like I'm still learning things that a lot of very talented artists out there were already learning at - like - age 10. I guess it's all in due time, eh?

So I hear about this art show that my nephew's project is featured in, and it's at the high school I attended... I figured, it'll give me something to do and maybe, just maybe I could bump into somebody I haven't seen since 2010. Maybe meeting someone from the past, be it a classmate (even one that might've disliked me) or a teacher, was a possibility. We're adults now, so, maybe the interaction would be waaaay different...

I got there... Walking through the doors, again, first time in about 14 years... It was a deeply surreal feeling that I just can't describe as I'm writing this... I went down one of the hallways, recognizing it to be the art/studio wing of the building...

There she was... I walked up to her, and after telling her I had her as a teacher... She recognized me. Even though I do NOT at all resemble what I looked like in 2007, or even 2010. I'm an amab enby, my hair is very long, I shave my facial hair, and look way diffferent... Anyways, she recognized me, remembered my name, and we had a lovely chat.

I told her why, after 14 years of processing trauma and bad feelings, I dropped out of her class. She completely understood, and was very happy to hear that I later went on to get an art degree. We talked about a few other things, and overall it was just... Thrilling for me. It was a sense of closure I never knew I was going to get in my life. I hadn't known if she still taught there or not...

And to make the night even better, I bumped into my elementary school art teacher... First time seeing her in person since 2003, and she was thrilled to see me.

It all felt so good, a bright spot in a very up-and-down year. The weird thing is, the future I so feared at age 15 is happening to me now in some way: I'm out as queer, still hiding it from people I know for fear of rejection, I'm trying to live on my own, things keep going wrong, and yet... I'm getting through each day, I'm creating, I'm at least working/making some money, I drive. I'm weathering this all better than 2007/08-era me would've ever guessed...

But, that was a great night, I will cherish it...

[squirrelno2]

remember Tayo? I have more. this is from The Vault and was waiting for this fic to be complete, as my brain is still mush and i am not writing anything new rn, but you know what this snippet can stand on its own just like the last one! the only thing that kills me about this is we still aren't actually at the part where she meets the clone who I made up first but it's fiiine we'll get to her eventually. for now have a sad grieving space lesbian (@what-point-is-there guess what! she's so sad. again. still.)

Uchira had been the studious one. As younglings, whenever Tayo couldn’t find her, she would go to the Archive. Uchira was always there, lekku twitching in concentration as she took feverish notes. She was why Tayo came to the Archive for peace. She was also why Tayo never found it anymore – peace had never been the quiet of the stacks, Tayo was coming to realise, but the quiet of her.

Tayo liked to think that, if she’d been asked to give up her love for Uchira, she could have done it. They’d made a pact, when the bubbly giddiness of their first kiss had died down, that the service of the Jedi and the galaxy always came first.

“I love you, and because I love you I don’t want you to break any vows for me,” Uchira had said intently. “Promise me you won’t choose me over the greater good. I wouldn’t want to have that weight on my shoulders.”

The way Uchira had said it always stuck with Tayo. That weight. Love made her feel like flying away, but as padawans they’d both been on enough dangerous missions they knew what fear for each other felt like. It was a weight, and Tayo didn’t want Uchira to choose her over an innocent citizen any more than Uchira did.

They hadn’t made a plan for what to do if choosing each other wasn’t even an option. Tayo played Geonosis over in her mind frequently, every morning before she got out of bed. There had been no chance to change things, and nothing to feel guilty over. Uchira had been there one second and gone the next. Nobody to sacrifice, and only the Sith to blame. Being a Jedi, Tayo refused to dwell on the blame, because that would mean anger.

The trouble was, without anger, she was left with nothing much.

Tayo suspected her old master knew more than they were letting on. Master Fiqa had encouraged Tayo and Uchira’s friendship as padawans, but they had also pulled Tayo aside shortly before her knighting and spoken to her at length about what it truly meant to stay free of attachment. Tayo had assured the old Iktotchi that she would always prioritise her duties as a Jedi. She thought Master Fiqa believed her; she also thought that Master Fiqa was watching her closely these days, too closely to be casual concern.

Still, Tayo loved her old master, and at least dinners with them meant less chance to sit there alone and remember. Wherever Fiqa invited her, she would go.

This was how they ended up at a small, hole-in-the-wall Mirialan restaurant well below Coruscant’s surface.

“Master Nu tells me you’ve been quite the scholar lately,” said Master Fiqa. Tayo bit her lip, wishing the food would arrive. She’d known this was coming.

“It’s something to do,” Tayo said. She immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“If you let your feelings fester, they will only grow,” Master Fiqa said. “You must let them go. Cry into your food if you have to, they’ve seen worse here.”

“Master,” Tayo said. “I’m not going to cry.”

“Good,” Fiqa said. “Then speak to me.”

To Tayo’s frustration, tears pricked at her eyes at Fiqa’s matter-of-fact tone.

“There’s nothing to say,” she said. “You know what happened.”

“I am not asking for facts, Tayonissa,” Fiqa said intently. “I am asking how you feel.”

Tayo pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, trying to breathe. Her master had always been like this – never content to let Tayo deal with things on her own terms. The worst part was, Uchira had usually agreed with them. Uchira thought that Tayo didn’t deal with her feelings as often as she just walked away from them.

If Uchira was here, the whole sad thing would spill out of Tayo’s mouth. If Uchira was here, there would be no need.

“I feel as well as can be expected,” Tayo said. She shrugged, giving Fiqa an awkward smile. “I don’t know what you want me to say here. We both know Geonosis left its mark on me.”

She tapped her temple hopefully, just where her eyebrow stopped and the scars began. Fiqa didn’t seem swayed.

“It did,” Fiqa said. “So what will you do about it?”

“Do?” Tayo repeated. “What is there to do? Nothing is the same, Master, and with this war it’ll keep happening, and I’m not anyone special. I can’t change the past. I can’t affect the future. There’s nothing I can do.”

That was dangerously close to an admission. Tayo pressed her mouth closed and tried to look less like a scared little girl.

“You blame the war.”

“I don’t blame anyone,” Tayo said. Her voice was shaking. She forced each word out ruthlessly, speeding up in case she lost it before the end. “I know who’s to blame, and who isn’t. I know what happened. I know why we’re at war. I don’t have to like it, but I can’t do a thing about it.”

“No,” said Master Fiqa. “Nor I. But there are some smaller outcomes we do have the power to change. Uchira’s death was wrong, my old padawan, and you have every right to mourn. Will you turn your back on everyone you could help, simply because you cannot change the path of the galaxy at large?”

Promise me you won’t choose me over the greater good. I wouldn’t want that weight.

“Is this about the battalion they want me to command?” Tayo said at last. It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no. Her master, as ever, made some valid points.

“I talked them down,” Master Fiqa said. Tayo couldn’t help but sit back in her seat, sighing explosively.

“They don’t have enough Jedi to turn into soldiers?”

“Tayo,” Master Fiqa said. They both paused as their food finally arrived. Starving and exhausted from the conversation, Tayo tucked into her meal immediately. When she glanced up, she saw Master Fiqa smiling slightly at her.

“What?” she said playfully. “Do my bad table manners make you nostalgic?”

“Yes,” Master Fiqa said. They took a bite of their own meal. “Tayo, I’ve convinced them you would be a good fit for relief missions.”

Tayo nearly swallowed too soon, and hacked into the back of her throat to keep herself from choking. When she’d chewed properly, she sat back once more, watching her old master. There was only sincerity in their face. Tayo suspected that others might not be so genuine – she had a feeling the non-Jedi in charge of this new army thought all the Jedi who refused to take on proper combat roles were weak, especially given a few of the things she’d heard after she categorically refused command. Still, relief missions weren’t fighting. As Master Fiqa had said, what good would it do to leave people to suffer, just because Tayo was upset she couldn’t stop this war altogether?

“So not really war, then.”

“You may see combat,” Master Fiqa warned. “Breaking blockades. Protecting innocents. The Separatists will likely target you, even if you’re on a mission of mercy.”

Everything was too good to be true, if it was good at all. Tayo thought about it.

“I get to work like a regular Jedi, though, right?” she said. “On my own.”

“This isn’t a diplomatic mission,” Master Fiqa said, and for the first time in a very long time there was a brittle sort of fury in their face. “Or even some planetary conflict. You are not doing this alone.”

“I’m not putting anyone else at risk!” Too much. Tayo searched for something to save face. “What kind of Jedi would I be?”

“Tayonissa Miran. You are a servant of the Republic, and to do your job you are going to have to take command in some way. More than that, a Jedi should know that there are things we cannot do alone. More than that…”

Master Fiqa’s face crumpled with sadness. Tayo’s throat swelled.

“I do not wish to lose you,” Fiqa said. “My padawan. You are a good and kind Jedi, and I foresee you doing great things. They all require that you remain alive.”

Tayo rubbed her face, and winced as she pressed too hard into the new scar tissue at her temple.

“I never replaced my lightsabres,” she said at last. “And how many people are we talking, exactly?”

She hadn’t realised how stiffly Master Fiqa had been sitting until they relaxed.

“Just a small squad,” they promised. “Eight men.”

Tayo forced a smile and finally returned to her food. Eight. She could handle eight people.

[flipomatic]

Say It - Chapter 3: Armed and Ready

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Author Note: Some chapters will have both points of view like this when necessary. Also, this chapter is pure angst.

_________________________________________________________

The rooftops were dark, far outside the reach of the streetlamps below and obscured from the fragmented moon by dense grey clouds. It didn’t bother Blake since her eyes could easily adjust to the dark. It did feel oddly fitting though, to be surrounded by shadows like this. She leapt from one rooftop to the next, heading towards the nearby docks. If she had even an ounce of luck left then she’d be able to catch one going to Menagerie.

At this point she doubted that though, considering how the city had fallen into chaos around her. Considering how… Blake shoved that thought back down before it could fully form, pausing at the edge of the roof instead of continuing to the next one. She clenched her fists, fingernails digging deep into her palms. Beneath her bow her ears flattened tightly against her head and pain rose in her throat.

It was no use; her efforts weren’t enough. No matter how hard Blake tried to suppress it, the thought still formed in her brain. It was too bad that she couldn’t run away from her own mind.

Considering what Adam did to Yang, she didn’t just have no luck. Nope, that wasn’t a strong enough way to define it. Blake had luck that was purely horrid and rotten to the core. Bad enough that it lashed out and harmed those around her, reverberating from her life like an infectious disease. All she had wanted was a place to belong, somewhere that she could call home while she trained and finished growing up.

Instead, Blake’s past reared its head and tore her home viciously away from her. She should’ve known he would come for her, should’ve predicted how he would react. She used to be much better at that, before she left the White Fang. The tightening of his jaw or twitch of his hand were subtle signs of rage, but today his intention was spoken clearly from his lips.

“I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love.”

Blake could still hear those words even in the still silence of the night, carrying all the cold spite that Adam possessed. They hung over her like a guillotine. No, she corrected herself with a shudder, they hung over all of the people in her life.

They leered over Ruby, her optimistic young leader who had already suffered enough in the fall of Beacon. Blake knew she had been found unconscious on the tower; she couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen if she fought Adam. The words jeered at Weiss, who she had become closer with despite their differences. If he encountered Weiss, there was little doubt in Blake’s mind that Adam would kill her without hesitation. She could envision their bodies in her mind, lying injured the same way Yang had.

Yang… Adam had already hurt Yang, as he had turned and been damned with the luck to see her running by. After he attacked, through her desperation and pain Blake had somehow managed to pick Yang up and get them out alive. The two escaped, yet so many important things were left behind.

Adam would be back; Blake knew that. The notion had settled deep in her heart while they waited for transport in front of the school, festering and spreading roots as she later watched Yang be examined in the emergency medical tent.

They also helped Blake there, bandaging her side to stop the bleeding. As soon as the bleeding stopped, she turned to leave the tent. She couldn’t be there anymore, couldn’t stay in one place any longer. Weiss hovered over Yang as they examined her arm, and she stayed behind without a word.

Even being outside the tent didn’t settle her nerves, with Blake’s hands still shaking as she paced the camp. No matter how much she wrung them together or told herself that they were safe now, her hands refused to stop. She knew those words weren’t true, that they had lost and Adam was still out there. Blake knew that she would only bring misfortune and pain the longer she stayed here.

Beacon had become her home, team RWBY her family, and for that reason she had to go.

Blake’s feet carried her one step towards the medical tent before she left, the movement almost an unconscious one.

Yang probably wasn’t awake yet; if she was then Blake would’ve been able to hear her even from this far away. She wouldn’t know if Blake stopped by or not. And if she was awake… what would Blake even say to her?

She had already apologized so many times out loud and in her head. Blake apologized for letting her get hurt, for being a coward, and for drawing Adam to her. There was more she could say, other words that drifted through her mind, but they would only cause Yang more pain when Blake left.

The ache in her own heart as she thought them wasn’t a factor, the heaviness deep in her chest, or at least she willed it to be so. It was making it a lot harder to leave. It was also why she needed so desperately to go.

Blake couldn’t go talk to her, couldn’t force herself to take those steps let alone open her mouth and speak. Instead, she turned in the opposite direction and scanned the rooftops around the makeshift camp.

It hadn’t been hard to find an opening to vanish; everyone was far more concerned about locating missing students than keeping track of already found ones. That led her to the rooftops, with each leap taking her farther and farther from her team. Each step protected them from her even more.

That was what she repeated to herself as she forcefully dragged the back of one hand along her eyes, ripping away the moisture forming there.

Another unwelcome thought surfaced, a wondering about if Yang was awake yet. If she knew that Blake was gone.

Blake leapt to the next rooftop without looking back. She ignored the searing in her stomach and weight in her feet, pushing forward towards the docks. Yang was in more pain than her, all because of her mistakes.

Before sunrise she would be on a boat home, ironically in a place where the White Fang would be unlikely to look for her.

This would never happen again.

_____________________________________________________________

“Blake!” Yang called out the instant her eyes flashed open, the right side of her body screaming in pain as she sat up to keep fighting. Her heart hammered in her chest, way too fast despite the fact that she was sitting down. Where was Blake? She had been right there with that other guy. Her blood pulsed painfully in her head and her right…

Oh, she remembered. She wasn’t flying across the room towards the White Fang member, wasn’t running to protect Blake. Her left arm, which was extended out in front of her, trembled violently.

Yang had lost.

After a few hazy blinks to clear her gaze, she was able to take in her surroundings. Beneath her wasn’t the rubble of Beacon’s cafeteria, but instead she could see a bright orange emergency cot supporting her from laying on the ground. Around her were the grey walls of a tent, which rustled as a gust of wind blew by.

There was only one other person in the tent with her, whose presence sent an immediate wave of relief through Yang. She had last seen Weiss exhausted in front of the school, and she’d clearly been in a few more fights between then and now. Her usually pristine clothes were spotted with dirt and littered with tears, hair disheveled and unkempt. She looked up towards Yang with uncharacteristically wide eyes, exhaustion clear on her face. That expression immediately vanished back into a more pensive frown.

“It’s okay, Yang.” Weiss said as she rose to her feet, placing a hand on Yang’s shoulder. “You’re safe now.” Her tone was steady, even though her grip was light. Though her tone sounded sincere, those words rung falsely in Yang’s ears. Safe, was she? Without her arm, how could she be. That was a thought for later; there were other urgent problems right now.

“Where is Blake?” Yang asked, pulling away from Weiss’ touch. She inhaled sharply as another realization struck. “And Ruby?” She hadn’t spoken with her sister since the call from earlier, right after everything started.

The way Weiss’ lips tightened at the question sent a cold chill down Yang’s spine. “Blake carried you out of the school. She went to help after they patched her up.” That didn’t sound so bad, at least she was safe.

“Ruby…” Weiss faltered as she continued, breaking eye contact to look down towards her feet with a heavy sigh. “She’s being transported to a proper medical facility. They found her on the tower, but she…” Weiss hesitated again. “She doesn’t appear to have any injuries, but she won’t wake up.”

Yang swung her feet around to the side of the cot, setting them firmly against the cold ground. When she tried to put her weight on them to stand, she barely made it an inch from the surface as the world spun around her. She reached back to support herself, stumbling and catching herself haphazardly on her left arm. The other couldn’t reach and would’ve only caused her more pain if it had.

“I have to go.” Yang shifted her weight lifted her hand to her forehead. The tent had become tilted in front of her, keening over to the left side. Her right arm throbbed with a bone deep ache. Even though she had barely moved her breathing felt labored.

Weiss stepped out in front of her, shaking her head. “Not yet, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Her ice blue eyes shined with concern, and she had one hand reached forward  to catch Yang if she tried to stand again.

But Yang didn’t. She allowed her left hand to fall back to the cot, head hung forward to face the ground. Her sister was unconscious, harmed by some unknown assailant, and she couldn’t even go be by her side. She was stuck here, not even able to so much as support her own weight. She failed now just as she had back then.

Weiss grimaced, hands falling slowly to her sides. For just a moment she glanced at Yang’s arm, then turned away towards the tent entrance.

“I’ll go tell Blake that you’re awake.” With those words she vacated the tent and left Yang alone with her thoughts.

There was nobody that Yang wanted to be alone with less, except perhaps the White Fang man who had cut her arm off. Her toes dragged against the ground as her thoughts began clouding the small space. They bounced around the walls, hammering into her skull with immense precision.

That she had failed to protect her sister, her partner, and herself was an inescapable fact. There was no way to hide from it, nowhere to leave these thoughts. The result of her failure was clear as day and her body would never be the same again. It was hard to think that anything in her life would be the same, after the way Beacon was destroyed.

Yang looked at her left hand, the only one she had left. She clenched it into a tight fist and squeezed her fingers together. She didn’t look at her other side, where the other arm was missing.

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted Yang’s thought, dispelling the ones that lingered in the air around her. At the entrance to the tent, Weiss had returned.

Yang expected to see Blake behind her but was greeted by Sun instead. He also appeared weary from battle and had large holes in the fabric of his shirt.

Though Weiss’ mood hadn’t been cheery before, in fact it was downright glum from the moment Yang asked her about Ruby, now it seemed to be even worse. She walked slowly towards Yang, hands fidgeting together in front of her body. Behind her, Sun’s lips were tilted in the deepest frown Yang had ever seen on his face. When his eyes met Yang’s, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What happened?” Yang asked, considering making a joke but leaving out a joke for once.

Weiss looked back at Sun, then at Yang again. She grimaced, like what she was about to say physically harmed her. “Blake is gone.” Those three words shook Yang’s world even more than trying to stand up had.

“What do you mean, gone?” She asked, looking back and forth between the two frantically. “You said she was here, she can’t be gone.”

“She left. Half an hour ago, I saw her along the rooftops.” Sun’s voice cracked as he spoke, the words driving another nail into Yang’s heart. “She isn’t answering her scroll.” His lips continued moving after that, mouthing another two words silently. Yang couldn’t accept the silent apology; it wasn’t his fault.

“She still might come back.” Weiss cut in, her voice coming up in a clearly forced way.

Yang scoffed at that, surprise receding and being replaced by a nauseating rage. “I doubt it.” She picked her feet back up, laying down again on her cot.

“Yang-“ Weiss only said one word before being interrupted.

“Let me know if you hear about Ruby.” Yang dropped her remaining arm over her eyes, fighting the growth of hot tears starting to form beneath.

She couldn’t see what Weiss was doing any longer, but she could still hear her quiet response. “Of course.”

The sound of two pairs of footsteps leaving followed, abandoning Yang with her thoughts once again. If they had been sharp before, that was nothing compared to now.

Blake had left, disappeared into the night. After everything they had done together, the time spent as a team and as partners, she was gone. When the going got tough, when Yang got hurt, Blake ran away.

Was this Yang’s fault too?

Maybe it was.

She wasn’t able to protect anyone, not herself, not her sister, and certainly not Blake. Who would want to stay with a person like that?

Yang wanted to ask her why. Why did she decide to leave? Why had she been Yang’s partner in the first place if this was how it was going to end up?

She wanted to tell her to come back, that she needed her here. To tell her that even hurt they could rise again, that Yang cared about her and would protect her properly next time.

But she couldn’t, she had no choice in the matter. No matter how loud she shouted Blake would never hear her, would never know how she felt or the pain radiating through her heart. She didn’t think it was possible to hurt worse than her arm, but the pain that settled deep in her chest was managing it.

This time, when the tears gathered in Yang’s eyes she let them come.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to keep fighting, if there was anything worth standing for now.

[sessakag]

I can't thank you enough for sharing your struggles. A lot of people treat mental illness like its a big secret or like people that struggle are demons. I have bipolar too and its nice to be able to know im not alone. Are you pure bp or is there another on it too. I have bipolar and ocd. I hate the med cycle too. its always up and down every time a melt down happens and trying to get help is awful. sometimes id rather just suffer than to hear everybody telling me theres nothing they can do to help.

Oh no, it'd be too easy to just be bipolar, lol. I've got bipolar II and comorbid borderline, so it's like up and down all damn day. If I'm not trippin on bipolar, the bpd is acting up. Trying to treat one lets the other just fester, and then shit gets crossed, docs are shaking their head like wtf, and I end up in a damn hospital like wtf now? And the fucking stigma is CRAZY. How the hell do you have stigma against a mental illness in the mental health field?? Make it make sense! I have dealt with so many practices that refuse to take BPD patients because of the difficulty in treating it. Then you finally get a doc qualified to deal with it and somehow, someway, they bounce, and you get shoved to a different doc and have to start all over again. It's like an endless cycle of getting broken, getting half repaired, then getting broken down again over and over, then you lose your shit and folks are like "what's wrong with you?" 🤦🏾‍♀️And the med cycle, omgl. There's a pill for everything, and I swear it's like being on life support, you're just artificially being pushed through the human cycle. Pill to sleep, pill to stay awake, pill to stop the hyper activity in your brain, pill to treat the depression, pill to fight the effects of the other pills, then god FORBID you fall off the bandwagon or one of those damn pills stop having an effect and you have to readjust those meds. It's like being turned on your damn head, you're just dazed and tired, and angry and hopeless and like you say, don't wanna keep reaching out for help anymore. That's the kicker, since middle school people tell you, "there's help out there" and I'm like, where???? Where is it? Getting into a clinic is ti's own terrible battle, staying in treatment, funding treatment, getting the appropriate treatment in the first place, nobody mentions any of that, and sometimes I feel like folks don't care about it. That band aid phrase is thrown out, and folks wash their hands of the situation. One and done. Ya stepped through the door of a clinic and everything is fine now. Everything is not fine. This system is fucked up.

Anyway, I'm done ranting. I'm just so damn frustrated with myself and the system.

I'd love to just be fuckin normal.

On a positive note though, I'm glad my sharing helped you, and in turn, your sharing has helped me too.

[glassautomaton]

Hi Glassy, seems like I've been half of your inbox lately, haha! I've got a lot of questions that fester in my brain though, so I suppose that's half of an excuse.

Anyway, last night, I was wondering about Omega-7, I was wondering if you had a specific timeline for that? Wodering how the Foundation was able to retrieve Iris from the clutches of an angry Summerian Warrior as well haha, did she escape? Or did they sweep through after thinking everyone was dead and found her half alive?

Also, would you ever make a tale set in Omega-7 or where Omega-7 is the main subject? I think that you would do wonderful with making that!

Anyway, Iris, Beatrice, and Adrian swirl around in my brain like some horrible broken found family smoothey, so any information that you want to share about them is welcome! :]

Not quite sure what you mean in terms of a specific timeline for Omega-7. I'll be honest in saying that I've had a bit of trouble in really getting into the nitty-gritty of how all that would fit in with DA, more specifically Able's character. I have a couple ideas with how I want to take him, but he's just... a little hard to fit in? I dunno. I could get into it (I've spent a while thinking about him) but that isn't what this ask is about, though I could type it out of someone wants. These asks have been a good way of getting things in order in my head.

In terms of a general timeline, Iris was taken in when she was 13. Adrian joined the team shortly before and stayed relatively close with Iris, and acted a bit like a liaison between Able's team and Iris' team, which Beatrice was on. Adrian spent a lot of time with Able and took the brunt of that - he changed over the course of the task force. Iris did as well, though not quite in the same way, as Adrian went from someone who was ultimately well-intentioned but trying his best to someone who was extremely cynical and divisive, while Iris started off idyllic and naive and became more and more worn down and jaded.

Eventually, Iris is pushed to kill someone but refuses, which is where the flashback with Adrian in Voices Carry Part 4 takes place. Iris was taken off the team while things were sorted out, and Adrian was injured (leading to all the stuff with 784-ARC) and Able went on his rampage during this time. Iris was at a different location, but given her photos to see if she could stop Able. This was a last-ditch effort to contain him, and hey, if Iris got more comfortable with killing as a result, then that was two birds with one stone.

Iris is unable to do this, and is injured as seen in Voices Carry Part 2, a memory that formed essentially a deep scar, something I wanted to use a bit of imagery to convey there. That leads right into the start of Kill the Feeling, which starts when Iris is 15.

As for writing Omega-7 tales, that's a definite maybe. I think I'll have more flashbacks to that time moving forward, as Iris' relationship to Adrian will have to be expanded upon a bit more in the future if I stick with my current plans. I could write entire articles that take place mostly in that time period if need be, but time will tell. But I do want to spend more time in the future looking back at that stuff.

As a bit of a side note, I'm trying to figure out how much of the 784 incident I want to keep as canon in my series. 784-ARC is canon, as it was mentioned in Redwood Labs, but as for the actual events I might end up retooling them a little bit if the need arises. I think that's another thing I'll have to go back and reread with a more critical eye, but the last time I did that for Olympia Project it didn't exactly impress me.

[somecrazybitch]

It's funny that the following is 100% true & happened in the 2020s.

When in university, I persued institutionalisation. I was unwell due to undiagnosed Adhd & Autism, as well as suffering from a slew of mental health issues & a confusing list of diagnoses that in theory ought to be paired with through treatment. I was in a sorry state & unable to properly care for myself let alone fulfill my duties as a student. I was characterised by an undulating tidal wave of high periods and low periods. In the high periods I headed social events, got involved in school positions, got employed in two separate organisations. In the low I would vanish apart from class, not eat, & cry as I ironed my shirts for the morning after getting home past 1 from the cursed promises "high mood me" had signed up for.

I was unable to secure the help I was looking for from the healthcare system. I find it odd humoures to think about retrospectively, knowing what I know now. The reason I was not provided help, is because if the stark, sharp, & ultimately artificial line drawn within the healthcare system between the physical & the mental.

Neurodivergany is often put in the category of physical illnesses within the NHS despite it having to do with the brain, so when someone is "institutionalised" due to high support needs from autism for example (if someone was incapable of feeding, or clothing themselves, or of paying their bills and calling for home repairs when needed without help) they might get a carer (& a social worker) perhaps they might be sent to a care home for ppl with complex needs.

When a person is suffering from mental illness, they look for harm to the self or others in a far more direct way normally, before they send you to the mad house.

Instead, I got my degree, year & chapters passed. (Getting stuck in central Europe with a lover due to a global plauge & disruption of the political union that allowed us to travel in the first place. Fleeing to the north of the country after graduation, being temporarily without a home & being taken in by an old woman who had lived in this new city for decades and ran multiple houses. She had my partner do work in the houses until we found a gas leak & when she refused to close the house down, we fled again in the night. We quickly managed to go back to renting and stayed in the city for the next 3 years.)

One of my dearest friends passed away days after I spoke to him. The funeral was to be family only, despite him having told me of his deep discontent in the family days before his death. I fell & festered miles & miles away, unable to say goodbye as he was put in to the ground. Once again I felt the damned knock of a bottomless low calling to me, & in madness I surrendered.

He had once been my lover, but had always remained my friend. I could not speak words to do justice to him, so I painted, I continued as my partner packed for our new home. I found myself in an empty room with a canvas & paint on the night we made our way across the city to our current dwellings. A car horn snapped me back & away we went.

After a year of unbearable solitude & insanity at the new house (which I cocooned myself within) I snapped. I called my love, my partner, & let him know I no longer wanted to live. He had been visiting someone far away and arranged to take a train back to meet me. After much ugliness & tragedy, we had a brilliant idea.

We would abandon all that ailled us on this godforsaken island, and fly away to Paris.

So we made our way to the airport, whilst furiously booking things, and found ourselves in Paris that same night.

I spent a month & and a half in Paris. We were truly blessed to have found one of the best most wonderful places in the world to be.

The house was ran by a marvelous matriarch. She was everything one should hope to become. Kind, open, honest, calm, happy. Her home had a large garden that she shared with tutles, two digs & 4 cats, as well as budgies that came and went freely. A small pond nestled under a willow, & benches at the back of the garden provided a delightful view of the wrought-iron chairs that hid below a canopy near the house. A stone round table provided a regularly used place for cheese plater, red wine, and cigarettes.

Occasionally, her breathtaking daughter would sit and smoke green with me .(I must admit I'm a bit in love with her, I think she was in her early 30s, she modelled for some time, studied, rebelled, and lived happily.)

Paris was a dream in every sense. When it came time to graciously relinquish my rooms back to my host, I moved even closer to the center. A frighteningly high up apartment in a vibrant neighbourhood. The hallway would send shivers down the spine of anyone, but the grimes of Berlin ravers, at the top of it was my sanctuary. A lovely flat with a handsome young parisian man who was the roomate of my host. The kitchen window let one see the skies of paris, as did the one in my bedroom, from which I watched the rooftop garden parties, the cats walking amongst the chimneys, and below the old man who owned the taloirs play with his grandson. I still can't believe it but I dined with an amazing girl from Brazil who was studying law. She inspired me so much and truly made me feel alive again. Her freind was a sweet and funny ballerina, I cherished their acquaintance whilst I was there.

Eventually I moved on from Paris, it is truly the best city in the world that I have ever known, sorry new york.

Now I sit, many chapters later. A warm faux fire by my feet, a green smoke in my smoke holder (fashioned to resemble a wand by my love) resting on a diamond shaped glass ashtray, with lana del rey playing as I read The Odessey. Back in my cold, wet, British city. A storm rages outside, they call her Isha. The problems that made me leave are all still real, my feud with the bigot next door was never resolved, my love is sick, and we haven't found a cure, a million other worries await my attention.

But I smile and feel calm. Now I have my castle of ice and snow in Sweden. I can't believe I'm going to be a homeowner this year, a deed in my name, 6 bedrooms, a beautiful kitchen, and most importantly; safety and privacy. In April I will go back and ses my first Swedish spring, and have the keys to my new home.

I feel now more than I have in years that everything may be possible again. I'm excited.

I feel at the back of my mind that we will have another war soon, and safety may be compromised, but I have so many plans, and the story must go on.

[edgyandoverzealous]

It's been too long since I've been edgy!1!1 *rawr* on main soooo... Here have another shitty poem post to get lost into the void.

___cat boy tendencies___

i have been conditioned to hide

when i am vulnerable or scared

to seek safety when none is there

i have learned to to bide

waiting in my hiding spots

hissing at those who dared

hoping for anyone to find me

hopefully with care

i have learned to claw and bite

at anyone who nears

unable to discern threat from safety

after all these years

leaving a good many hearts

bleeding and raw

A few had tried

less had chose to stay

i proved too hard to love

after one too many times

i started to do the same

i tend to run when things go awry

it doesn't matter if it's not the same

if things are good

or if my mind's in dissaray

i'll still be itching to take flight

at ever little quarrel

though i am something of a stray

a bit wrangly, odd, and feral

should i be properly tamed

taken in from the streets

given some warmth

a reason to force myself to stay

and solid ground beneath my feet

i will lick your wounds

sandwiching what hurts with comfort

or solutions should you prefer

trying to soothe the pain

that inevitably comes your way

in a world full of absurd

i will lay with you

curled up into your side

slowing your heartbeat to calm

purring contently

up until the day

you kick me to the curb again

or i get back outside

i'll become a stray again

repeat till i die

maybe not

if someone

particularly kind and clever

scoops me up

locks the door

and collars me so i'm tethered

says "your mine sweet boy

and i refuse for us to sever"

if i can't escape

though i'll fester

even if i refuse to show it

i might just learn to leave my brain

a house definitely haunted

content myself to your side

a cat boy truly wanted

[sailor-kaiju]

Some thoughts on separating the art from the artist. Which I actually do, to some extent, support in certain areas. Upfront: there are multiple ways to engage with media, and they can overlap and be non compatible, and because humans are complicated and messy we usually do multiple at a time. Also you can just enjoy something without digging deep in but I like enjoying things by picking them apart.

So first off: separating art from artist is one way to engage, not The Way. There is no The Way. The best way to really explore something critically is to examine it in multiple ways to get to the juicy core. And because so much is based on personal experience, even if we try to not, everyone interactions with a work will be different. Even if only a little, even in ways we never will or can express…if you think you have found The Way, all you have found is that you haven’t thought about it enough.

So let’s discuss the internets favorite excuse parading as a way to analyze media: separating the art from artist. The idea is to take the worthwhile art and separate it from the terrible ideas or morals of the artist.

This isn’t short hand for “ignore what the artist does and enjoy the art.”

Let’s take Shakespeare.

When I read Romeo & Juliet, I come into it with context of who Bill was (ish) and I know the time period and the expectations, etc. For example, while it’s part of the narrative that Juliet is a dumb teenager, stupid and young, I also understand that she is not equivalent to a modern teenager. I understand Shakespeare was, by our standards, horribly sexist but by his probably pretty progressive. So I separate the art from him, and read it in good faith and know he isn’t implying that this is child abuse but that it is stupid teens. I go in knowing his ideas of gender are not mine and I separate them out to get to the the story he is trying to tell. This doesn’t mean I’m dismissing the icky in the story, it means I know the icky hits me differently than it would have any one back then and is not meant to be icky in this context.

There is also a place for a reading that is ABOUT the idea he brought from his times and how they effect the story. There’s also a reading about how you should read the story and pretend you have NO context and see how things hit you then. Different ways to analyze things.

But the issue is I KNOW how to pull out the artist because I know what is up with the artist.

If, say, an artist is a transphobe, for a random example out of nowhere, and I refuse to engage with that knowledge, I can’t separate it from the art. Because I’m still participating in it, it is too hidden for me. So I don’t know what to watch out for and put in it’s little box of shame. And that’s when it becomes dangerous.

If I don’t know an artist is a transphobe, for example, I’m going to take in their transphobia without thought. It’s gonna fester in there and become accepted to me that saying a woman has big hands is an insult, that a woman’s biggest goal is to get married and have babies, or that boys and girls must be strictly gender separated. Because the author holds those beliefs and they aren’t questioning them, so if I don’t already KNOW to do it…it’ll slide by. And it’ll be in danger of becoming something that grows and stays in my own brain unquestioned.

On the flip side, if I know it’s there I can think about it, process it, build off it it to make better content, etc etc. I don’t have to accept it to engage with it.

I don’t think you NEED to cut something out because a creator is ~problematic~ but I also don’t think you can just pretend they aren’t and enjoy their content without interrogating how much of it has gotten INTO the text. Because it’s always a lot, and if you pretend you can just chop that connection off with no work….you haven’t actually done anything at all.

And none of this means you have to write essay’s about the problematic elements in everything you watch and report your problematic sins to the literary gods. It’s enough to be like “Quinten Tarantino is weird about feet so when I see that in his movies I know it’s a weird Tarantino things and don’t assume this is a normal way to be about feet.”

[foreverindreamlandd]

Um, hi, if you’re still taking requests do you mind breaking my heart and then putting it back together with Bucky?! 🤣

Snoopy and the Cadillac

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (formerly Steve Rogers x Reader)

WC: 5.6k

Summary: It's your first Christmas after Steve decided to leave you to spend his life with Peggy, and all you wanted to do was stay as far away from holiday cheer as possible. But then a familiar face shows up at your door and changes everything.

A/n: Hope I got the job done and broke your heart, buddy ;) [divider by @chrissquares]

The first Christmas without him.

You had been dreading it for months, wishing and willing for all holidays to just go by without you having to notice their existence. This was becoming your philosophy for pretty much every aspect of your life. That you could continue to live through it coated with numbness, refusing to acknowledge the pain that had begun to fester deep within you ever since he left, only allowing it to create a persistent, dull sting. A constant companion and reminder of what you had lost.

The universe did not allow that to happen, though.

Had you not been in a neverending state of devastation, you might have found it hilarious how impossible it was to ignore the existence of the holiday season. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing festive decorations, Hallmark Christmas movie ads on every TV commercial and streaming service. And even when you stayed in the seemingly safe confines of your house, the faint glow of twinkle lights cascaded down each apartment building along your block.

It was everywhere. A constant reminder of everyone’s happiness, everyone’s merriment and cheer. And you knew that you should share those bright and happy feelings, it was the first Christmas after The Blip, the first one in five years that those who weren’t snapped got to celebrate with the loved ones they thought to be dead.

The whole situation put you in such mental turmoil, torn in two directions of how you felt about it. One part of you was grateful that you were snapped away for five years, not having to experience the unimaginable pain of seeing an exorbitant number of your loved ones being turned to dust.

The other part would forever wonder if had you stayed around for those five years, he might still be here.

“I’m sorry, lov- Y/n. I never expected this to happen. It’s just, now that I know I can go back, I know it’s what I need to do. You’ll be better off, you deserve someone better.”

Just like he did. He deserved to be with the woman he truly loved.

Which, apparently, was not you after all.

Though the admission ripped your heart to pieces, the worst part was that somewhere deep in your brain, you always knew. Knew that you were never good enough for Steve. He was America’s golden boy, and you were…well, you.

It had never made sense why he wanted you, especially after you saw photos of the drop-dead gorgeous Peggy Carter. Why would he want someone like you when he’d had that?

You had spent years working toward being worthy of that love, being there for him every step of the way. It hadn’t been that hard, because as soon as you met him once he woke up after 70 years submerged in ice and you looked into those bright blue eyes and saw that glowing smile, you were a goner.

You would do anything for that man, did anything for that man. Cooked him meals that reminded him of the ones his mom would make, helped him acclimate to this new era and tried to go back in time by watching movies and listening to music from the ‘40s, loving how much he would light up from these small efforts.

You were there by his side when Peggy passed away, holding his hand at her funeral.

Then one day, it clicked, and Steve looked at you differently. The shock was almost overwhelming, having the thing you had dreamt of for so long finally happen.

Christmases with Steve were pure magic, and you couldn’t wait to spend the lifetime of them with him. Your person.

That life had been cut short, left broken and bleeding at a house by the lake.

Now it was just you, walking up the stairs to your apartment, eyes glued to the icy concrete to prevent a very likely slip and fall.

“Hey.”

Your face shot up to the door in front of you, a familiar figure with short brown hair and a small, tentative smile standing at the top of the stairs.

“Bucky?” Your foot slipped on the step and you waved your arms around frantically, trying to grasp onto something as you fell backwards, bracing for what was definitely going to be a painful and unpleasant impact with the harsh surface.

Until your arm was grabbed and your body was no longer falling, suspended for a few seconds as you looked into the wide blue eyes of your savior.

“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly breathless from the adrenaline rush.

You nodded, also breathing heavily. Bucky gently pulled you to stand straight. “Thank you.”

He kept his hand on your arm, eyes locked on yours. His hair was shorter, his beard shaved down to a thin layer of scruff, but his eyes remained the same as the last time you saw them.

A perfect reflection of what lay behind yours. Pain, loss, grief.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, finally.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “I, uh, I just moved a few blocks down. Sam told me you were close by, and I wanted to check in. See how you were.” He looked behind his shoulder to the paper bag on the ground. “Brought some muffins from a bakery down the road.”

“Which bakery?” Your brows furrowed while his shot up.

“Lee’s?”

For the first time in what felt like a long time, the corners of your mouth lifted to a small smile.

“Good choice. I love Lee’s.”

The smile of relief Bucky gave you caused you to feel as if you were free falling once more, but you pushed that away almost immediately. Instead, you willed your focus on getting up the treacherous stairs, begrudgingly clinging to Bucky’s arm as an anchor until you reach the top.

Bucky leaned down to grab the muffins and handed them to you, and the two of you stood there in a painfully awkward silence for a few moments until he could no longer take it. “Well, I hope you’re doing well. If you need anything, let me know. You have my number, right?”

You nodded. “I do. Um…do you want to come in?”

His mouth dropped for a millisecond before he caught himself. Then, he gave you another small smile. “Sure, that sounds great. Thanks.”

Your apartment wasn’t anything nice. It used to be filled with life, photos of loved ones, different trinkets and special decor. All of that reminded you of Steve, though, and over the past few months you had removed almost all trace of him, leaving the space as hollow as you felt on the inside.

“How long have you lived here?” Bucky asked, taking off his boots. He kept his leather jacket on, though, as well as his black leather gloves. Not that he needed to, you knew what was underneath, but you weren’t going to force him to remove his armor if he needed it to feel comfortable.

“Couple of years. Well, not including the five that I was…gone.”

He nodded. “It’s nice. Lot more stuff in it than mine.”

You pictured a barren wasteland. “Do you like your place?”

“It’s fine. An adjustment, but fine.”

Silence.

More silence.

“Do you want water? Tea? Wine?”

“Water is fine. Alcohol doesn’t do anything anymore anyways.”

“Right.” You grabbed two glasses of water and sat at the small dining room table.

The silence continued. You had no idea what to say to the man before you. The last things you had said to him were….unkind.

“How can you just let him leave? Are you that much of a coward that you won’t say something?”

Bucky noticed your wince at the memory and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “Was this a bad idea? Should I not have come?”

You sat straight, hands waving so manically that you nearly knocked over your glass. “No! No. It’s good to see you, Bucky. I just- I feel bad how I left things. What I said to you was awful.”

He shook his head, jaw tense. “You were upset. We both were.” He muttered his next few words into his glass, “Most of what you said was true anyways.”

“It wasn’t. I was lashing out at you even though you were probably grieving just as much as I was. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for-” don’t say it, “I’m just sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He lifted his glass toward you with a sheepish smile. “To being sorry for not knowing how to emote in healthy ways.”

You chuckled, clinking your glass to his. “A-fucking-men to that.”

Once the tension was broken, the two of you spent the rest of the night chatting somewhat comfortably. You each had your own impenetrable walls up, careful with each word spoken in a way that still brought an edge to the atmosphere. Still, it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t expect you to be happy or express any type of emotion.

You could just…be. Be sad, be tired, be guarded, and for Bucky that was okay.

Until the topic of Christmas came up.

“What are you doing to celebrate? Getting the tree and lights and all that shit?” he asked, pulling a scoff from you.

“Fuck no. I’m canceling Christmas.”

His brows furrowed. “Not in the holiday spirit or something?”

“Not in any type of spirit to do anything so cheerful, I guess. What about you?”

Bucky cleared his throat, something you noticed he did whenever he was about to say something that made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had a Christmas in, well, 90 years or so. Not that it would mean anything because everyone I love is gone.”

Your stomach sank to the floor, heart filled with a new type of ache that overpowered the dull one you had felt for months now.

But before you could say anything else, Bucky glanced at his watch. “Oh shit.” He stood up from his chair. “Didn’t realize how long I had been here. I should get going. You probably want to actually get some sleep or something. It was nice catching up, Y/n.”

You stood up too, walking with him to the door. Bucky gave you his address while he put his shoes on, in case you needed anything.

“Thanks for the muffins,” you said with a small smile. The two of you stared at each other for one last round of awkward silence before Bucky tipped his head at you and walked out the door.

Hours later and you were in bed staring at the ceiling unable to sleep, thinking about your conversation with Bucky.

“Haven’t had a Christmas in 90 years.”

“Everyone I love is gone.”

You groaned.

Damn you, empathy.

The next day, you were outside his door, phone against your ear.

“Uh, hello?” Bucky’s confused old man voice would have made you laugh were you not a puddle of nerves.

“Hey, I’m uh, outside your place. Can you come out?”

The door opened in less than ten seconds, Bucky in his usual black leather jacket and gloves. The furrowed brows and side smile combined together to make an adorable look of confusion on his face.

No, not adorable. Just confused.

“Afternoon, doll. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You shifted your focus to the ground for a moment before looking back at him. “I changed my mind.” The words came out so fast that they sounded more like a jumbled mess than a coherent sentence. “I want to celebrate Christmas this year.”

His eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “I thought you didn’t want to feel any holiday cheer?”

Shifting your weight from side to side, you shrugged. “Who knows, maybe some cheer will do me some good. And if it doesn’t, I’ll use it as an excuse to spend the rest of my life with holiday doom and gloom.”

A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled out of Bucky that made your face heat up. “Good for you, Y/n. Let me know how it goes, and if you need tips on doom and gloom, let me know. I’ve got that shit covered.”

Your eyes were back on the ground, fists clenching and unclenching in your coat pockets. “Actually, I wanted to see if you wanted to celebrate with me? We could do Christmas together or something?”

When Bucky didn’t respond, you looked up to meet an expression you had never seen on the man before. Face soft, brows raised slightly, mouth parted open the tiniest bit, as if even the grumpy demeanor that seemed to be his baseline vanished completely and was replaced by the young man Bucky might have been before being shipped off to war a hundred years ago.

Your heart swelled, desperately wishing that look could be the default for him, that he didn’t have to be so sad all the time. That flash of a feeling brought bile to your throat, terror coursing through you at the familiarity of it. You hadn’t experienced that type of longing since…him.

Instead of dwelling in it, you continued your pitch, uncomfortable by the lack of response from Bucky.

“We don’t have to do anything big, obviously. It can just be small stuff. A tree, some decorations, we can make cookies, watch old movies - no Hallmark ones, though. That way we’re not alone, ya know?”

“Sure.”

The swelling of your heart returned, and a smile crept up your lips. “Really?”

He nodded, his own smile growing. “I mean, part of me is wondering if you asked so I could help with the tree,” you both laughed, “But even if that’s the case, I’d really like to.”

Your lips pressed together to prevent your smile from growing too wide. For the first time in a long time, you felt lighter, and the constant state of pain quelled for just a moment.

“Great,” you said softly. “So…how stereotypical do you want to get with this? We could grab hot chocolate and maybe do some tree shopping?”

His grin turned sly. “We gotta stop by the liquor store first for Peppermint Schnapps.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I thought alcohol doesn’t do anything to your system?”

Bucky stepped forward, closing the door to his apartment building behind him. Hands moving to his pockets, he extended his elbow out for you to grab his arm as you both descended down the stairs.

“It’s more for the memory. Stev- uh, we used to drink hot chocolate with Peppermint Schnapps all the time during the holidays.”

The bile returned, and the chill dwelling within your body was no longer caused by the weather. Still, you shook it off and forced a smile. “Peppermint Schnapps it is, then.”

And that was how you and Bucky decided to celebrate Christmas together. It started with the spiked hot chocolates while finding a small, 4ft Fraser fir to take to your home, you arguing with Bucky to let you ‘carry’ the front of it (knowing full well that he was holding it all on his own, you just wanted to contribute). Luckily, you hadn’t yet thrown away all of your decorations, so you were able to get the lights up that evening. The way the dim, colorful glow reflected off Bucky’s face as his eyes stared at them in wonder brought the ache in your heart back in full force.

You didn’t seem to mind it as much, allowing it to linger a little longer before shifting your focus back on the task at hand.

“I don’t have any ornaments,” you lied. There was a box buried deep in the back of your closet, but those carried too many memories. The mental image particular one of a star with a photo of you and Steve immediately brought a film of tears to your eyes.

“No worries, we can go buy some if you’d like?”

That resulted in a Target run where you bought more lights, some pretty ornaments, as well as two silly ones you and Bucky chose for yourselves. You bought one of Snoopy laying on the roof of his decked-out holiday dog house, gaping in horror when Bucky told you he had never seen A Charlie Brown Christmas (something you would rectify that evening), and Bucky found one of a vintage fire engine red Cadillac that looked like the ones back in the ‘40s.

Over the next few weeks, you did it all. Baked holiday cookies, watched all the classic movies, drank more spiked hot chocolate, and continued to decorate your home.

“Don’t you want us to decorate your place, Bucky?” you asked one evening as he stood on a chair to hang the star atop the Christmas tree that you had both decided to name Linus (Bucky had obviously loved the movie). “I’m sure we could find you a tree and everything. I feel bad that we’re only doing this stuff here.”

He shook his head with a small smile, one you had begun to see regularly on that previously grumpy face. “Nah, I barely even have furniture in my apartment so it makes no sense to decorate it when I’ve hardly furnished it. Besides, this place feels more homey to me, so it’s nice to come here as a place to escape to.” He blushed, suddenly realizing the weight of his admission. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “Is that weird?”

No, you thought. “No,” you said, butterflies swarming your stomach. “I don’t think it’s weird at all.”

The smile he gave you then almost split his face in two, and you knew that your own smile mirrored it. It was true. Having Bucky here with you to celebrate Christmas made your place feel like home for the first time in a long time. It was nice to finally have some new memories to replace the ones that brought so much pain.

More than that, it was nice to spend time with Bucky, to get to know the man you had heard so many stories about, who had been masked behind the wall formed from decades of fear and pain. The more time you spent together, the walls you both had up guarding your hearts started to chip away, inviting in new feelings of warmth and happiness.

So no, you didn’t mind that Bucky felt at home with you.

“Alright,” he said on the couch, scrolling through Christmas movies, “I think we’ve watched all of these ones.”

You pointed at the screen when a particular icon appeared. “Let’s watch this one. It’s good.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The Christmas Prince? I thought we weren’t doing corny holiday rom-coms?”

You shrugged. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes and the butterflies danced throughout your entire body.

Finally, he gave you a slow nod, looking down at the remote and hitting the select button. “Let’s do it, then.”

At the start of the film, you and Bucky sat side by side on the couch, a few inches of space separating you. But by the time the main character fell off her horse and was stranded by a pack of wolves, the distance had vanished, your right side pressed against Bucky’s, right hand close to touching his metal one.

So close, that when he shifted, the cool vibranium brushed against yours. It sent a shiver down your spine, not from the temperature of the metal, but from the feeling of his hand touching yours. Something pushed you to move your hand closer, silently telling him that you didn’t mind the contact, and next thing you knew, his hand crept over yours until your fingers were interlaced.

Suddenly the movie was white noise in the background, all of your focus turning to your hand. You turned your head to the side and found Bucky’s eyes looking into yours, his cheeks flush as he licked his bottom lip.

Surely he could hear your heart pounding inside your chest. If he did, he made no mention of it. Instead he just moved his face closer to yours-

A phone buzzed - Bucky’s - pulling you both out of the moment. He sat back and pulled it out of his pocket to turn it off.

But then the screen came into view, and all of the blood that had rushed to your cheeks was gone in a second.

Incoming Call: Stevie

Bucky looked at the phone and then at you, his eyes wide with panic, but it was too late. Your wall was back, and you moved to the edge of the couch, eyes peeled to the screen.

“You should get that,” you forced out through the fog forming in your brain. Your breathing became short, the numbness that had been your companion for months slamming back into you.

He shifted. “I can call him back-”

“Just answer, Bucky.”

You could see him staring at you from your peripherals, but then he sighed, standing up and moving to your bedroom, muffled whispers echoing through the space.

“Hey, Steve. Now’s not a good time.”

Memories you had forced away returned in full force.

“I loved you, Y/n. I swear I did. I just loved her more.”

“I’m good. I’ll visit Sunday, I promise.”

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Sam’s fine. He’s in Louisiana with his sister and the kids.”

“Thank you for everything you did. I’ll never forget you.”

“She’s….busy.” Bucky’s voice was almost inaudible now but you still heard the words. Your head shot toward the hall where Bucky was, feeling every agonizing moment of your heart ripping in two. “No, I’m not going to tell her that. She’s…you have to let her go, Steve. She deserved better than this, deserves better than this. Let her move on in peace. I gotta go. Yeah. See you later. Bye.”

He shuffled back down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes barely meeting yours. Not that he would find any sense of life behind them.

“I didn’t know you still talked to him.” Your voice was a hollow shell compared to just a few moments ago.

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah. He calls every once in a while, and I visit him upstate.”

“Gotcha.”

He stayed glued to his spot. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, even though that wasn’t the case. “Does he ask about me a lot?” You hated the flicker of hope that carried in your tone.

He nodded. “All the time.” The truth hurt more than you wanted it to.

There was still one question that you didn’t want to ask, willing your mouth to stay shut, but you needed to ask it. Needed to know the answer. “Was he asking about me before you showed up on my doorstep weeks ago?”

The silence you were met with spoke volumes, and completely tore your heart in two.

“So you were just coming by to check in on me.” You stood up, unable to sit still any longer and you paced along your living room. Tears freely fell down your face. “Steve was too much of a coward to face me, and you came to see that I was doing okay because he felt bad? That’s how it is?”

Bucky took a step forward, hand outstretched but you stepped back. His eyes were glassy with tears he tried to hold back.

“No. Doll, listen, that’s not it at all-” His voice broke and you interrupted him before he could continue.

“It makes sense,” you laughed bitterly. “More sense than you willingly coming to see me because you wanted to. I’m nothing but a burden for him and now for you, forcing you to spend Christmas with me because I’m nothing but a pathetic trainwreck now that he left behind to be with the gorgeous, perfect love of his life.” You collapsed back on the couch, elbows on your knees and hands over your face. “Who would willingly want to spend time with someone so fucking broken? Why would you want to be with the person who wasn’t good enough to make Steve stay?”

Your body was shaking, all of the anguish you had bottled up since Steve had left erupting throughout your body, ready to consume you whole until there was nothing left.

But before you could crumble, strong arms encased you, gripping the sides of your arms to hold you together. You peaked up from behind your hands to find Bucky kneeling on the ground in front of you. Tears streamed down his face, but those stunning blue eyes pierced yours with force that both made you want to look away and keep your gaze locked on them forever.

“Sweetheart, listen to me.” The low, gruff voice was strong. Determined. Grounding. “I didn’t come here for Steve. When he asked, I told him no. I wasn’t going to do his dirty work to clean up the pieces after he left you.” He gently squeezed your arms. “I came here, because I couldn’t get our last conversation out of my head. I couldn’t stop picturing the look on your face when you found out what was happening, before you left. I knew that you were the only one who understood how much it sucked, how much it fucking sucked that he left. That even though he’s still alive, he’s gone, and I lost a part of myself because after he had left I had officially lost everyone I loved from before. It was scary and lonely and it fucking broke my heart. And I wanted to just be with someone who understood that hurt, someone who I could exist in that sadness with and not feel any pressure to feel happy or try to fix myself or anything, I could just be fucking sad and miss my friend.

“But now, without realizing it, that broken part of me has started to heal, and that’s thanks to you. Being with you, whether it’s drinking gross Peppermint Schnapps or watching lame Christmas movies, all of it, all of it has made me feel lighter than I have in decades. Like I could be more than the broken man I’ve been for so long. I’ve felt more like the kid I was in the ‘40s than I ever have. None of that would have happened if I hadn’t gotten to know the amazing, kind, funny, fucking fantastic person you are. And you know what?” He moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Steve’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that, and I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive him for hurting you the way he did.”

At that point, your heavy, swollen eyelids were barely open, body exhausted from the emotional whiplash you just experienced. Your brain was still foggy, but you held onto every word Bucky said, letting it play in a constant loop in your mind.

Without thinking - without allowing yourself to fight back the urge - you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck. He stilled for a moment in shock before melting into your embrace, hands rubbing circles around your back.

The two of you stayed there for an unknown number of minutes, holding one another, clinging to one another in silence.

Finally, you whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”

He chuckled, squeezing you a little more tightly. “Thank you, doll. I can’t begin to express how much all of this has meant to me. How much you mean to me.”

Whenever Steve had told you he loved you, that you meant the world to him, it would bring both butterflies in your stomach and a pit for them to flutter out of. They were words you longed to hear, but couldn’t quite believe that they were true, like you hadn’t done enough to deserve them.

Now, in this moment, hearing them from Bucky, you realized that it wasn’t about whether or not you deserved them. It was about being with someone you felt completely, utterly, wholeheartedly comfortable with. Someone you trusted, someone you felt safe giving your heart to.

So when he said that you meant something to him, you believed it to be true, and that left only the feeling of butterflies.

A knock on your door had you barreling through your apartment to throw it open, a huge grin on your face to match the one on the figure before you.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky,” you said, jumping forward to hug him.

He sighed as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tightly to him. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You quickly pulled away and stepped back to inspect his outfit. As promised, Bucky had worn his set of red flannel pajamas, identical to the ones you had on.

He couldn’t even pretend to be grump about it when he saw your smile widen.

“Alright, doll, what’s on the docket for today?”

You already had the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas blasting through the apartment, and a pot of coffee brewed, so you poured him a cup and let him stash the presents he bought under the tree. The two of you made breakfast, which consisted of a ridiculous amount of food and Bucky kept whining that the bacon wasn’t crisp enough and you threatened to pour pancake batter down his shirt, which then led to an impromptu tickle fight in your tiny kitchen. You eventually called a truce when Bucky cheated and used his super soldier strength to pin your arms down with one handle to tickle your waist with the other.

After breakfast, where Bucky finally admitted that the bacon was delicious, you sat by Linus the Fraser fir to open gifts. You got him a new pair of leather gloves, a few books, and a mug that said “World’s Best Grandpa.” He got you books (duh), the comfiest pair of fuzzy socks you had ever worn in your life, and candles that ‘had a smell that reminded him of you.’

You had also gotten him a thick, blue wool blanket.

“I know you don’t get cold,” you started, expression a bit more sheepish now, “But blankets do so much more than that. They’re soft, comforting. I thought it might help you feel more relaxed at home.”

Bucky’s jaw worked and he gave you a small smile as he wrapped the blanket around him, looking snug as a bug and absolutely adorable.

“This is awesome, thanks sweetheart.” He leaned over to the side to grab two more presents and extended them out to you. “Wanted to save the best for last. At least, I hope they’re the best.” He chuckled.

Oh, they were the best alright. A photo of the two of you from the other night, the beautiful lights of Linus creating a perfect backdrop behind your smiling faces, your Snoopy and red Cadillac ornaments hung next to each other in the background. It was placed in a chestnut wood frame that had “Our First Christmas” etched at the bottom. It was so perfect, so lovely that you felt tears welling in your eyes.

The next gift was wrapped in a small box, and you gasped when you opened it, your tear filled eyes looking down at a thin silver bracelet that had a small charm of the letter “B” hanging from it.

“I hope it’s not too much,” Bucky said nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I saw it at one of the shops and it made me think of you-”

“I love it,” you cut him off, pulling the bracelet out of the box. “I love all of it. These are perfect, Bucky. Thank you.”

You swore the smile on that man’s face could have put the damn sun to shame. You extended your hand out to him along with the bracelet, and he delicately clasped it around your wrist. His fingers lingered there a few seconds after, stroking your soft skin and sending shivers down your body.

You cleared your throat. “I have one more thing,” you said, suddenly sheepish as you stood up from your spot on the ground, making your way to your room.

Bucky called out to you when he heard some loud shuffling, “Do you need help in there?”

“No,” you said with a strained voice, “I got it.”

This present wasn’t wrapped, just donned with a large gold bow at the top.

Bucky stared at you in shock as you shuffled the small black bookcase into the living room. You stood next to it with your hands on your hips, slightly out of breath.

“I wasn’t sure what the color palette was - if there is any - at your place, but figured that with you black would be the safest option. I put it together myself with those shitty IKEA instructions, but I’ve built a Billy the Bookshelf Boyfriend before, so hopefully I didn’t totally screw it up. If I did, feel free to take it apart and put it back together correctly. It’s not much, but you said you barely had any furniture so at least this is a start, and we can definitely go on a field trip to work on getting your apartment properly furnished-”

He was so quick, so smooth, that your brain couldn’t even process that he was moving until his hands were around your face and his lips were pressed against yours. Once your brain finally had a moment to catch up, your arms were wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to you as you kissed him back, drinking in as much of him as possible.

It would be the first of a lifetime of kisses you shared with Bucky.

Just as this would be the first of a lifetime of Christmases you shared with him.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out my other stuff here. :)

Tags: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @eclipses-and-moondust @itsdawnashlie @peaches1958 @blackwidownat2814 @barnesafterglow

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me through my kofi account!