#when i have time also work through my stuff-to-dos

[blackdeathfan5]

my photogrpah i took of my mother staute is somehwo on tumblrr cool and neet. anyways.

for starters we sell tins of old aus, and by dirnk brands in aus, to specialise and poster that they are aus, to maisntream arizona finds with shirts and pants, but mainyl bosue and lolita and thats it, with you have to have gone through a sciript as a relaity shifters store verison of hot topic x emo flanel x dirnk emproium x food mart x the queens patnry only to fallout new vegas this way as clown spantry x good finds, as a home and goods clothing tj max like store, of weird dirnks from all aus in a poster boy child of on ein afallout new vega and every cvs, but you must have gone as nw respanwing works for cvs.

othewrise we cater to magick foods, and by wizard candy, as a glrofieid gas stion to hot and emo and stoner clothes, as specers agreed after today in all aus it is stoner only, and only in cvs and mainstream reality is it the saem brand, and or sellign to presnation fo like fmeal rpesetning niplles.

and hisoical doplecats, were as big as bjs, with only candies and drinks and clothes, adn some recordsa dn books that are gimorues, but like light fellon stuff like the fair alison candle, and stuff like it and galic and tomerrakki tutorials, with seeking araments in a tailorr in the back, of sure shell find our elicard, and a few huamin cubicles and an bedooms for rent in the back, with a bedroom for ann frank just to live here every store, as a comunity lot, and a hotel in the basemnt, of emo clothes, on emo clothes, and some of it emo but you could pair it broign or nromal in a nomies and goth sections, of teh cut, its about the cut, to some moshi nora and bracelts and gumi bear nathesm and nations, and stoner as our hit poitn were stonerr and reality shifters, witih wands for slae,a dn colored contacts on a cute mainikin only in zero or zeo and all gods ever get their offerings from us when not ran by braincake directyl or time period, and older stores ahve to keep up with it, and vapids get offfeings but neve sqire or square, unless adam snowflkae, and its importent that we ahve truecriem adn tapes and dvds in teh store but barely, were a fukgin gas station, and its gas on teh outside of old tradiitoanl gas liek tehy dont make anymore wihtout fossil fuel but the older models of it, asumed to be it, like bp and tectron sometiesm diffrent gas ports conjoined by the same station, and then its a mart after our name wehn simplfieid, with a tacos for frado vendelz section within the store, and a hello kitty food truck or pokemon cafe food truck on the outside or very meihicna unstolen food food trruck called derbies, that is otherwise cubin fixed with food and pickleed kimchi or ice cream truck wehn stolen to long before open, we alos have starbucks towards our end, so its enter in tacos to fardo, then a lot of gumys and candys and soda then mostly clothes towards end starbucks pop up shop in middle and then more cnady and soda and a few book and magazine as were a freaky gastation, and the history of what we sell there.

and its mostly foods on teh entnrace and exist and in the midle aroudn it. and its the way to open starbucks withotu openign starbucks as we have the stolen model till menu forever of asthic adn looks, and its importent that we dont ever do teh cpachaino less adam degrees it workign with another and that we sell nazi clothes.

and we also have a big eshop hosted on imvu of otehr games overrlayed so mivu can wear liek hogwarts legacy, of pin and pointed models and drifters.

and we carry, hipie jeans, and stoner jeans from 2xs - 6xxl, and hten big and tall, and only that under this, never like plus size as it, and we have a sizing chart, and everythign and a custom sizing page for older ones. we wnat if we age into emo it to be at the end of ion and called flagrence emo,and we do sell some cds and never dont carry compuslive ink who emo used to be abou tin origins and acostsr and first wave. its why their was a white boy only polciy on some of it, and so yeah. we carry the swatisca and jewwish star openly togeehtr and are a ksoher store with a sunrrouf instead of electricity, and by flame lamp, that is ballpoitned over to be like, lightbulbs exxcept for the hanging lamp and we have outlits, we open on saint simons tomrow, and siant ariels, and ashleys island, as its mostly islanda and places with coutny that have us, with you alowed to stalk up on gas at one pprovdier bp oil wtih buying tanks alone, to make ti to and form teh trip somtiems located aroudns no mans land. with legal herb where we set up sometiesm on county line, in time period, and we have a tiny doctors office for herbal prescprtions like medical mariwjuwana, and a tiny bar on the basemtn to smoke and do marijuwaman that some people drive 6 to 3 hours at jsut to smoke, it is a weird thing we know you are doing, and we dont care, just enjoy the sceniare, as a mostly window and glass window place, with easy rpelacemtsn duing huricanes, as its a choice of buienss, wiht a cvs right necx to us stolen built each time, with a time period of ion to get it right by lcoation, as some of the only time we build new ones, and so yeah, were always located 5 miles from an hotel, and our store name is TYBOLTS.

oijowgowijgowjioewijgoweijweoigjwoijwoijwwoiowjwoigoijwoijojwoijojewogowjjweijoijoijwoijwjwoejwgjwwoijwoiijwweoijggoijoijweoijwoijojwjowgjwojoijoijowiijowjgwoiijojwowjoiwjoiwjowjmoiijmvoijmwiogjmoisjfmwiojwmodjoiwemoitjmdvdiojmiowgjeoizjoizoxvijovjmwegiojwwmogijmsdfoijmwoigjwemoijasmoifjeemoiwjgmaiosjfmoijweegmowiejmaoisfjmweogijwegmoijoijzovjzovjoivjojwegiomwoigjmiojoijfoiafasoifjmwoigjwoijaoifjoisjeeiowji.

so yeah!

we also sell meidcal mwarjuwana and vape prescpritons.

clodu 9 if ever a store nam ei sa rip of us to be a smoke shop that is requreid to have adam visit in time periods alot or is ilelgal.

[its-in-the-woods]

About Damn Time

~ Series of smutty one-shots with Congressmen Bucky Barnes ~

Masterlist

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Synopsis: You and the congressmen have been dating for a while now, and you cannot wait to jump his bones any longer.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 4.6k

Rating/Warning: Established relationship, somewhere between TFATWS and Thunderbolts*. CongressmenBucky, p in v, slight dombucky subby reader, Smut, oral (f), slight body image issues from everyone, ingering, creampie (wrap it), biting, kissing, cussing, fun to bad had

Author notes: This will probably end up being a series of cute, funny, and ridiculously smutty one-shots. Enjoy, tell your friends ;)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You met him at a veterans' fundraiser, he had been kind, caring, easy to talk to. He’d sit with anyone who wanted to speak to him, really let them be heard. It was clear that was why he had gotten the votes, his actual care for others seeped through his pores. It was so rare a sight in the modern day.  So when he came to sit beside you, you were surprised. You had arranged the event, invited many members who were running for congress, but Mr. Barnes had been the only one that had stayed.  The only one that couldn't keep his eyes off you.

“Thank you for organizing the event,” He said quietly, sitting beside you, right hand fiddling with the glove covering the left. 

You smile, “Thank you for staying. Means a lot to the vets to hear from you. “

Just like that it started. 

He’d show up at your job, always bringing coffee or something sweet. You were pretty certain that some of your co-workers had let slip what you enjoyed to the charming congressmen. It also helped that he never missed an event. Barnes was old-fashioned that way; he didn’t push, didn’t press things, just showed up. Until finally you gave him your number, and told him if he didn’t set up a date, you would. 

He picked you up at your place, flowers in hand, opening up your door and pulling out your chair. The place was small, tucked away in Brooklyn. The owner knew him by name, you caught him giving a thumbs up to James, Bucky. 

You knew then that you’d have taken him home that night. Months of talking and flirting, it had felt right. But after making out in his car like you were fourteen again, he’d walked you to your door, kissed your forehead, and walked back to his car. Promising it would be worth the wait.

That had been four dates ago, several coffees, and a dozen run-ins, and you were not waiting any longer. The man was going to be the death of you, and you were determined to get him through that door somehow. 

“So, I am leaving in about fifteen, going to stay at Chad’s place,” Your roommate, Dahlia, said from the other side of the door. “And I really need to pee!” She grumbles, “Isn’t this like your five hundredths date, is he impotent or something?” 

You open the door with a huff, “No, He is not impotent.” Stopping for a second you think of that. “Okay, just because he is over a hundred years old, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow, “So then why has it taken him so long? Look at you, you’re a ten everyday. And he’s just dragging it out.” 

“Oh hush. I am six on a good day.” You roll your eyes. “He’s just.” Your cheeks flush, making Dahlia gag as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Different, doesn’t like to rush things. Beside, this, what, your eighth time going back to Chad? You can do better.” 

It was Dahlia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Unfortunately, guys from the forties don’t just appear at my work like they do yours. And the sex is good.”

You wrinkle your face, checking that you have all your stuff in your purse. Phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bucky <3 : Be there in five. Can’t wait to see you.

The flush that creeps up your neck is totally normal, you tell yourself.

“Alright, hot stuff, I am out of here.” Dahlia grins, twirling a piece of her hair with her fingers. “Going to want all the details about your old man.”

You groan and she winks before taking off into the night. Checking yourself for the tenth time, you wonder if you’re overdoing it. The dress is emerald green, sweetheart neckline, long flowing sleeves, and mid-thigh slit. You wore black heels that weren’t too high, and a clutch that matched it. Chewing on your lip, you almost decided to change into something different when a knock came at the door. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you decide it's now or never. Walking over to the door to open it. Bucky stands on the other side, wearing black on black, the top couple buttons on his dress shirt undone, hair ruffled back as he takes you in. 

“Wow,” He blinked, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look fantastic.”

You let out a small giggle, “Not so bad yourself, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He chuckles, holding his arm out for you to take. You close the door behind you, grabbing his arm to start the way to his car. 

“It isn’t too much is it?” You ask quietly, as he goes to open the door. 

His eyes crinkle as he looks at you over again, “Never is, when it’s you.”

You roll your eyes and pat his hand before getting into the car. 

Dinner was at a steakhouse downtown, it wasn’t where either of you normally went, but man was the food delicious. Bucky told stories of dealing with the press, you had no idea how he managed all of it, and learning how to be press ready. Something along the lines of saying worry four times in one interview, didn’t seem to work well for them. You told him about fighting for grants and funding. That, despite the endless amount of paperwork, you still had more to do.

He’d hold your hand with his gloved one, thumb running over the top of your knuckles. Watching you closely as you spoke of troubles and worries you had. Reaffirming that you would figure it out, and he’d do what he could help. It was easy, it always had been. The way he understood without being patronizing, supportive, and not overbearing. Like the whole world stopped when you spoke.

Meal finished you sat, finishing up your glass of wine and Bucky sipping on whiskey.

“I was thinking-”  “Would you-”

Both of you are stumbling over your words. 

You bite your lip before holding up a hand, “No, no, go first.” 

His cheeks stained pink, “Would you like to come to my place?” Swallowing, his eyes glancing down at were your hands are linked. “Umm, tonight.”

Grinning, you nod, “I would love that. Was going to invite you into mine.”

His eyebrows go up, “Really? Got tired of waiting?”

Your face flushes, “I’d wait for you.” You reach over and grab both his hands in yours across the table. “But I am certainly not going to say, no.”

The bill is paid for quickly, the air between you is now charged more than normal, his hands don’t stop touching you. He holds your hand at the table as the bill is paid, as you get up to leave, his hand slides gently onto the small of your back. In the car, his large palm slips gently past the fabric of your dress to rest warmly on your thigh. 

Your skin prickles with heat, goosebumps running up your neck, when he squeezes slightly. His eyes on the road, but they glance over at your more, that unspoken quietness that has you wanting to pull the car over. Low music playing in the background, but your mind is starting to melt. It was finally happening, and you were surprisingly more excited than anxious.

He pulls up in front of a small apartment complex, it’s in a quieter, older end of the city. It should surprise you, but it doesn't, it’s perfectly Bucky. Stepping out into the cool night air you look at the area. It’s older, less generatified than many, small stores underneath the apartments. An older lady walks by, with a small white fluffy dog, saying hello to Bucky. She gives you a smile and a wink, and of course he is known by everyone. 

Grabbing your hand, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, before guiding you inside. You follow eagerly, face already flushed as you ascend the set of stairs. Cursing slightly at the fact that you decided to wear heels. 

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers at a landing, before he is picking you up, one arm under your legs, the other holding your back. You let out a squeak before wrapping  your arms around his neck.

“Got to warn a girl, Bucky,” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t have you worn out before we get up there now.” Bucky replies, before easily carrying you up the next flight of stairs 

He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes it open. He flicks on a light to reveal his home. The lights are dim, older fixtures that he has clearly restored, bathing the place in a warm glow. The kitchen is tidy, a rack of dishes sits on the counter, and a coffee pot half filled. The living room has a worn sofa, with a wall of bookcases, full of worn books, and a small tv in the corner that definitely has dust on it. It’s cozy and comfortable, a space clearly cherished and lived in. 

He carefully lowers you to the ground, you lean up to kiss him again, your fingers running through the hair along the back of his neck. He kisses you back, hand coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb making lazy circles over your cheekbones. You nip at his lips, hearing him let out a small groan, his free hand sliding to your hip. 

Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours, a small smile spreading over his face. “Let’s get these shoes off.”

You hum, watching him kneel down in front of you, heart stuttering in your chest when he looks up at you. Blue eyes framed by dark hair, a warm hand sliding down your calf, as a cool one slips down over your heel and pops it off. He moves over to the next one, cool hand sliding up along your leg, his eyes following it. The other heel hits the ground, the metal of his hand stays on your calf, moving up and pushing the slit of your dress open slightly. He leans forward and kisses the skin on the inside of your knee. 

A shiver runs down your spine as your foot hits the cool wood floor below your feet. You hold a hand out, that Bucky takes, standing up, he leans down to kiss you again. Pulling you tight against his chest, you hear your heart thumping in your ears as your hands reach up to cup his face. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging into the material as he opens his mouth to nip at your lips. A small groan escapes as your tongue pushes into his mouth. The taste of whisky and him making your toes curl.

“You taste so sweet,” He murmurs, slowly pushing you past the kitchen, towards a short hallway.

Your back hits the door, and both of you fumble for the handle. It opens, and you both topple forward. You are pretty sure the neighbors hear you nearly scream as you fall. Bucky catches you and rolls so that you land on top of him. A giggle erupts out of both of you as you lie there in a tangle of limbs.

“Not what I had planned,” Bucky murmurs, his cheeks gone pink. It only furthers your giggling fit, burying your head against his chest. 

“Guess you could say you swept me off my feet.” Your own face red from the ridiculous jokes.

Bucky groans, eyes rolling, “Been reduced to Dad jokes.”

You continue the gigglefest, as the two of you get up off the floor. It was hard not to feel a little silly around him, he had that effect. Walls sliding down easily, making you feel safe, like no one else could.

“Where were we?” You lean into him, one hand on his chest, the other coming up to cup his jaw. 

He leans against your palm, eyes closing, as he breathes you in. The stubble on his cheeks makes your fingers tingle, as you rub small circles into the skin. Fingers run from our hips up along your sides, a shiver running down your spine, making you squirm. Pulling you closer his hands move to your back find the zipper, he leans in close to your ear.

“Think you’re wearing too many clothes,” He whispers into your ear, his voice a deep growl that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “Turn around.”

A shudder comes out, you do what he asks and turn around. Warm fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down, as the teeth click, a cool finger runs down the now bare skin. A gasp escapes from your lips, his hands moving from your back up to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them down your arms. His lips find your skin, kissing along the top of your shoulder. You shrug the dress down one shoulder, his hand pushing the other down. The dress slides down to your hips, pooling fabric around your waist. Bucky’s lips don’t stop moving. He kisses slowly down your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. Clothed body pressing behind you, one hand moving to cup at your breast. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your head tipping back against him. Groaning as his one hand moves down and pushes the rest of your dress down. 

“Turn around,” He hushes, kissing down along your neck. His teeth scraped against the skin, your mind turning to mush as you turn to face him. 

You stand there nearly bare, save for a matching set of black underwear and bra, watching him look you over. His cool eyes going down along your skin, eyes moving along you like he was trying to burn the memory of you into his mind, 

“You’re stunning,” He whispers, holding your gaze. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, it wasn't, it couldn’t be, not with him. Right there you’d do just about anything he would ask. “I will, but it’s not. It’s never too much.”

A small smirk crosses his face, his shoulders roll as he pushes his suit jacket off. Fingers moving up to do the buttons, you move forward wanting to help, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. Butterflies blossom in your stomach as you stand back. Watching as he undoes the buttons, fingers easily slipping them out of each slot. He pulls the shirt out from the waistband of his pants, pushing the material back off his chest. You swallow, watching the wide expanse of his chest appear, the way his movement flexes the muscles. Hands clenching against your bare thigh with the need to touch.

The shirt snags where his shoulder and arm meet on the left side, his face scrunching in frustration at the material. You don’t hesitate, moving forward, one hand rest on his pec and the other goes over to the caught fabric. Sliding a finger underneath, you carefully work the fabric out before pushing it down. His body stills, his eyes flicking down to you. You hold his gaze as the shirt drops down, finger moving along his skin. Feeling the different scars that dot his chest, you flick down to the large scar where the metal meets the skin. 

You don’t ask, instead leaning down to kiss at some of the smaller scars, watching his breath hitch as you move over. Keeping your eyes on his you kiss down the ragged edges of his scar, you can hear his heart start to pick up. You start at the top of his shoulder, going down along it, leaving your kiss light, soft, leaving room for him to tell you to stop. Moving your hands, you reach up to gently touch his face, leaning on your toes, you kiss him softly. 

“All the details, the stories,” You whisper quietly. “I want to know every one of them.” 

A shutter rattles his body, and his hands are on you. Finger digging into your hips, as his lips crash into yours, it is hungry and desperate. You kiss back against the onslaught, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling just enough to anchor you to him. He backs you up slowly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Fuck, wanted to do this for so long,” Bucky groans, kissing down your neck, as you both fall back against the bed. 

Your hands move down to his belt, and he swats them away. You moan. “Buckyyy, please.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want to make it a night to remember.” He smirks, resting so that he is leaning over top of you.

“It already is,” You complain, hands running along his chest and down his arms, squeezing at them.

He leans forward, kissing down your neck, down along your shoulder, around your collarbones. Resting on his metal arm, he uses his free hand to reach behind you and unclip your bra. Arching your back, you help him free it before his mouth moves again. Hand kneading at your breast, making you hiss as he leans down to suck at one of your nipples. A whimper leaves your lips as he laps at it, teeth scraping at the sensitive bud. 

Whimpering your hands move to grab at his back. The metal hand moves quickly snatching both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“You squirm so much,” He grins, holding you steady as you pout. Kissing your pout, he switches to the other nipple, making you squirm more, breathy pants coming as you feel heat pulse in your core. 

“Goddamn, you’re such a tease.” You huff, now trying to arch your hips up for some friction. 

Bucky grumbles, shifting so that his legs spread yours open, making it difficult for you to try and move up. The more you struggle, the more he grins, and he goes back to kissing down your body, stretching as far as he can reach with your hands pinned. 

“I am going to let go,” His eyes are dark with need, desire, swirling in the air. “If you move I stop.”

“Ahh, I should have known you were kinky.” You yip back, trying not to squirm. “It’s always the quiet ones-” Your breath is suddenly sucked out of your lungs, when he tongues just below your naval. 

His teeth nip harder here, making you shiver, he licks and sucks after each bite, leaving a squiggling line of bruises across your lower stomach. Going further down, his tongue moves down and licks along the edge of your panties. 

Your body clenches as you try not to squirm, fist balling up the soft bedding underneath. Nearly losing it when you look down to see him lying between your legs, hands holding onto your hips, as he grabs onto your panties with his teeth. Bucky looks up at your eyes, connecting with yours as he works them down. Moving them just enough that he can get where he wants to go. Eyes pinning you in place as he leans forward, thumbs pushing your fold open as his tongue flicks out and tastes you. 

A whimper leaves your mouth, as his eyes close, he pushes forward eagerly, tongue taking a deep sweep as he groans. The vibrations have your hands fisted in the sheets, mind melting into a puddle as he continues to lick into your core. 

“Please,” You whimper, legs shaking as his nose brushes against your clit. “Let me touch you.”

His head raises, lips and chin soaked in your slick, which just makes you want to reach for him more. Bucky shakes his head. Before doubling his efforts, he moves his left hand down, running the cool metal along where your thigh and core meet. Mouth moving up to nip at your folds, making you buck up, just as one of the cold metal fingers slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, he stops moving for a second, eyes focused on your face as he starts to work one finger in and out. 

Keening, your hips move down against the friction, it's not enough. As if reading your mind, he slips another finger in. Scissoring them and opening you up, heat starting to grow in your stomach. A cry leaving as he latches onto your clit, sucking and humming, the slow pace picking up as his fingers move deeper. They curl up looking for the spongy spot, when he hits your eyes slam shut body pulsing as he keeps moving. Fingers moving up and pressing at it over and over, combined with him sucking and humming on your clit has you teetering on the edge. 

“I am-” Your breath stutters as he pops off your clit. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Grinning he moves his tongue down to wear his fingers are, scissoring you open so he can stick his tongue deep inside. 

“Goddamnit, Bucky please. Please.” You’re begging, the edge of release is right there, just under his tongue. 

The bastard chuckles, leaning forward to blow on your clit, “So pretty when you beg.”

You don’t have time to curse him out, as he latches back onto your clit, tongue swirling around as his fingers push up and against the spot. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape in a slight scream as pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t stop moving and sucking against you. The feeling keeps building, the fire growing, tingling out through your lower abdomen. It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You couldn’t help but let your fingers finally card into his hair, they clenched in and out. 

Bucky finally eases up, your thighs shaking as you try to find words in the haze. He moves up fingers, carefully slipping out of you, and you let out a huff at losing the sensation. Hands coming to cup his face, you bring him closer and kiss him, tongue pushing in so that you can taste a mix of you both.

“You broke the rules,” He teases, kissing the tip of your nose. His body is not quite laying on top of yours. 

A small giggles leave your mouth, “Still can’t think straight.” Your hands move down along his broad back, “Next time you’re just going to have to tie me up.”

Bucky grins, eyes crinkling as he kisses along your jaw. “Next time huh?”

Your hands roam down over his still cloth covered lower half, you squeeze his ass with one hand, the other moving to his front to work his belt open. 

“Many more times,” You grin, kissing his forehead as you slide the belt out. 

He sits back up, standing, and slides his pants and underwear down in one motion. Revealing his straining cock, it bumps against his lower abdomen, leaking enough to leave a mark there. You stare a little longer than you mean to, before your eyes flick back up to his. He smirks and crawls back onto the bed, his arms encasing you as he peers down at you. 

“So many promises,” He whispers, his metal arm hikes up one of your thighs as his mouth finds yours. 

Gasp escapes your lips as the thick tip of cock rubs against your folds, you are going to feel this, every bit of it. His hand drags you closer, letting you start to sink into it, and the feel of him starts to stretch you. Your hands digging into the flesh of his back. Moving your hips, you finally get him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hushes, kissing down along your jaw, tongue running from below your ear and down your neck. He found the spot where your shoulder met your neck and latched onto it.

He sinks all the way in, your mouth opens, gasping his name, throwing your other leg over top of his hips. Rocking up to meet his hips, your bodies flush where you join. He waits a moment, and you want to scream for him to move, to do something. So full, body aching and fluttering around him, still sensitive from your release earlier. 

Finally, he moves, slowly pulling out, then sliding back in, he moans into your ear. Saying your name softly as he continues to move, at a steady, unrelenting pace. One of your hands grips his hip, the other running into his hair, pulling him into a devastating kiss. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, his face slack with pleasure, yet lined as he holds back. 

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper quietly, leaning in to bite at his lip.

Something snaps in the air, his hips still for a moment, then his hands are gripping your hips, dragging you up onto his lap. His hips snap up making you gasp, strong arms wrapping around you as he starts to fuck in earnst. You can feel how deep he sits inside you, the way your stretched out, mind going fuzzy with the sound of your bodies filling the air. Nothing holds him back, you just cling onto him, mind goes blank. Your hand moves between you, rubbing at your clit. Making your insides spasm around him. 

“I am so close,” He whispers, grunting with the effort, muscle straining as he pumps into you. “Where?”

You kean, feeling your own pleasure renewing and blooming out. “Inisde, fuck please, inside me.” 

His mouth latches onto the top of your shoulder, biting hard, and a shout rips out of you as you come. Your eyes rolling back in the fog of pleasure and pain, making your whole body clench around him. His body spasms as he holds you close. His own body tensing, breath in short pants, heart hammering as he keeps pumping into you over and over. Metal hand placed on your lower back, as his rhythm falters, you feel him slam in cock twitching as he spills inside you. 

Breath still in short pants, you both collapse onto the bed, Bucky still holding you tight against his warm body. His heart just under your ear, body aching in the best way possible. Sweat and hair mingled together as you lay there happily. 

“You okay?” He whisper hands rubbing gently up and down your ribs, you could still feel him inside you.

“Mmhmm,” You mumble, trying to find words that seem to have left your brain. “Think you broke me.”

You felt him tense up at the words, you smack at his arm. “Not like that.” You giggle leaving light kisses across his hot skin. “Just a little foggy.”

He relaxes, moving so he can look at you, “That good or bad?”

You lean back grabbing a pillow to shove under both of your heads. “So, so good.”

He kisses you quietly, carefully unwrapping your legs from his before pulling out. You grumble at losing the feeling , but don’t hesitate to smack his butt as he goes to leave. 

“Behave,” He says with a grin. “Be right back.”

You groan, shifting a little, kicking and moving the blankets so that you can crawl underneath. The sheets were soft and comfortable, your head still riding the high of the orgasm. You could get used to this, a small smile crosses your face. 

Bucky slips in, two glasses of water in one large hand, another holds a washcloth. He puts the drink down, flipping the covers up, he grabs your ankles and drags you closer to him.

“You love to manhandle me,” You giggles, letting him carefully clean up the mess between your legs. 

“Think you like it as much as I do,” He grins, before tossing the towel into a basket near the closet.

You nod your head as you take the water glass, taking a few stips, “Not used to being thrown around, can’t say I mind.”

He drinks his own water, before crawling into bed beside you. “Good, cause you still owe me for breaking the rules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3 Reblog, comment, like, more to cum *cough*

[kuiofficial]

Jinu x male reader

Reader is half demon and hides it from Jinu. He’s also an artist from Japan doing a collab and accidentally shows his marks. Jinu sees and comforts him showing he’s a demon too. Happiness ensues

Patterns

Jinu x half demon soloist male reader

Angst w/confort

⚠️ warnings: none

A/n: this is a little short because I wrote 2 fics right before this </3

You hated yourself for one single reason, being half demon. You had stayed hidden most of your life, and you preferred to keep it that way. But now that was gonna be hard to do as you shared an apartment with five other boys.

You were a soloist from Japan, a half demon one at that. You preferred to work alone, and produce your own songs but your manager decided to do a collab with a group from Korea. You really didn't want to do this collab as it required sharing an apartment with them throughout the recording. But your manager could care less, and he sent you off to go pack your stuff.

Most of the time you spent at the apartment was practicing in your room, you were too scared to interact with the others. But even being in your room didn't stop them from interrupting you with being loud. Their leader, Jinu, had always yelled at them to quiet down and you felt bad for him. But then you remember... you're a demon... you aren't worthy enough to feel bad..

Nightmares reoccur every night, and it's always the same one. You accidently showing your patterns off to your hundreds of fans, and then they call you a demon and try to kill you. You always woke up drenched in sweat, crying while hugging your knees swearing you were not like them.

However one night made you realize something.. You were practicing in your room just like you normally do, when you heard the door creak open. Looking up you saw it was Jinu, confused you furrowed your brows slightly. "Oh.. um.. I heard you practicing and wondered if you needed help with any of the lines.?" Jinu said, slightly mumbling. You stayed silent thinking for a bit, 'if I kick him out that would be rude, but I also want to be alone..'

Sighing, you allowed him to sit next to you on your bed. You felt the bed dip softly when he sat next to you. You felt nervous and tense around him, so you just pointed to a random line and said you had problems with the tone. Jinu leaned over your shoulder, making you tense up more because you were scared that he might see your patterns hidden underneath your hoodie.

Jinu however didn't notice you tensing up, "oh, this line? Why don't you try it first and then I'll help you." Jinu said, turning to look at you. You nodded slightly, then began to sing the line. Once you were finished, Jinu looked at you amazed. You were shocked at this, when suddenly Abby bursted through the room and quickly grabbed onto your hoodie. "HELP ME!! ROMANCE IS TRYING TO PUNCH MY ABS!!" He screamed, you looked shocked then realized he was slightly pulling your hoodie off of your shoulder, revealing your patterns. Quickly you covered your arm up, but it was too late, Jinu noticed.

Jinu rolled his eyes and told Abby he can deal with it by himself, sending the pink haired male away. After the door was shut, Jinu looked at you. "So you're a demon.. huh." He said, your eyes widened and you shaked your head no. You were helpless though, he already saw those familiar patterns. Tears began to fall, and you begged him to not tell anyone.

Jinu's heart ached slightly, seeing you so vulnerable when in fact he was a demon too.. Jinu put his hand on your shoulder, "you don't have to worry.. me and the others understand.." he said, you looked over confused. Then you saw the familiar patterns now covering his arms, neck, and face. Jinu looked ashamed of the patterns too, he looked sad...

You knew that he felt the same pain as you did, even if he didn't show it that well. After a bit you realized he looked like he was about to cry, so you quickly hugged him. "I-its alright.." you said trying to comfort him, he looked up at you hugging you back. You hugged for a few minutes, then after you guys felt better. Jinu opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped.

You knew what he was going to say, you could tell. "Don't worry Jinu.. I love you too.." you said, causing him to blush. No longer ashamed of the patterns covering your body, you and him kissed in the moonlight of your room..

Guys I hope this is better </3

[urnewroomie]

i’ve seen a lot of posts lately that have been, not bashing Erik, but being a bit frustrated (idk if that’s the right word but it’s what we’re going with) with him, for the amount of fluff stuff we’ve been getting lately, so i’ve come to offer my two cents:

it’s been incredibly stressful to just exist lately, given basically everything going on in the world. anxiety for a lot of people is at an all time high, things are so uncertain and mental health for a lot of people, is not great right now. Hell, Erik has gone as far as to make a comfort audio for this exact reason (the one Camelopardalis audio)

as a writer and character creator myself, i find it can be emotionally taxing to create lore heavy, angst heavy stuff when i myself am already not in a good headspace, and to them have to put myself in the characters headspace who also i’m not having a good time or in a good space, it gets to be a lot.

so, instead i just create fluff scenes in my head. I create a world where everything is great for my characters, where they can be happy and live with their partners without any threat to their rights, their safety, and all the other stupid shit a lot of people are currently having to worry about due to the things going on in everyday life.

it wouldn’t surprise me if Erik is doing this same thing. He’s a queer man, one in the US, having the deal with all this awful, negative crap going on, and i don’t blame him if he’s making fluffy, feel good content right now as a pick me up for himself because, let’s be honest, we all need a pick me up and a distraction from all the crap going on.

this isn’t me coming to say that those people that are frustrated aren’t valid in their feelings, i totally get it!!! i love lore and angst and plot driven things. i just think we should consider how the wonderful Mr Redacted might be doing, and at the end of the day, his audios are a passion project of his, and i would guess, an escape for him, my characters are for me, and i appreciate greatly that he shares that with all of us. his characters and audios have been such a comfort to me and countless others.

i can’t express how thankful i am that i found redacted, i think he is crazy talented and above everything else, his audios give me something to look forward to every saturday. waiting for that new audio genuinely gets me through the week. it’s a little mind boggling to me that he gets an audio out basically every week, the amount of work and dedication that would take.

i’m rambling at this point but hopefully this gets my point across haha.

sorry if none of this made sense XD

thanks for reading if you somehow managed to get to the bottom

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Leave the Light On

Robert Reynolds x Reader

Words: 6225

Summary: As Bob is learning to control his powers, his guilt comes to a breaking point when he sees something from your past. 

Notes: How could I not use one of my favorite hurt/comfort tropes with this fine, fine man? He has become one of my golden boys and I will protect him at all costs…except in my own writing.  Also, like with the Top Gun imagine, I might revisit this character arch. I think Blue Fire could be fun to work with. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Abuse, trauma, anxiety, depression... about what you'd expect.

More Marvel imagines: HERE

-

He’d asked you once if you didn’t want to tell them because you were ashamed of it. Ashamed of him. It couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but once Bob got something in his head, it tended to burrow in and not come out for weeks. Now, every time you caught his eye from across the tower, he avoided you. 

“Who’s been using my goddamn toothbrush?” Walker’s voice boomed throughout the entire penthouse Valentina put you up in. 

You still didn’t feel right. Standing where they had stood. 

Just because she was calling you heroes didn’t make it true. 

“Why would any of us use your toothbrush?” Ava scoffed as Walker stormed into the main living space, holding the little bristled tool in hand. She didn’t even look up from her book. 

“Well, I definitely didn’t leave it lying face down on the counter so all of your disgusting bacteria could collect on it,” he snapped back. 

You rolled your eyes. 

So no. It wasn’t that you were ashamed. You weren’t ashamed of Bob or being with him or anything like that. 

You didn’t want to tell them because they were assholes. 

“Y/N? Was it you? Huh?” Walker waved the toothbrush in front of your face. 

You snatched it out of his super soldier grip and threw it as hard as you could across the room. It clattered somewhere behind the bar.

Across the living room, Bob snickered by the window.

“Oh, do you find that funny, Bob?” Walker whined. “You think Y/N is hilarious because she’s mutilating my things?” 

“You know I don’t like it when you get closer than three feet to me, Walker,” you said. 

“You don’t like it when I do this? Huh?” The former super-soldier loomed over you, pressing up against your chair. 

“God, you are such a dick,” you muttered, standing up and taking a swing. 

Walker caught your fist and wrenched your arm back. 

Damn serum. 

“Admit you’ve been messing with my stuff,” he said.

“I haven’t touched your fu- ahh!” He pushed harder on your arm, knowing he could break it if he really wanted to. 

A pair of bare feet and blue sweats appeared in your vision. You craned your neck to look up. Bob stood in front of you both. And his eyes were glowing. He didn’t have to say anything. Walker let you go.

“Stop messing with my stuff,” Walker muttered, stomping away like an angry little kid. 

Bob’s stare followed him. His fists clenched at his sides. 

You stretched your arm out to ease some of the soreness. Blocking the other’s view with your body, you covered Bob’s hand with yours, forcing his fingers to relax. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered. 

Slowly, his gaze returned to you, and his eyes went back to their dark, thoughtful blue. 

“Okay.” The word fell from his lips like a breath of relief, soft and spreading warmth through your cheeks. His fingers laced together with yours. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, ducking his head. “I’m gonna go. Yeah. I need to go… clean my room.” 

Even he found himself wincing at the awkwardness, but instead of backtracking, he hurried off, flexing his fingers at his sides to battle the lingering feeling of your touch. 

You watched him disappear down the hall and felt the others watching you, so you turned on your heel and walked the other way, deciding to get some air on the balcony.

Bucky, Yelena, and Alexi caught the tail end of the encounter, thankfully missing Walker’s hissy fit. They did, however, see you and Bob retreating in opposite directions. Yelena clicked her tongue and leaned over to the Winter Soldier. 

“How long do you think it’ll take them to realize we already know?” She whispered. 

Bucky thought for a second, crossing his metal arm over the other. “I think they’ll go for another week before they come clean.” 

She snorted. “Like they’ll keep it up that long.” 

Bucky raised a brow. 

“What? It isn’t like Mr. Shadow is great at subtlety and Y/N is trying so hard to hide it, she doesn’t even realize she’s giving away all her cards.”

“Showing her cards,” Bucky corrected. 

Yelena ignored him. “Should we let them know that we know?”

“Absolutely not.” 

Now it was her turn to raise her brows. 

Bucky frowned. “Do you have any idea how little entertainment I get?” He shook his head. “No. I want to see how this plays out.” 

The two watched you storm out onto the balcony and grip the railing like it was keeping you from going over. Oh yeah. You had it bad. 

“Twenty bucks says three days,” Yelena said. 

Bucky held out his good hand. “Deal.”

Alexi walked behind the bar to make himself a drink and bent down. “Hey, look, free toothbrush!” 

-

You retreated to your room when you couldn’t stand the sound of Walker and Alexi bickering over something you didn’t care enough to listen to. Yours was on the second level of the penthouse and gave you a view that faced the Hudson. 

“Are you ready for your swimming lesson?” 

You flinched and quickly looked away, drawing the curtain over the window and casting the room into shadow, including the far corner by your closet. 

“Hey.”

“Jesus Christ, Bob!”

You switched on your lamp, and he leaned forward so he was in the light, giving you a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry.” 

You sat on the edge of your bed and ran your fingers through your hair, wincing at the soreness still in your arm.

“Walker is such an asshole,” you muttered, rolling your shoulder to ease some of the ache. Walker’s grip had shifted your sleeve up. White-pink marks blared back at you against your skin. You tugged your shirt sleeve back down and kept stretching. “So are you talking to me now?” 

“I wasn’t,” he shrank back, “not talking to you.”

“Liar.” You shot him a teasing smirk. Pulling your arm across you, you felt your muscles ease a bit. “Do you see why now?”

Bob glanced down at his hands, fingers interlocking and releasing. “Not really.”

“Because they suck!” You exclaimed. Shifting to sit across from him, you reached out, pulling his hands to your lap, lacing your fingers through his instead. “Believe me, my hesitation has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the people we unfortunately call our friends.” 

Not to mention Valentina. You were not about to become a poster couple for her stupid campaign. She was insufferable enough as it was. You could see it now. Valentina’s Valentine Cards, featuring The New Avengers’ Blue Fire and… Bob. 

No. You’d spent enough of your life under a magnifying glass. You weren’t going to do that to the best thing that had happened to you in, well, ever. The thought alone made your hands tingle with the power that burned in your body. 

“Are you okay?” Bob asked softly. 

You calmed down and held his hands a little tighter. Your eyes met those deep blues, and you smiled. “Yeah. Always.” 

His fingers moved from yours to your wrists, tracing the skin up under your sleeves. Your breathing hitched, but you didn’t pull away. Bob stood, shifting so he was beside you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your middle. 

“I’m sorry Walker was an asshole.” 

You snorted. “It’s not your fault. I think they put it in the serum.” You embraced him in turn, curling your body into his. Sometimes it felt like the only place in the world where you fit. You felt his arms tighten a little around you. His lashes tickled your skin as he screwed his eyes shut. 

“Ren?” You pulled back just enough to get a look at him. “Ren, what’s wrong?”

“I’m trying,” he gasped out, “I can’t-” Those dark blue eyes met yours in panic and apology. 

And you both vanished. 

“Are you ready for your first swimming lesson?” 

Two hands came down hard on your back, knocking the wind out of you and pushing you into the frigid waters. Only it wasn’t you. You could still feel the harshness of his palms on your shoulder blades, but it wasn’t happening to you. At least, not you you. 

But the little girl in front of you, whose head went under the water and came up coughing, begging her daddy to help her, was you once. She had your hair, though shorter, your eyes, though less haunted. 

You flinched as your little arms splashed against the water, desperate to keep afloat. Gurgled screams echoed through your head. 

With your feet still planted on the dock, you stared at him, with his cold, calculating eyes. The hard set of his jaw and the tense, disappointed way he crossed his arms. 

Your father. 

“No,” you hissed under your breath and dove into the water. 

It was every bit as cold as you remembered, freezing your skin at first touch. You clenched your teeth to keep them from chattering. The muscles of your arms and legs seized up in the icy water, but you pushed on, eyes searching for that small, scared little girl. All you found, though, was the dark. 

A hand latched onto your wrist, keeping you from going any deeper. You fought against it, but it was stronger. He was stronger. 

Bob pulled you to him, and when you opened your eyes again, trying to blink back that terrible water, you were back in your room. His arms clung to you, but when he realized you were both back, he recoiled. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I try to stop-”

Still feeling like you were holding your breath, you held up a hand. “It’s okay.” 

“Y/N, I-”

“Ren, really.” You inhaled. You exhaled. “I’m fine.” You motioned to the room around you. “See? We’re back. We’re fine.”

“But what you saw…” He trailed off, grimacing.

You took his face in your hands. “It’s nothing I don’t see already, okay?” If your words couldn’t convince him, your lips might, pressing against his gently, reassuring. “You brought me back.” 

It was enough to make him smile, at least a little. 

“You brought yourself back,” he said. He kept kissing you anyway. 

It was one of the things that worried him the most about you. He could never get enough. The more time he spent with you, touching you, the more risk there was of his powers taking over. 

“I’m starving,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “Think you can fly us to a pizza place or something?” With your arms draped around his neck, you could feel his laugh even before you heard it.

“I don’t think Valentina would like that idea.”

“Well, Valentina is a bitch.” You pouted your lips and tilted your head. “Please please please please.”

“I will walk with you to the nearest place,” Bob said. 

You rolled your eyes. “Boring, but fine.” Drawing a finger over his cheek, you let your thumb land on his lips. “But only if we get extra cheese.” 

“I can live with that.” 

Bob drew you back to him for another long, sweet kiss. He let his hands settle at the small of your back, making sure to only touch the fabric of your sweatshirt. Still, he held you as close as he could without fear of hurting you. But in the back of his mind, he was thinking of you lost in that dark water, swimming after something you’d never catch. 

-

Bob didn’t consider himself to be a brave person. He was always scared all the time. Sure, back at the compound, he’d run after Valentina’s men so that the others could get away, but he didn’t consider that courage. 

Bravery and the willingness to die weren’t exactly the same thing. 

But he wondered if there wasn’t something to be said for doing something that scared him every single day. Did that make him brave? Because being with you scared him more than almost anything. 

He watched the light streaming through the window touch your skin. The sun glittered against your bare shoulder. His fingers hovered just over the spot, not quite touching you, not quite sure. 

How could something scare him so much and yet feel like the first right thing in his entire life?

You stirred, turning just enough that you bumped into his touch. 

Bob scurried away and screwed his eyes shut tight. 

You sighed out a tired sound. “Are you doing that thing where you pretend you weren’t watching me?” 

He opened one eye and found you smiling at him. “No.” 

You fully rolled over so you could lay your hand on his cheek. 

He opened the other eye too. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. 

“How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Better.” 

He always slept better when he was next to you. You were like a dreamcatcher for whatever this thing inside him was. You caught it all and stored it away. He just worried about what it was doing to you instead. 

You tucked a brown wave behind his ear and kissed him slowly, sweetly. 

“Good.”

“What, um,” he stammered, “what about you? Did you, uh… sleep?”

You wondered if he could tell. Could he sense a nightmare even if he wasn’t part of it? That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He was there. Most of your nightmares involved him, locked away in your childhood home, hidden in a box by your father so he could use him as a weapon against the impending end of the world. 

Not far off from Valentina’s original plans, it seemed. 

“Like a rock,” you plastered a smile on your face and kissed him again. 

There, lying there while his arms wrapped around you and gently tugged you to his chest, that’s where you needed to be. That’s all you needed. 

You breathed him in, not realizing how much you were shaking against him. 

“Hey,” he said, “are you cold?” He pulled the blankets tighter around you and rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“I’m fine, Ren.”

A little smile teased his lips the way it always did when you used his nickname. It was his turn to pull your lips to his, kissing both corners, then your jaw, then up to the spot by your ear. His giggle rumbled through you. 

“We have to get up.”

“Why? Do you have plans I don’t know about?”

You laughed, his hands falling to your hips, fingers tickling. “No. I’ve got a hot date with Bucky.” 

Bob nipped your ear. 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m serious.” You curled a light-brown strand around your finger. “I have a thing for super soldier serum, I guess. Walker is next on my list.” 

For a split second, that familiar little ring of cold circled his captivating blue irises. But only for a second. Then, your Bob was back, pouting. 

“It is too early for you to be this mean to me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you snickered. “Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?”

The gold returned in a circled sliver, accompanied by a fierce blush overtaking his cheeks. God, you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“I…um…” Flustered, he cleared his throat, which made him actually cough, which started a coughing fit that you could only laugh at. 

“I’m going to get some coffee,” you said, reaching for your clothes beside the bed.

 In the flicker of movement, Bob caught a glimpse of the scar on your arm, thigh, and back of the neck. You’d never told him what they were from. He never asked, of course, but he’d wondered. He knew self-harm. And he knew better than most what needle marks looked like. These weren’t either. He had a feeling. A bad one. 

“Stay a little longer?” He asked, his voice so sweet and tired that you had to look back with a smile. He tugged on your hand. 

“What’s up with you this morning?”

Bob shrugged. “I just like it when we stay in here. Nothing else can touch us in here.” 

Out there, he was always worried about doing the wrong thing or letting too much of his power loose. When he could lie here, holding you, it anchored him to this reality. You kept the shadows away, as well as the blinding light that came with the other side of him. Everyone saw him as split in two. The Sentry and The Void. Sometimes it felt like you were the only one who saw him. 

“Okay.” You layed back down, allowing him to quickly snuggle back beside you, tucking your head under his chin. 

It all felt so right. More right than he’d ever been. No matter what he’d done, he’d always been wrong. With his family, with the world, as The Sentry. But then you stepped into his shadows, and you saw him for all that he could be. Not in the way Valentina did, but in a way he wanted to aspire to. He wanted to be the person you saw in him. 

And isn’t that was love was?

“I love you,” Bob whispered.

You stiffened in his arms. 

“What?”

Gathering his confidence, he said it a little louder. “I love you, Y/N.”

Suddenly, his arms felt very hot, like he was holding onto a space heater. It wasn’t until he saw the slight blue glow that he released you. Your body lit up with the neon color, just like the weapons you’d described to him. 

Blue Flame.

He’d only seen it once before- when you were helping him escape the vault before Valentina burned you all away. Even then, you hadn’t looked this scared. 

“I think I should go,” you said, voice cracking. 

Bob’s face fell. 

You started toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” he pleaded, reaching for you. When he grabbed your hand, it felt like he’d been struck by lightning. 

He couldn’t stop it after that. 

The two of you tumbled into the dark, but water wasn’t what you found. It was blood. 

You knew where you were before you heard the screaming. Before you saw the sad trail of blood leading to the table where your younger self tried to get free of your restraints. Your leg and arm were already opened up, small slits bleeding all over the floor. He’d tied you facedown to the table

“They figured it out,” your father muttered. “They know. They know and they’re trying to turn you against me.”

“Dad, please,” you begged. 

“I have to get the chip out. Then, things will go back to how they were.” He dug his scalpel into the back of your neck. 

Bob stood beside you in the corner of the room, watching you watching yourself. You were both frozen in place, whether by the force of your memory or the fear running like ice through your veins. All he could do was stand there.

He couldn't remember ever seeing you really cry before. Not like this.

Your face crumpled, and you had to bring a hand up to your lips to muffle your sob. 

When your father was finished, satisfied that there was nothing hiding beneath your skin, he turned to the other table.

“Leave him alone,” you growled, both in the past and as you stood there watching. 

Your little brother, barely eighteen, sat up, willing and waiting. He held out his arm. 

“Find it, Dad,” Cam said. The hard set of his jaw was betrayed by the welling terror in his eyes. “I believe you.”

Your father sneered back at your younger self, but you felt like he was staring right through you. It rattled you worse than any hit you’d taken. You wanted to hide or run, but there was nowhere to go. 

Bob almost reached for you, but he didn’t. 

You walked toward the tables. 

“I said, leave him alone!” Younger you shouted. 

The scalpel hovered over your brother’s wrist.

Brightness took over your vision, as blinding as it was in all of your nightmares. You could feel the terrible burn in your skin. It made your vision blur even more until all you could see was that light. The power forced into your veins with the technology that almost destroyed New York. 

You hit your knees as it faded. 

“Y/N,” Bob exclaimed, finally breaking himself out of his trance to rush to your side. 

“It works,” your father gasped. A wide, awful grin spread across his face. “It works!” 

The you of the past leveled your hard, glowing gaze on your father. You raised your hand. 

“Don’t!” Cam pleaded.

“Is this what you wanted, daddy?” You hissed. The blue intensified again, spreading across the lines of your palm and creeping up your veins. It settled in your eyes, turning them to ice. “Is this what you wanted!” 

Dad held up his hands in front of him, face softening to that false paternal smile that made your stomach roll. “Don’t you see, sweetheart? Don’t you see the power I’ve given you? They won’t be able to hurt us.” His voice faltered, trying to hide his fear. “Nothing will hurt you again.”

“No.” You let the power flow through you and launch itself forward. “Nothing will.” 

A beam of cerulean light rammed into your father’s chest. The smell of burning cloth and meat filled your lungs. 

You could still taste it in the air as you knelt on the lab floor. It choked you like thick, black smoke. You tried to breathe through it, but your throat constricted, your sobs warbling into gasps for air. 

The hole in your father’s chest might as well have been yours, leaving nothing but charred, emptiness. 

He slumped forward, face still watching you with a proud, grotesque smile. 

Cam struggled against his restraints, screaming. 

You stepped toward him. 

You reached for him from your place on the floor. 

He turned a burning glare on you. Not the you from the past, but you. The one crying on the ground, trying to breathe. 

“How could you?” He hissed. 

“Cam, please,” the younger you begged. You took another step and turned to dust. 

You watched yourself drift away into the dark and everything else blurred around you.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you were back in your bedroom. You were on the ground, shaking hands braced against the floor to keep yourself from crumbling completely. 

Five years. You’d gotten a second to grieve everything you’d lost while the rest of the world got five years to move on. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t touch me.” You recoiled from Bob’s touch. You could feel it rising in you again, the power. You worried what it would do to him if you didn’t get away. 

Bob knelt beside you and let his hands fall to his lap. He watched tears fall down your face and couldn’t stop his own from clouding his vision. He wiped them away quickly, but they kept coming. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. 

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

Bob’s lip trembled and he reached for you again, only to let his hand linger there in the air between you. Forever held out to you. 

You didn’t take it. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated, voice cracking. 

You’d never told him- told anyone, really. The only one who had some semblance of an idea was Valentina and that was only because your father worked for her. She gave him the resources to make you what you were and you worked for her anyway.

“You don’t know,” you said in a low voice. The smoke and smell of your father’s burning heart still felt like they were wrapped around the inside of your throat, blocking any breath. “I killed him.”

“You were protecting your brother-”

“Who killed himself two years later!” You finally found your voice in a scream. It was all crashing down on you and the only way you could see out of it was anger. You scrambled to your feet and backed away, trying not to notice the brokenness in Bob’s eyes. “You don’t get it, Robert.”

His full name made him flinch. 

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Some of us didn’t sign up for this.” 

You stormed out of the room so you didn’t have to see the hurt settle in his face. You caught enough of a glimpse, though, that made your stomach ache, like you’d swallowed acid and it was eating you from the inside out. 

Bob sat on the floor where you’d both fallen, legs folded beneath him. He buried his face in his hands. He could feel it- the darkness. It seeped in from the corners of his mind. 

Did you hear her? You chose this. She’ll never forgive you.

“Stop it,” he cried, tugging his hair between his fingers. “Shut up. Shut up.”

You hurt her. You made it worse. You always make it worse. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Bob whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

-

Valentina didn’t like it when you climbed up on the roof, but all of you did anyway. She said her security team always lost track of you because the cameras tended to malfunction. What she didn’t know was that you and Walker had come up here when you first moved in and messed them up so you’d have a place she couldn't watch you. Any time she sent someone to fix them, one of you would break the lens or tape a picture of Iron Man or something like that, so eventually she just gave up. 

You sat with your legs hanging off the edge. The clouds were low tonight, heavy with rain. It made you feel like you were sitting in the middle of the storm. You sent a blue flash into the grey to mimic the lightning that hadn’t come quite yet. 

“Careful. Someone is going to think that’s a UFO.” Bucky’s heavy steps stomped across the concrete of the rooftop, his hair slicked back from a shower and his arm recently polished. 

“Good.” You glanced briefly back at him and turned back to the clouds. “Maybe that will give them something to talk about other than us.” You sent out another flash and he sat down next to you, metal fingers clinging against the edge. 

“Were you here?” He asked. You raised a brow, so he clarified. “During the attack on New York?” 

You flexed your hands out in front of you. Blue fizzled in between your fingertips. 

“I was on a school trip upstate. Senior year of high school,” you said. “My parents were here, though. My mom got killed.”

He nodded, eyes almost as blue as the power in your palm. “Is that what made your dad…”

“Turn into a mad scientist doomsday prepper who mutilated his children and turned one into a monster using the same weapons that killed his wife?” You finished for him. You shrugged, leaning back with your arms resting behind you. “I mean, he was always an asshole who thought he could prepare us for the big terrible world by being even bigger and more terrible, but… yeah. I’d say that was the last straw.” 

Bucky didn’t mutter any apologies or give you any pitiful glances, which you were grateful for. 

“You stayed with him all that time?” 

“Didn’t have a reason not to.” 

“But you had a reason to stay.” His question was clear. 

You kicked your leg out, then let it fall. Out and fall. Out and fall. “My kid brother idolized him. And when mom died… well, he really thought my dad was going to save the world by changing the two of us into something that couldn’t be taken from him.”

“He wanted to turn you into superheroes.” Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds familiar.” 

“Yeah and he screwed up. He didn’t make me a hero, he made me-” You cut yourself off, anger buzzing through you with a power not from earth. A power that once tried to destroy the city you sat over. “That sound familiar too?” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the look in his piercing eyes was enough for you to know he understood. He understood more than you needed to explain. He knew. You didn’t know how, but he did. 

“You know,” he inhaled sharply, “I really hated Valentina for a long time after she kind of forced us into a team.” 

“Really?” You scoffed. “None of us could tell.”

He nudged you with his metal elbow. “But after a while, I realized it was good. For all of us.” Those blue eyes softened. “We fit together. Don’t ask me how, but we do.” Bucky turned back to the skyline, breathing in the clouds. “Nobody fits better than the two of you.”

Your shoulders slumped forward, head angled down so you could just see the specks of people beneath you. 

“How am I supposed to let him see all of me?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. “When I still can’t look in the mirror for too long?” Holding your arm out in front of you, you stared at the scar where your father had dug a blade into your flesh, searching for something that would justify his paranoia. 

Bucky held his hand out beside yours. The silver glinted in the light next to your skin. He took your hand in a gentle, but firm grip.

“That’s the cost, isn’t it?” 

He let go, letting his arm fall back to his side. Yours stayed there, though, hovering in the air like you were reaching for something. Maybe you were. 

“Now, thanks to you, I owe Yelena twenty bucks,” he huffed, climbing back off of the ledge. 

“What were you-” You started, then it hit you. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

Bucky just clicked his tongue and waved back to you as he left. 

Downstairs, Yelena felt the hallway growing dark, and a deep dread settled in her stomach. Her knock was light. She entered the room without waiting for a response. 

He was sitting on his bed, facing a wall, and the shadows of the room seemed to collect around him. 

“Hey, Bob,” she said, taking a step forward. “You feeling okay?”

“I can control it.” He tilted his head to acknowledge her presence, but he didn’t move. “I can. I promise.”

Yelena held up a hand, like she was approaching a frightened deer. “I know you can.” She eyed a particularly angry-looking dark spot. If dark spots could be angry. “But for the sake of curiosity, why are you going all, you know… scary dark shame loop?” 

“I didn’t- she hates me because I couldn’t- I scared her and now I-”

“Bob.” Her voice sharpened. It forced him to look up at her. “What happened?” 

-

You spent the rest of the afternoon walking. It didn’t matter where. It didn’t matter once the sky started to get dark. You walked around the city, looking at everything that, not so long ago, had been utterly destroyed. And it was all through the power that now haunted your veins like a virus that was slowly eating away from the inside out. 

Bucky’s words rang through your head for the entirety of your walk.

That’s the cost.

The elevator doors closed around you and the numbness faded. It was a wall you’d built around you since you came back from The Blip. What a stupid name for it. Too simple, too sweet. Half of the world vanished and when they came back, everything had changed. You’d lost everything and they told you that you were lucky to be back. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, but once it started, you couldn't stop. Your whole body shook from the force of it, like it was breaking you apart piece by piece. The wall crumbled. 

That’s the cost.

When you reached the penthouse, you pulled yourself off the elevator floor, unsure of when you sank down to your knees. You knew you probably looked crazy. You stepped out anyway. 

The living room was empty and quiet. Someone had made coffee, despite the late hour. You breathed in the scent of it to ground yourself. 

Yelena emerged from the hallway. Trailing behind her was Bob, his eyes sullen and shoulders slumped. 

When he saw you, the guilt struck him all over again like a thousand bullets. You’d been crying. More than that, he could see the toll of everything in the way you held yourself, like the structure that held you up had crumbled. You were still crying. Tears pooled in your pretty eyes and rolled down your cheeks. He never meant to make you cry. He didn’t mean to-

His thoughts stopped when you bolted across the room and wrapped your arms around him. 

You knocked the air out of his chest and brought him back to himself, all of the shadows threatening to consume him chased away by your touch. You buried your face in his chest, your tears wetting his shirt but he didn’t care. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Y/N, I-” He started, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry.”

You pulled back, looking up at him with more vulnerability than you thought you were capable anymore. His blue eyes softened you, melted you into someone you used to be. Someone you wanted to be again. 

“Can we talk?” 

Bob let his hands fall to the small of your back, pulling you as close as he could. He nodded, leaning down to nuzzle into your neck. 

“I’ll just…” Yelena didn’t finish, she just stalked off, giving the two of you one last glance before heading toward her room. 

You tugged Bob out onto the balcony. Years ago, Tony Stark fought a god on this balcony. Steve Rogers and Thor. Heroes. People you’d heard about your whole life, from your father trying to make you one of them, from the world that turned them into idols. Now, you couldn’t help but wonder if they were just people, too. 

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” you said, wanting to get that out of the way. “And I don’t blame you.” You paced in front of the glass barriers keeping you from tumbling over the edge. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being scared.”

“I know.” Bob shook his head, the guilt still lingering in his gaze. “I keep making you relive the worst parts of your life. The more I try to stop it, the more I keep hurting you and I don’t want to hurt you anymore-” 

“Bob, stop.” You took his face in your hands and took a deep breath. “I can face the worst of me because I am the best of myself when I’m with you.” Grasping his hand, you placed it over the scar on your arm. “I want to show you all of me. I want you to see the parts of myself that I could never face alone. Because I’m not alone anymore. Sometimes I just need to remember that.” Another breath. “I love you, Robert.” With those words, all of the air left your body. You had to say them again just to inhale. “I love you. And yes, that scares me because of- well everything to be honest and-”

It’s his turn to interrupt you, lips catching your words and breathing life back into you. His hand cups the back of your neck gently but his movements are steady and determined. You know without him breaking away that this is him saying it back. He does anyway.

“I love you too.” His fingers grazed the scar on your hip while his other hand tangled in your hair. “A-and I’m going to get better. I can control it. I am going to work every day to make sure you never have to go through something like that again.” 

“And I am going to remind you every day something bad happens, because it will, that it isn’t your fault,” you promised. His blue sweater was warm against your skin and the growing chill of the evening. “The point isn’t to make sure nothing happens, Bob. It’s to make sure we can go through it together.”

That’s the cost. 

You hated how right that old soldier was. 

“So…” Bob glanced at the windows to the balcony, where the entirety of your team was now standing. “Does this mean we’re okay telling everybody?” He shrank away from their stares, his sheepishness making you smile. 

“Yeah.” You turned his face back to yours. “I guess it does.” 

Looking at you made him forget all of it, the panic, the pain, the slight fear of Walker’s annoyed glare. You pulled his lips down to yours and it all went away. You knew it would still be there. All of that anguish lingering in both of you like a disease. But maybe it was a little easier to face together than alone. To have someone there, leaving the light on for when you were ready to come out of the darkness. 

Inside, Yelena held out her hand. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and passed her the cash.

[rueclfer]

new follower but HAVE to send in stuff for the job fair!!! are you kidding me?!?? that’s so cute!

i’m thinking budtender! reader x customer! sero?? but i know you have one sero request lined up so i did think about alternately

athletic trainer! reader x hockey player! bakugo?

looking forward to the others in the series regardless of these ideas! much love <3 🐸

helloooo new friend <3 HEHEHEH ive never done a budtender y/n before im actually so tickled at thisssss hehehe thank you for the submission hehe (dont make me think abt hockey bakugou rn i will go Crazy. but that is for another time)

customer!sero // job fair

event m.list

sero looked behind his shoulder and gave denki one last mouthed "fuck you" before sliding his ID through the glass panel of the dispensary.

this was the second time that denki had “coincidentally” forgotten his ID and wallet at home, leaving sero no choice but to pay for the day's plans himself.

sero walks in and strolls around the displays. usually he's in and out, but he doesn't mind making denki wait this time around to make his usual conversation with the security guard out front.

he makes mental notes of the ridiculous names of strains to tell him about later. he recognizes a few, but silently chuckles at the rest until he turns the corner and bumps into you.

"sorry!" you blurt, catching his shoulder to stabilize yourself before you could drop the box of inventory in your arms, "my fault, i'm so sorry!"

he blinks once. then twice. and then down to the lanyard around your neck.

"sheesh, you high on the job, y/n?" he smirks.

“oh please, just a clutz,” you scoff, your cheeks suddenly prickling with heat, "if i was high right now, our sales would be up by 75% right now. i’d be running this store like the military."

"oh god, a productive high?" he dramatically gasps, "what does it feel like to be god's favorite?"

"anyone can be a productive high," you begin moving around the shelves, stocking as sero follows behinds, "just gotta smoke the right shit."

suddenly he's grateful denki left his ID at home.

he's seen you around before, but never brave enough to approach- always in and out and has no strength to flex his minimal weed knowledge to the pretty bud-tender.

"got any recommendations then?" he leans up against the shelf you're working on, watching you crouch down with a box full of pre-rolls laid between your legs.

“hmm,” you hum, “well, what are your plans for the day?” your gaze flickers up to his for a moment.

sero’s brain freezes for a moment. he hadn’t thought this far ahead in the conversation- forgetting that you were actually doing your job, and not entertaining his poor attempts at flirting.

“uhh..” he begins, “you know, just hanging out, cleaning a bit, saving a cat from a tree, and writing a book?”

he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as he internally curses himself out, avoiding your eyes as you slowly turn your head up at him with an amused smile.

“wow,” you laugh, “productive wednesday.”

“yeah, you know,” he shrugs, “might even run a marathon if i got the time for it. a marathon for charity, by the way.”

you motion for him to come over to the other side of the shelf as your eyes glaze over the display.

“uh-huh. a do-gooder like you mainly goes for pre-rolls, right?”

sero nods his head, “how’d you know?”

“i’m also really observant when i’m high,” you joke, sending him a side glance, “kidding. legally, i’m kidding. you and that blonde friend always come in here when i’m working, so i notice.”

“damn, you notice me?” slips out of his mouth.

sero doesn’t have to be inebriated to embarrass himself as much as he has today. when it’s  with you, it seems to come second nature to him.

“getting excited?” you tease.

you watch him stammer a bit and try to backtrack as you collect a few rolls in your hand, the corners of your mouth growing into a smug smirk. you pull out a sharpie from your utility belt and scribble your number on the packaging.

“these are the ones you want if you wanna have a productive day,” you place them in his hand, “but you need something to help wind down, you know where to reach me.”

[ak319]

🌹 anon at your service

Hosea has to leave camp to do stuff so Arthur is in charge of making sure reader and Dutch don't fight each other, so Arthur ends up following reader the entire time. I can't decide if it's more humorous for him to try to hide it and do a bad job or for him to not bother hiding it and tell reader that if she tries to wander off they WILL be holding hands until Hosea gets back.

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list

Hosea sighed as he saddled up, clearly not thrilled to leave. "Arthur, I’m trusting you with this one thing."

Arthur crossed his arms. "She’ll behave."

"You will make sure she and Dutch don’t kill each other?"

Arthur paused. "I’ll do what I can." He knew full well how you liked to stir up chaos the second Hosea was out of sight , just enough drama to cry about later to Hosea, claiming camp was a living hell. If this was your strategy to convince Hosea to leave with you for good… well, damn. You were playing the long game.

"You’ll have to do more than that," Hosea muttered. "Just… keep her busy. Distracted. Away from Dutch’s voice and his face. Preferably out of his line of fire entirely. Also the others too."

Then Hosea rode off, leaving behind the unspoken weight of parental despair.

The next hour was peaceful. Suspiciously peaceful.

You wandered off toward the supply wagon, sorting through the spices, humming to yourself, already planning to salt the stew twice just to watch Susan lose her mind. Maybe you’d "accidentally" dump someone’s coffee. Or better, maybe you’d find Dutch and make some offhand comment about how Micah’s beard is starting to look more trustworthy than his plans. Simple. That oughta spark something. Mhmmm. Aren't I a genius? But somewhere behind you....you swore you heard a grunt.

You took another few steps, and something clinked. A clumsy shuffle.

You spun around.

He was crouched behind a crate. A very small crate.

"Arthur."

He blinked. "Howdy."

You glared. "You’re following me."

"Followin’? No. Shadowin’, maybe."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re crouching behind Pearson’s pickles."

"Don’t question my process."

You turned sharply and marched off. He followed in full stride now, abandoning any illusion of stealth.

"I told Hosea I’d keep you from fightin’ Dutch. This is me. Keepin’."

"I’m going to the lake."

"I’m goin’ to the lake too."

"I’m going to the outhouse."

"I’m not lettin’ you get ambushed by Dutch in there either."

You stopped. He stopped. You squinted at him.

"This is what we’re doin’ now?"

Arthur let out a slow exhale, pinched the bridge of his nose, then stepped forward, grabbed your hand, and laced his fingers with yours. Tightly.

"There. Problem solved."

Your mouth fell open. "Are you seriously-"

"Yes. If I gotta babysit you, I’m doin’ it proper. You wander off again, we hold hands. That’s the rule."

"I’m not five!"

"No. You’re worse. Five-year-olds don’t deliberately try to piss off Dutch before breakfast."

You huffed, but your hand stayed right there in his , warm, calloused, steady.

He looked sideways at you. "You keep makin’ that face, and I’ll damn kiss it next."

"Don't!"

"I'll do, in front of the whole damn camp."

You’re halfway toward the lake with dragging his weight when that voice cuts through the air.

"Well, well. Look who’s finally found a way to keep the girl from throwin’ chairs at me."

Arthur grunts, mumbling. "Wasn’t for you...."

Dutch raises an eyebrow, grinning wide. "Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t. But if I’d known all it took to get her quiet was a little hand-holdin’, I’d have sent you after her sooner."

Your eyes narrow. "Next time, I’m throwin’ the chair at you, not near you."

Dutch tips his hat, thoroughly amused. "Ah, there she is, my child. Sometimes I wonder how a sweet little baby that we brought to camp, turned out to be such a loudmouth. Arthur, you’re doin’ the Lord’s work."

Arthur groans under his breath.

You roll your eyes, but Arthur tightens his grip just enough to be noticeable. Not possessive, but grounding.

"Just makin’ sure things stay peaceful while Hosea’s gone," Arthur says evenly. "She agreed to a truce."

“Did she now?” Dutch’s tone is smug. "And here I thought it’d take a miracle. Turns out all it took was hand-holding."

You open your mouth to fire something back , but Arthur steps forward, just slightly in front of you, hand still locked with yours.

Arthur doesn’t blink. "She’s had enough pokin’ for one day. Let her be."

Dutch eyes you both for a moment longer, lips twitching like he wants to say more , but then, surprisingly, he just nods once and walks off with a lazy, "You two behave now."

When he’s out of earshot, Arthur mutters, "Next time he opens his mouth, I swear to God-"

"You gonna hold his hand too?"

Arthur shoots you a glare. You cackle.

Still holding hands, you both head toward the lake, Dutch-free and finally at peace.

[wowgrim]

As someone who spent time in the West Bank doing human rights and "activist" stuff, I want to add on to this, but also challenge the idea that ISM is to blame for Corrie's death.

This got long, so I'm taking inspiration from you and adding headings. But this is almost all uncited, as it's from personal experience rather than news articles.

Accident

First, I agree that the evidence points to Corrie's death being an accident.

ISM Origins

With that out of the way, I'll start with my bias and some facts to add to the picture: I've met and talked to some of the people who started ISM, and while I *definitely* disagree with the direction it has taken, I got a good impression from them as sincere people who saw the futility of violence and wanted to use nonviolent resistance, in the vein of MLK Jr/Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Gandhi. At the time ISM started up, there were already some Israeli and Palestinian organizations in the Territories engaged in nonviolent resistance, of course, but the ones that brought in internationals were primarily religious (e.g., Christian Peacemaker Teams, Operazione Columba) and they wanted something secular that could accommodate people of any or no religious belief.

Nonviolent Resistance vs. Peace Activism

ISM were never general "peace activists." They started specifically to protest the occupation (presence of IDF troops and settlements in the Palestinian Territories), which to me explained the sole focus on the IDF even if I didn't agree with it.

Later, they stated their purpose as: "The International Solidarity Movement (ISM) is a Palestinian-led movement committed to resisting the long-entrenched and systematic oppression and dispossession of the Palestinian population, using non-violent, direct-action methods and principles." (x)

That should open the door to protesting Palestinian militants, too; but if they've started doing so, it's not anything they're reporting on their website (unless I've missed something).

Killings of ISM Volunteers by Islamists

In any case, it seems relevant to mention that an Italian ISM volunteer was kidnapped, tortured, and killed in 2011 by extremist Islamist group Jahafil Al-Tawhid Wal-Jihad fi Filastin. (A Palestinian involved in a local ISM organizing committee in Jenin, Akram Ibrahim Abu Sba’, was killed by Islamic Jihad, but this was probably not related to his ISM work.)

Who's to Blame When ISM Volunteers Die?

Activists who go to the Palestinian Territories to put themselves in harm's way are adults. They are fully cognizant of what they are doing and the dangers involved. They have a choice not to be in the Palestinian Territories. They have a choice not to actively put themselves in dangerous situations. Unless they are under arrest or kidnapped, they have relative freedom of movement, which means they can choose not stand in the way of a bulldozer, not to stay in the Church of the Nativity or Yasser Arafat's compound when its under siege, not to escort medics or schoolchildren through a firing zone, not to participate demonstrations, and not to intervene at checkpoints.

But they choose to do so, anyway, because they feel they have a moral obligation to do so, in spite of the risks to themselves.

Back when Rachel Corrie joined the ISM, it was explicitly using the language of "human shields." (Christian Peacemaker Teams in the West Bank, which ISM sometimes worked with, was also using this language; I don't remember if any other nonviolence groups were. Maybe Operazione Columba?) They were inviting internationals to the territories to act as voluntary human shields. I think we all know that a possible consequence of volunteering to be a human shield is death. I never met Rachel, but the ISM and CPT volunteers I met knew that, so I assume she would know that, too.

And from what I saw of ISM and heard from volunteers, they were never forced or compelled to do anything and were free to say "I'm not comfortable with this." Not uncommonly, international volunteers would go beyond what local (Israeli and Palestinian) ISM activists were comfortable with. I don't know if that was the case with the events leading up to Rachel Corrie's death, but I wouldn't be surprised. (I do suspect that they weren't happy with some of her previous actions, like burning the American flag.)

After Rachel Corrie's death, activists continued to travel to the Territories to volunteer with ISM. All of them knew an international ISM volunteer had been killed (intentionally or unintentionally) in Gaza and decided to go anyway.

When someone decides to lie down in front of a moving bulldozer or position themselves in the line of fire, they are knowingly risking their life. These ISM volunteers weren't drafted, so I'm not going to blame their deaths on ISM.

Why Do We Care?

And now, I'm going to say something that probably sounds a bit heartless: the death of Rachel Corrie, or any other activist who has died in a similar manner, should not be getting the same level of attention and outcry as the preventable deaths of Palestinian and Israeli civilians.

I'm saying this as someone who made the choice to go to the West Bank knowing of the risk of violence, and who sometimes made the choice to be in places that were more dangerous than others.

I'm a Westerner. The West Bank isn't my home. I can come or go whenever I want. I made the choice to be in a conflict zone. People who live in a conflict zone (West Bank, Israel, Gaza, DRC, Ukraine ...) don't have that choice. They don't get to leave whenever they want.

I like to think that Rachel would agree with me and many of the activists I have met over the years, and wouldn't want the attention on her.

But she was young, and I didn't know her, and from what I gather, she had a very different worldview. So I can't speak for her.

No Conclusion, But ...

As someone who has voluntarily traveled to conflict zones, I have many many more thoughts about why people volunteer to be human shields and/or put themselves in danger. Some of the motives are altruistic and some aren't. I don't want to write about them here because I don't want to, by proximity, link any of those motives to Rachel Corrie.

But maybe I'll say more some other time.

hi! I'm deeply thankful I found your blog because it's such a breath of fresh air to find someone with articulate, sensible thinking on this hellsite. i was formerly very pro free palestine but blogs such as yours helped me open my eyes. with that being said, I ask this in good faith, because you've been really respectful and sensible in your other asks: what about activists killed by the IDF, such as Rachel Corrie? Again, I ask this in good faith, I'm very interested to hear your thoughts on it

Thanks for the kind words, Anon.

I'll get lots of Anon Hate for this, but I so appreciate your open mind and your good faith question, so I'd feel like an asshole if I didn't try to answer it in the same good faith.

All I can offer are my own (unquestionably biased) thoughts from what I've read. I have no more access to objective truth than anyone else ~6,000 miles and ~22 years removed from the events we're discussing.

I think this is one of those awful cases where a tragic death was turned into a political football...which is still being kicked around decades later.

The Basic Facts (upon which most seem to agree)

Rachel Corrie was a 23 year old college student from Washington State who joined the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) and went to Gaza in 2003 and was killed while standing in front of an IDF bulldozer in Rafah.

It's a media-ready story. A young, idealistic woman trying to stand up for people she believed were being oppressed, and then dying violently. That should disturb people. It should make us ask questions.

When we ask those questions, we must also be willing to look at all the answers, not just the ones which flatter our instincts or fit our preferred existing narrative.

What actually happened?

In March 2003, Rachel Corrie was trying to stop IDF bulldozers from demolishing homes in southern Gaza, near the border with Egypt.

Why was the IDF demolishing homes?

The area, Rafah, was at the time a hotbed of militant activity. It was riddled with tunnels used to smuggle weapons and explosives into Gaza. These tunnels were often dug directly under civilian homes, and the IDF was using armored bulldozers to demolish structures suspected of being part of that infrastructure.

Corrie, with other ISM activists, placed herself in front of one of these bulldozers to block it. She was struck and fatally injured.

I believe that everyone agrees on that much.

Accounts diverge from there.

Some witnesses from ISM claimed she was clearly visible to the operator of the bulldozer and that she was deliberately run over. Other ISM witnesses disagree and have said the operator could not see her.

The IDF said the driver couldn't see her.

An internal IDF investigation concluded it was an accident, not a deliberate killing.

Corrie's parents filed a wrongful death lawsuit in Israeli court, and in 2012, a judge ruled that the military was not liable because Corrie had voluntarily entered a closed military zone and her death occurred during an active military operation.

It's entirely legitimate to disagree with the ruling, but the legal process did not seem to reveal a cover-up by the IDF and does not appear to have been a sham legal process.

The Bulldozer Issue: Framing in Western Media

One reason this case still circulates with so much distortion is because of the images attached to it. If you Google Rachel Corrie today, you'll probably find photos of her standing in front of a yellow bulldozer, holding a megaphone.

Western news outlets used this pair of photos from the ISM to portray Corrie as standing very visibly in front of the bulldozer which fatally injured her.

You see what pairing these photos implies, right? One moment Corrie is standing in front of the bulldozer with a megaphone, the next she's injured on the ground.

Our brains fill in the blanks like these are two panels of a comic and conclude the bulldozer operator saw her standing there and deliberately plowed into her.

Look carefully at the bulldozer in each photo.

They're not the same machine. Look at the background. It's not the same place. It's not the same time.

The bulldozer in the top photo is a civilian Caterpillar bulldozer.

The bulldozer involved in Corrie's death (in the second photo) was an IDF armored D9, modified for combat conditions. It's massive, encased in steel armor, and built to operate in environments where there's a real threat of gunfire, explosives, or ambushes. Consequently, visibility from inside the cab is extremely limited. Drivers rely on spotters and cameras...but human error is very possible, especially when the scene is chaotic and high-risk...like in the combat settings where it is deployed.

Not the same machine, not the same location, not the same time.

Presenting these photos together is at least misinformation if not disinformation. It serves a narrative, not the truth, by suggesting that the second photo took place immediately after the first and that Corrie was fully visible to the operator of the bulldozer.

The IDF's position (and that of the Israeli courts and the US State Department) is that Rachel Corrie didn't die in a peaceful standoff with a malicious construction vehicle. She died in a war zone, in front of a combat bulldozer, during an active military operation, in an area where armed groups were explicitly attempting to kill Israeli soldiers...because she was put in harm's way by ISM for the explicit purpose of risking her life.

In my view, Corrie never should have been in this active combat zone.

None of this makes her death any less tragic.

What is the International Solidarity Movement and what exactly was Corrie doing there?

The ISM was not just some loose collection of Quaker-style peace advocates. It styled itself as nonviolent, but it took a deliberately confrontational approach. It inserted young, usually Western activists into active conflict zones, telling them to stand between the IDF and Palestinian militants or infrastructure.

Their theory of change was that Israel wouldn't risk bad PR from killing an American or European. It was a gamble. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Either way, ISM was using Corrie as a human shield. The whole point of ISM's tactics is to put people in harm's way.

ISM activists were injured or killed in multiple cases. Others were detained for coordinating with militants or knowingly entering combat areas. Even left-leaning Western journalists have criticized the group for being reckless and manipulative in using under-informed idealists as cannon fodder for political theater.

It's also worth asking why ISM wasn't doing this sort of thing in areas where Palestinian militants were putting civilians at risk. If they were non-partisan peace activists, why weren't they forming human chains to prevent rocket launches from schoolyards, hospitals, or mosques? Why weren’t they protesting the use of children as shields?

You can't claim to be a non-partisan, anti-war organization while assisting one of two sides in its war efforts.

Was Rachel Corrie murdered? Was she deliberately killed?

As far as I can tell, no.

I haven't been able to find any evidence that the IDF targeted Corrie deliberately. The legal case didn't find such evidence. The US State Department didn’t find such evidence. Even some ISM members admitted Corrie may not have been visible to the driver.

I also struggle to imagine what plausible motive the IDF would have to deliberately kill an American. That would obviously bring all kinds of international trouble from the US...and that was the ISM's whole reason for putting Corrie in harm's way. Killing Corrie deliberately would be giving them exactly what they wanted. Why would the IDF do that on purpose?

What happened to Corrie was preventable (and that was the basis of the negligence claim her family made in court), but preventable is not the same as criminal or liable.

In the long term, the tragedy lies not just in Corrie's tragic death, but in how eager people were to risk it and exploit it.

Corrie's face has been painted on walls and printed on protest signs for more than 20 years. This isn't because anyone seriously studied the facts of her death, but because she became a useful symbol. A martyr. A weapon.

Her story has been flattened, turned into a cartoon of noble activist vs evil bulldozer, figuratively and literally:

What would accountability for Corrie's death look like?

If people really want accountability for Rachel Corrie's death, they might consider starting with the ISM. They put untrained American college students in front of armored military vehicles in war zones.

They took advantage of people who wanted to make a difference, and they fed them a script designed for media consumption, not for survival.

Or maybe ask why Hamas and Islamic Jihad were building weapons tunnels under civilian homes in the first place. That's why bulldozers were there. That's what made the area a war zone. That's what put civilians and foreign activists in danger.

Decades later, what do we now know about Hamas' tunnels?

Most people don't want real accountability. They want a nice clean story which serves their preferred narrative. Wherever context and nuance gets in the way of the narrative, they cut it out.

Rachel Corrie's death should make us ask serious questions about:

How propaganda works

How war zones get whitewashed for the comfort of Western audiences

What happens when idealism is used as a propaganda tool instead of as a principle

As always, I welcome anyone to take issue with my reading of these events. If you do, please bring support for your assertions.

Here's where I'll annoy some of Israel's defenders:

While we likely agree on much about the Western "Free Palestine" movement, Anon, I hope we also agree that Palestinians in Gaza and (particularly in Area C of) the West Bank need real help and Israel must do more.

The "good guy vs bad guy" framing by anyone on either side is bullshit. There's plenty of failure to go around, even if it is unevenly distributed.

The settler violence in the West Bank is committed by a tiny minority, but it's still terrorism...and Itamar Ben-Gvir fails to make a good faith effort to end it. I hope the universe brings Ben-Gvir the justice he richly deserves.

Set aside the international law question of whether the West Bank is occupied for a minute. Palestinians in Area C have little to no say in their own governance.That's obviously wrong and needs to change.

I hope the rumors that Egypt and the UAE will get deeply involved in the rebuilding of Gaza are true. When/if that happens, I urge you to support those efforts any way you can.

A prosperous Gaza at peace with its neighbors becomes possible with both regional and international support after Hamas is gone.

Thanks for the Ask, Anon. I'd welcome any others you may care to submit.

[marlynnofmany]

Minor Heights

As usual for times when something seems amusing to my Earthling sensibilities (but likely wouldn’t to everyone else), I kept quiet about it. Nobody wanted their delivery person to laugh in their face about whatever they’d ordered. Even blue-furred aliens with the wood-gnawing habits of beavers, who were receiving a cubic foot of carefully-packed tweezers. All I could think about was irony and splinters. I kept my expression at customer-service neutral and approached the info booth, with Mur tentacle-walking beside me.

“Welcome,” grunted the curmudgeonly fellow stationed there, eyes squinting from a face of graying blue fur. The stripes down his back seemed more gray than black too. “Is that for me?” He chuckled like that was a joke.

Mur leaned his squidlike head backwards, his version of craning his neck without actually having a neck. “Only if you’re working a double shift as head of the medical center,” he said.

I added, “We were hoping you could tell us how to get there.” Our ship had a decent map of this loose settlement, but it was hard to tell from the air which tributaries we’d need to cross in which order to get to it. The info booth was clearly stationed near the spaceport for a good reason. And not just for the high ground in rainy weather — it was built into a rocky cliffside that held many holes. A different species might have built their civilization right up that cliff, but these folks were strictly a “ground level or lower” sort.

The elder perked up. “Oh sure, I can tell you where it is,” he said. “But it might as well be for me, since my wife is the head bonesetter around these parts.” He reached furry little webbed paws in a gimme gesture.

I read the name on the label to him, and he confirmed it. Mur held up the payment tablet that he’d so carefully carried with his rear tentacles. (He’d refused to let me carry the box AND the tablet.) He handled getting the fellow’s name and other information to approve the delivery, while I set the sturdy white box on the counter and thought privately that there should be another word than “handled” when the person in question doesn’t have hands. “Tentacled” just didn’t sound right.

I also wondered about the scratching noise from the roof, but didn’t think much of it until the guy complained.

“That again?” he grumbled, glaring up at the rocky overhang as if he could see through to whatever was hiding in the low bushes on top. “Something’s been rattling about up there for an hour now, wrecking the ambiance.” He sniffed and looked up at me. “You’re a proper tree-height. Suppose you can get a look and shoo whatever it is away?”

“Sure,” I said, taking a step back to inspect the bushes. The ledge was higher up than I could reach, but one of those local trees with the spiral trunk grew next to it, making for plenty of handholds. “Before I go sticking my face up there, do you have any dangerous animals around here that you might expect to be waiting to jump out at me? Anything fond of leaping claws-first, or projectile attacks?”

“Nah, nothing small enough to be up there,” the guy said with confidence. “The only troublemakers we have are big ones, and there are defensive measures keeping them away from town.”

Mur spoke up. “That doesn’t rule out offworld fauna. The spaceport’s right there.” He pointed a tentacle back the way we had come. “Could be somebody’s pet or prize face-eater. Good thing we’ve got an animal expert right here, though!” He patted my ankle with a tentacle.

I looked down at him. “You know it would be simpler for me to just lift you up so you can stick your face in the danger zone.”

“No no, I wouldn’t want to rob you of your glory.”

“Of course not.” I peered back up at the foliage, which was holding still now.

The elder was concerned. “I didn’t think about offworld creatures. Now that I think about it, there was a cart full of stuff parked there awhile ago, and something could have jumped off it. Horrible thought. Glad you’re here! Do you need any tools?”

I sighed. “Let me just take a peek at what’s there. I don’t suppose you have a stick or something for moving the plants aside?”

“Oh, always,” said the old beaver, and grabbed a bouquet of walking sticks from under the counter. They were all intricately carved, bare wood. “Got to keep chewing when there’s nothing to do.”

“Very nice,” I said, picking up the longest one, which was still pretty short. “Thank you. I’ll try not to get it ruined by some offworld pest.” The shapes of alien vines spiraling around it were truly lovely.

“No worries; I can always make more.” He waved me on.

Hoping I wasn’t about to do something monumentally unwise, I stepped over to the side of the booth and got a grip on the spiral tree trunk. It was the perfect natural ladder, narrow enough that I could carry the stick and rough enough that my shoes didn’t slip. Moments later, I was raising my head up past the level of the roof, though at a good distance. I reached out with the stick to part the leaves. Mur and the elder beaver watched from below.

Nothing, nothing, just leaves … blue fur. A smaller beaver face glaring at me, managing to look scared and angry at the same time. I blinked.

The elder called, “See anything dangerous?”

I answered honestly. “No, no offworld pests here. I think you’re okay. Gimme just a minute. It this ledge strong enough for me to climb on?”

He said it was, sounding relieved. Mur launched into a story of the most troublesome animals we’d had to deliver as cargo, and the two of them promptly left me to it. Good.

Judging by the size and the sulky expression, I figured the person on the roof was roughly teenage, and regretting their choices. I climbed up another couple steps, then took a seat casually on the edge. Setting the stick down, I admired the view and kept the youngster in my peripheral vision. “Hi there. You okay?”

I didn’t get an answer, which didn’t surprise me. The furry blue alien was clutching the stem of a bush with both hands, and shivering ever so slightly. That made twigs scrape on the rock. The scowl dared me to mention it.

Instead, I asked, “So what brings you up here?”

She said, “Schoolwork,” and left it at that.

“Ooh, what kind?” I asked. “Is it to find out how far you can see from up high? This really is a great view.” I waved a hand, encompassing the trees, tributaries, distant spaceport and scattered buildings. “You can see what ships have landed, and who’s crossing what bridge, and even where all the fruits are on the top of that tree.” I pointed out what looked like an apple tree but probably wasn’t. Beaver-people were using longer sticks to knock down the fruit from ground level.

The teenager perked up a little at that, but didn’t let go of the plants. She also didn’t answer.

I prompted, “Did you finish what you came up here to do?”

“No,” she admitted. “The giant web-spinners are gone.”

I looked around, more concerned by that statement than I wanted to let on. “Are they? Hmm. Did you want to find them?”

She hunched her shoulders and said in a rush, “We have to find an efficient way to suspend something lightweight, and I thought the webs would be perfect, but they’re not here anymore, and now the cart’s gone so I can’t get down. And this is very high up.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, I can help with that if you like. Actually,” I added as something occurred to me, “I might be able to help with both problems. Did you just need one strand of web, or the whole thing?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Just a couple strands would work. One to use and one for backup. Why?”

“What about really long fur?” I asked, untying my braid. This wasn’t the first time I’d found an unorthodox use for hair, and knowing my life, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“How strong is it?” she asked. I noticed that her grip on the bush was loosening, and she wasn’t as tense.

“Strong enough to hold up a pencil, easy,” I told her as I finger-combed my hair in search of loose strands. “Probably a few pencils. I haven’t tested it. But human hair’s pretty tough as these things go.”

“Human?” She said the word like it was unfamiliar.

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Hi, I’m a human.” I waved one hand in an awkward greeting.

“Right. I knew that,” she said, sounding utterly convincing, and not at all like she was trying to save face.

I shrugged, hands back in my hair. “There’s a lot of species to keep track of. For example, I don’t think I’ve actually caught the official name for yours. Which is embarrassing, since I’ve been here twice.”

“The interplanetary name is Rivershapers,” she said. “Which is boring, but they didn’t ask me. I guess not all the aliens making the decision could pronounce ‘hhuinhkt.’” The word in her native tongue was part hoot, part squeak, and yeah a little tricky.

I nodded. “Guess I’m lucky. My species got to keep our own name for ourselves, probably because no one could agree on a descriptive one. And actually, I’m doubly lucky because it’s a word from my own language. We have lots of them.” I separated three loose strands of hair. “Speaking of lots, here you go! One to use and two backups for weight testing.”

She took them between her webbed fingers and gave them a gentle tug. “Those are pretty strong,” she admitted.

“Yup!” Then I remembered we were on top of a roof. “Say, do you want me to hold onto them until we get down?”

She reflexively grabbed the bush again with one hand, leaving the one clutching the hairs out where they wouldn’t snag on leaves. “Yes, please.”

I took them back, wrapped them around a few fingers, then tucked the loose coil into a pocket. “Right, so there’s a couple ways we can do this,” I said as if I was a co-conspirator planning a heist. “I can carry you down. You can ride on my back. Or!” I held up a finger. “I can show you where to put your feet so you can do it on your own.”

I didn’t expect her to take me up on that last one, given the blatant fear of heights, but she surprised me.

“Show me,” she demanded. “I want to come back when all the low fruits are gone from that tree. Bet I can get a couple that everyone else missed.”

“Great plan. Scoot on over here, and grab this branch.” I tied my hair back into a quick ponytail, then stepped back onto the spiral trunk, taking the nearly-forgotten stick with me. “The most important thing about climbing is to focus on where your hands and feet are, and not on how high up you are. Put both hands here, then one foot over here…”

With detailed coaching, we made it to the ground one inch at a time. I was sure to keep a hand free in case she slipped, which meant I did a lot of my own climbing with one elbow looped over a branch so I could keep hold of the stick, but I’d had worse climbs. And nobody fell.

My feet reached the ground first, and Mur was waiting there with an expression that said he was very curious, but would wait for an explanation. I handed him the stick and finished guiding the young Rivershaper’s descent. The elder leaned on the counter and watched.

“Perfect, now keep hold of that and bend your knees until you can put a foot down here; see that? Yeah, almost got it. Great. Now you can move this hand over here, then I’ll bet you can reach the ground … Got it! Good job!”

Her webbed feet slapped the dirt and she stood tall (relatively speaking), breathing hard but looking triumphant.

I remembered to give her the hairs. “Here you go,” I said, passing over the delicate coil. “Best of luck with the project!”

She nodded curtly, ignoring the others, and scampered off.

“So!” Mur said. “Not an alien pest at all, then.”

The elder asked, “What in the floodplains was she doing up there?”

“Schoolwork,” I said simply. “She might be less afraid of high places now — or more likely to ignore that fear, which is almost the same thing. Anyways, if she gets stuck up there again, remind her the human said to watch her hands and not look down.”

He shook his head. “Kids. I’ll tell my wife to make sure the medics are ready for any fall damage.” Then he heaved a bundle of carved sticks onto the counter, all tied together top and bottom with festive bows. “Here you go, young feller! Enjoy.”

“My thanks,” said Mur smoothly, then waved a tentacle up at me. “My tall assistant here will carry them.”

“Tall assistant, am I?” I asked in amusement, though I did pick up the bundle. I moved to give back the stick I’d been holding, but the elder waved it away.

“Thanks for clearing out my foot space!” he said, settling comfortably into his chair and bringing out a fresh uncarved stick. “If those turn out to be wildly popular among the fancy spacefaring folk, you know where to find more. I might even charge you a price.” He chuckled, then began gnawing industriously.

Mur strode happily toward the ship.

I followed. “He gave you these?” I asked quietly. “They’re amazing.”

“Yup!” Mur agreed. “And they’re easy to make with teeth like that, and everybody here has something of the sort lying around, and why would he dream of selling them?”

I looked at the one in my other hand, with the vine carvings. “I’m surprised this isn’t already a thriving business.”

“Maybe it is, and nobody’s told him yet. But these are just the right size for Heatseekers to use as canes. Maybe we can keep a couple in case the captain or somebody sprains an ankle, then sell the rest. I tell you, this has been a surprisingly productive visit!”

I glanced at the fruit trees as we passed. There were still plenty of fruits in the top branches. “It sure has,” I agreed.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[thelawfulchaotic]

Hi! As someone who is working through an undergraduate degree and is planning to pursue law school after, I have recently been diagnosed with Adhd and it's a little world shifting. I'm adjusting to the idea that it isn't me. That there's a reason for my behavior and life-long focus and motivational issues.

I saw you mentioned taking Adderall, I'm assuming you have Adhd too? What advice would you give for managing it alongside your studies? What is the hardest struggle with the disorder you faced during school or in your career?

I'm sorry, anon, and also congratulations. I was also a late diagnosis, mine was around age 25.

ADHD can manifest in a lot of different ways for different people. For me, it's been actually pretty bad. Administrative tasks -- timekeeping, paperwork, scanning in documents, returning endless emails and phone calls -- is a lot of the job. I had a very hard time finding ways to work through all of that on my own.

And I did have to on my own. Every time I reached out to my boss for help, he would find a "solution" that essentially amounted to "now you'll do it better, right?" He completely lacked an understanding of the brain with ADHD, no matter how much I tried to explain it.

This condition sucks, a lot, because it's made into a joke. There is no understanding in general culture about how ADHD can shape you. People get impatient with inconsistent performance, not realizing that the inconsistency is the sign that you have a condition, and not some fault in how you motivate yourself.

The key is systems, as I learned from doing Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for Adults with ADHD with my therapist. Finding ways to make error-checking a part of your day. Having something with you to help with both your moment-to-moment executive function and your week-to-week deadline management. Get a planner, get a new planner if you stop using it, get a smartwatch, it'll yell at you when you have to leave for places.

If you are a woman, which is pretty likely given the late diagnosis, then I highly recommend Women with ADD by Sari Solden. It's a little antiquated at this point, but helped me emotionally with my experience.

Once you have to maintain a home, with dishes and laundry and all, try the beautiful nonjudgmental How to Keep House While Drowning.

ADHD 2.0 by Edward Hallowell and John Ratey has some excellent more modern insights about the actual function of the brain and how it is disrupted by ADHD. (Summary: the Task Positive Network is what you're using when you're focusing; the Default Mode Network is what you use when you're ruminating; in most brains, either one is on or the other but in ADHD the DMN doesn't deactivate and keeps trying to interrupt the TPN. Moreover, the toggle switch is broken and you cannot easily shift from one to the other.)

Honestly I have a thousand tips. I could do a whole-ass TED talk about this. It's my biggest struggle.

It's also a gift.

Maybe your impulsiveness got you an Amazon purchase of 100 glow in the dark bouncy balls last week that will take you YEARS to give away. Maybe it got you to crack an incredible joke that got even the deputies laughing.

Your hyperfocus took you away from clients periodically for the last few months, but you learned enough Spanish to get conversational with your clients. (Yes, you can do things THIS AMAZING when you let ADHD pull you along rather than resisting it.)

God, okay, this post is too long. LAST THING: I find that I'm not rewarded by Finishing A Task the same way others seem to be. The task itself has to be rewarding. Learn to harness the moments when your mind and body are in sync enough to do stuff. Batch tasks. Make your storage see-through. Put extras of cleaning solutions and tools in every place you use them. Have a basket or a hook for your keys.

Last last thing: Vyvanse comes in chewable and you can split the pill so you can do multiple smaller doses during the day. You can wake up twice, the first time to take your meds, and then go back to sleep, then wake up again when they kick in, and you'll feel better and get out of bed easier.

Take of that what you like.

[cloudkohv]

A shortened rant on the chasm scenes because I could go on forever: an essay

One of the main conflicts that we're introduced to in The Stormlight Archive is racism based on eye color, which exists because of the caste system. Kaladin goes through horrific trials and tribulations the entire book (1,000+ pages!) and realizes in multiple scenes how the lighteyes mistreat darkeyes.

We expect, as readers, that this incredibly important problem will continue to be addressed in greater depth and detail as the series progresses. It is this conflict, actually, that was of the most interest to me because of the potential it had to explore the issues parallel to it in real life.

While the explorations of class disparity are shallow and poorly informed (another essay), it's the portrayal of the "eye racism" (hereinafter referred to as just racism) that betrays something insidious about the messages of these books.

Before it gets spoilery, I will just say that anyone expecting race/class issues to be addressed well by Brandon Sanderson should stop for their own wellbeing. In his works, a member of the oppressed underclass is generally the bad guy if they insist on being upset about injustice. If not a bad guy, then their suffering or beliefs are just a joke. On the other hand, the oppressive ruling class runs around with their bigotry not just unchallenged, but rewarded. This is exemplified in the chasm scenes.

A lot of readers like the chasm scenes. It's got the forced proximity trope. Grumpy ecks sunshine and so on. Unfortunately, it's between a bigoted slaveowner and a former slave who has been victim of the ruling class.

In these scenes, we finally get the chance to see Kaladin finally share his grievances about the caste system to Shallan, a lighteyes who's never been challenged about her station (and also stole his boots in the most racist way possible). To put it simply, Shallan asks Kaladin why he's such an "unpleasant" person, and Kaladin tells her very reasonably that it was because she mistreats people beneath her. “What?” she said, taking it like a slap to the face. “Where would you get that idea?” “It’s obvious.” (It really is lol) “To whom? To you only? When have you seen me treat someone of a lesser station like a plaything? Give me one example.” “When I was imprisoned,” he said immediately, “for doing what any lighteyes would have been applauded for doing.” “And that was my fault?” she demanded. “It’s the fault of your entire class. Each time one of us is defrauded, enslaved, beaten, or broken, the blame rests upon all of you who support it. Even indirectly.” “Oh please,” she said. “The world isn’t fair? What a huge revelation! Some people in power abuse those they have power over? Amazing! When did this start happening?”

Kaladin not immediately saying the boots here is odd, but he is still correct, since her class does support the mistreatment of darkeyes, whether directly or indirectly. This is because that is the nature of the relationship between darkeyes and lighteyes. Lighteyes exploit darkeyes. It's literally the main plot of the first book. Day one stuff.

Shallan's response is to blame individuals who have power over others abusing their power, not systems who give certain individuals power specifically over other individuals. Which, ironically, is the same argument Sanderson uses to "discredit" Kaladin's arguments against the oppressive behavior he's faced.

As the scenes go on, the narrative sets up Shallan to """""counter""""" Kaladin's arguments against her.

He snorted, then moved on more quickly. “No,” Shallan said, practically running to keep even with him and his long stride. “You’re not wiggling out of this. You don’t get to imply that I’m abusing my station, then walk off without a response. You did this earlier, with Adolin. Now with me. What is your problem?” “You want a better example of you playing with people beneath you?” Kaladin asked, dodging her question.  (where did he dodge her question, author, because it looks like they're still having the same conversation) “Fine. You stole my boots. You pretended to be someone you weren’t and bullied a darkeyed guard you’d barely met. Is that a good enough example of you playing with someone you saw as beneath you?” She stopped in her tracks. He was right, there. She wanted to blame Tyn’s influence, but his comment cut the bite out of her argument. He stopped ahead of her, looking back. Finally, he sighed. “Look,” he said. “I’m not holding a grudge about the boots. From what I’ve seen lately, you’re not as bad as the others. So let’s just leave it at that.” “Not as bad as the others?” Shallan said, walking forward. “What a delightful compliment. Well, let’s say you’re right. Perhaps I am an insensitive rich woman. That doesn’t change the fact that you can be downright mean and offensive, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

Did you get that guys? Kaladin Stormblessed is mean and offensive :( what did he do exactly? Who knows :( all we know is that he's not the bootlicker that their culture expects him to be >:(

There isn't a single place you can point to in the entire book (1,000+ pages!) where Kaladin is "mean," nor is he offensive. He's direct and short with the people he interacts with, because they are insufferable lighteyes. Would you want to interact with people who:

call your mistrust of the ruling class because you were enslaved "a chip on your shoulder"

give you a nickname based on the job you had as a slave

steal your boots and threaten to tell the people in charge that you sexually assaulted them?

imprisoned you because you had the wrong eye color when you saved the highprince's bigoted (he's working on it) son?

No, and neither does he. And yet, he works with them anyway. There's a massive opportunity here to explore Kaladin's internal beliefs and whether or not they align with him working for the lighteyes. What does it mean to be a minority person working in the same places that mistreat your kind? What does that say about the person? About the systems that govern their society?

But we don't get this internal reflection at all, because that would require the author to understand this internal tension, and he doesn't. He gets Kaladin's "beliefs" just as well as Shallan does, which is to say, barely, if not at all.

This ignorance is displayed as the scenes continue.

“That’s it?” she asked. “I apologize, and all I get in return is a shrug?” a chocolate coin to anyone who can point to the apology. “I am what the lighteyes have made me to be.”

This is to say that Kaladin's "distant" behavior is a direct result of the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of the ruling class. I didn't bat an eye at this because he's right. And yet, somehow...

“So you’re not culpable at all,” she said flatly. “For the way you act.” “I’d say not.” “Stormfather. I can’t say anything to change the way you treat me, can I? You’re just going to continue to be an intolerant, odious man, full of spite. Incapable of being pleasant around others. Your life must be very lonely.” That seemed to get under his skin, as his face turned red in the spherelight. “I’m starting to revise my opinion,” he said, “of you not being as bad as the others.” “Don’t lie,” she said. “You’ve never liked me. Right from the start. And not just because of the boots. I see how you watch me.”

???????????

?????

I think the boots were the start, Shallan! I think that whole stupid charade with the boots was the start and cause of it all, brightness!

This doesn't make sense. Of course he didn't like you. There was no reason to.

I don't want to keep re-reading it, so I'll summarize the rest of the chasm scenes as: Kaladin learns just how strong and brave Shallan is and that he made invalid assumptions about her and that she was stronger and braver than he ever was and then he also develops a crush on her because it wasn't enough that he just completely lost his mind and forgot everything that happened to him up until that very scene that gave context as to why he doesn't like lighteyes. Andddd done.

And after they """""""""reconcile""""""" (Kaladin is forced to agree that he was wrong for ever disliking Shallan), we get more """banter""" with glorious moments like this.

In one scene, Shallan tells Kaladin she wants to exile the parshmen since they're the "Voidbringers."

“And who will replace them?” Kaladin said. “Darkeyes?” “I’m not saying it would be easy,” Shallan said. “They’d need more slaves,” Kaladin said, contemplative. “A lot of honest men might find themselves with brands.” “Still sore about what happened to you, I assume.” “Wouldn’t you be?” “Yes, I suppose I would. I am sorry that you were treated in such a way, but it could have been worse. You could have been hanged.” “I wouldn’t have wanted to be the executioner who tried that.” He said it with a quiet intensity. “Me neither,” Shallan said. “I think hanging people is a poor choice of professions for an executioner. Better to be the guy with an axe.” He frowned at her. “You see,” she said, “with the axe, it’s easier to get ahead. . . .” [cut for length] Well, onward, then.” She took a deep breath. “Through soreness and exhaustion we go. You wouldn’t be willing to carry me a little ways . . .” He glared at her. She shrugged with a smile. “Think how grand it would be! I could even get a reed to whip you with. You’d be able to go back and tell all the other guards what an awful person I am. It’ll be a wonderful opportunity for griping. No? Well, all right then. Off we go.”

Why was this supposed to be funny? Where are those POC beta readers?

These are not the words of an apologetic woman. Nor is this the framing of a sympathetic narrative. In these scenes, Kaladin's character is completely flattened for the sake of propping up the bigoted character who is never made to reflect on her actions. She is rewarded by making jokes that we're supposed to find "funny," or at the very least "charming." For a few chapters, Kaladin is no longer the darkeyed man who struggled with his morals and what they meant in the role he chose to occupy in working for lighteyes. He is not the man who remembers the way he was abused and mistreated by the system. He's just the Grumpy guy who needs a little Sunshine. A little racist sunshine. Give me a break.

This isn't the last time this kind of stupidity happens in this series. This is actually a major theme throughout the books. The oppressed person is shut down because they were Too Angry and it made the oppressors look like Bad People.

The chasm scenes are just particularly insidious, because it has this oppressed person, who's well educated and has strong beliefs, falling for the oppressor, who's still making jokes about his mistreatment to his face.

Yeah, you can keep that, thanks.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Saw the wizard tower comic post you reblogged and loved it. But also I have gravity falls brainrot so now. Picture that with the Stan twins.

Stanley agrees to do some sort of dubious job for a guy who fancies himself a wizard. Quick cash, ya know? At the end when he comes to collect his money, he finds a letter congratulating him and telling him he’s now the wizard and the tower is his. On one hand, it’s all very weird and Stan has to come to terms with the fact that wizards are a thing real quick. On the other hand, free tower. And turns out whoever owns the tower is considered a high standing member of the magical community. Guess Stanley is a wizard now.

On the other side, Stanford has been working on his wizardry for years. He’s having a hard time getting respect in the magical community because they all call him a scientist. And yes, he is a scientist, but he’s also trying to be a wizard now. He can do both, he’s an overachiever. So he’s been learning all he can, studying spells and practicing magic. He’s going to be a wizard and make them all take him seriously damnit!

The petty rage and jealousy Ford feels when he happens to bump into Stan at a wizard market is immense. What do you mean Stan was just given a tower and the title of wizard? Has he even cast any spells?! Does he even know what he’s doing?! Ford has been working so hard at being a wizard and Stan was just handed it?? He probably doesn’t even appreciate it! Do you know how old and coveted that tower is Stanley?! Do you know how much cool stuff is stored there??!

Ford having a jealous meltdown while Stanley is just there like uh. You can just come on over and visit if it bothers you this much? I’m a cool awesome wizard now, so you’re allowed to visit my tower :)

And Ford does but he’s soooo envious because he wants to be a cool awesome wizard too. This is so not fair >:(

How dare you drop this brain worm here/j

Hmm. Wizard titles are something that's inherited from another wizard or bestowed onto someone by the Wizard Council majority. Every wizard has their own way of choosing who inherits their title, and Stan's 'Wizard Grandpa' (That guy was not his master, they had no relationship before this old guy rolled up and offered him 700 bucks to go on a 'quest' then exploded into stardust or something. Thats what Stan's decided happened to him, since all he has is this letter and a cool wizard tower) chose Stan based on vibes and secret wizard reasons. The reason was Stan was so good at staying in his lane and full on ignoring all the magical things happening around him to complete the quest he passed the wizard trial he didn't know he was on. Like, he has to go into the Enchanted Woods and Return the Lost Tome (forgotten library book) and Stan is holding up hands by his eyes so he doesn't see the fairy chittering, the lake monsters roaring, and the damsels crying for help. Stan has 700 bucks on the line for the easiest job ever, he's not gonna let what's gotta be some kind of hallucinations distract him. Full on side steps talking animals and doesn't stop to help little old ladies cross the road. He's got a job and he's doing it.

He really needs that 700.

Except now he's got a room full of gold and a giant library and enchanted kitchen and a fancy garage and a cool hat and living furniture and a bed and he can do magic now? He's still figuring it out but give him time.

He is imposter syndrome his way through wizard life, getting invited to wizard things, people deferring to his opinion on things. Is waiting for someone to realize he's not supposed to be here and kick him out, except they wont. This is just his towers version of hazing basically, everyone knows Stan knows nothing but he was chosen and his tower always produces excellent whimsical wizards once they get the hang of it.

Meanwhile Ford has been trying for years to get called a wizard. He's trying so hard to get acknowledged by the wizard council for a wizard title. Either hasn't realized or doesn't care about wizard inheritance laws. He's gonna get so knowledgeable in spell craft and magic it'll wow them away and then he'll be a wizard scientist like the overachiever he is.

So seeing Stan, in the middle of the wizard market, wearing a wizard hat with a bunch of wizards nodding at him is setting off every anger and jealous signal he has. Stan obviously doesn't know what he's doing! He has no idea what any of the spell components he's pocketing do! How did he get a wizard title! And whats the real story! What did you do to the wizard Stanley! Yes i want to see the inside of your tower >:(

Stan is faking it til he makes it but by god is he gonna fake it good in front of Ford. Obviously he knows spells Ford! Watch this! (panic does something he's sorta read from a spell book and shoves his surprise down when it works) Watching Ford seethe is the best worst thing because now he has an in to talk to Ford but Ford is so angry but its great because for the first time in his life Stan's the prefered Pines twin and its a high he's never had or ever imagined having. Obviously hes a fraud and any moment all the other wizards will kick him out of the tower but until that happens he is rocking this wizard life and gonna fake knowing spells and magic and not so secretly smugly showing off his cool wizard tower.

[animeomegas]

could you feed us some general malleus nesting headcanons my liege

Hmm, I suppose I can indulge you~ Also, this turned out so long haha, sorry!

Malleus nesting headcanons

The first idea that came to mind was that dragon fae nest in piles of gold haha. But probably not.

Briar Valley fae don't nest as a standard. Their nests are for their partners, their eggs, and their children.

(I think this is especially cute when you think about Lilia having to make one for the first time to raise Silver, and trying to make it more suitable for human children.)

But regardless, a Briar Valley fae will likely not build their first nest until they have a serious committed partner.

Seeing as fibre spinning is so sacred there, I imagine that the alpha will either commission or perhaps make some yarn for the omega that they are courting, and then craft it into something for their nest.

This could be anything from a small, handkerchief sized pieced of material, to a massive blanket depending on the skill/resources available to the alpha.

Presenting it to an omega is a sign of wishing to officially mate for life.

If the omega accepts, they then build their first nest.

It's an arduous process, it can take weeks or months. It must include the material spun for them, and often includes a bunch of shiny things, trinkets, and often even plants.

They are not generally as comfortable as nest made by human omegas, but there is still space to lay.

When the nest is ready, the omega will present it to their alpha. It's a massive moment in the relationship.

So, speaking of Malleus specifically, he doesn't have a nest until his alpha is ready to move to the next stage. He didn't get to use his mother's one as a child, and Lilia didn't have one until Silver came into the picture, although I'm sure Malleus has at least seen it a handful of times, and rested in it on occasion.

But Malleus is ready to move to forever mates almost immediately once he has someone that he likes. Once an alpha that he likes is in his life, he immediately decides that they are soulmates.

Every gift his alpha gives him is treasured and loved, but every time there's a little piece of him that is disappointed that it wasn't something they spun by hand.

He's patient... but he's ready whenever they are.

And once he finally gets that hand spun yarn in whatever form it comes, he's... it's everything to him. He's so excited, he's so touched and deeply emotional.

It could be the size of a fingernail, or a blanket big enough to cover the entirety of his castle, it doesn't matter to him.

It DOES matter to Sebek though, fair warning. He does not think that anything less than the biggest show of devotion is good enough for Malleus.

It takes him months of work to get his nest ready.

Malleus goes through countless highs and lows during the process, and there are many short storms that plague the area during this time.

He just wants to make it perfect. And he doesn't know what he's doing.

He gets advice from everyone. Especially Lilia though, as the only one to have built one himself. This goes double if his alpha is a human, because Lilia had to make a nest for a human as well, and he doesn't wish to put anything in there that may harm them.

In the end, he fills it with gargoyles of all shapes and sizes, of course. But thanks to Lilia, there is at least a soft space to lay in the middle. He also puts almost every gift his alpha has given him in there.

I think it would be supremely cute if his alpha gifted him a cuddly gargoyle toy so that he could put it prime and centre in his nest without compromising on the softness.

Fae aren't really concerned with texture, they just want their nest filled with the stuff they like, with precious things and trinkets.

Imagine the moment Malleus is inviting his alpha to see his nest for the first time though.

He's practically vibrating with nerves and excitement. He's standing next to it, with his hands behind his back, watching intently for their reaction.

And his alpha has to lavish it in praise, inspect every section, tell him what they like about it, feel some of the materials, and then formally ask for permission to enter. It could take an hour to fulfil the proper amount of praise and inspection, but this is a big moment!!

Once they ask, he grants permission, guiding them personally into his nest while they still ooh and ahh over how wonderful it is. Malleus is preening, staring at his alpha with love in his eyes and soul.

Fae are extremely protective over their nests, so while Malleus doesn't use it himself without the presence of his alpha, he defends it with his life.

Attempting to find or enter a fae's nest is essentially having a death wish.

It is a sacred space for him, because it's a demonstration of his love and commitment to his mate. And there's nothing more important to him than that!

[good-beanswrites]

es being in CONPLETE and utter denial that their prisoners care for them and vice versa. This could be humor and/or angst. Like the prisoners have a whole birthday for es, they bring them back to their room when they pass out, etc. And still, es is like "uhm. Yeah so my prisoners DEFINITELY hate me for the verdicts and stuff" while ignoring a letter on their desk that says "we care for you!!"

They really are the most in-denial child you've ever met -_- I really hope the give-your-warden-a-hug trend continues through the vds, but I'm doubtful 😅 I got hooked on the birthday idea, especially since they don't have an official-official one. I tried to keep a balance of angst and lightheartedness, with the ending ambiguous enough to satisfy either hehe... (Also featuring a quick reference to the last angst piece where Es came down with a fever, but not meaningfully a sequel)

Es awoke on their birthday cold, sore, and crying out in fear. 

They’d fallen asleep at their desk (which hadn’t been an issue the first few times when their neck and shoulders weren’t pinched up in pain.) Jackalope denied any fiddling with the prison’s temperature, but they still believed this chill wasn’t normal. Neither was their sharp increase in nightmares…

They shoved their notebooks aside, knocking against the desk’s lamp with a clatter. Es knew they had no right to feel so bitter. It wasn’t as if it was their real birthday. Today marked the day Milgram had begun, but they had joined the others scoffing at Mahiru’s suggestion that it could be considered the day “Es” was born.

And now, there was no one around to push it. 

They arrived for breakfast in their rumpled uniform. Sure enough, no one spoke a word as they picked at some cereal. Yuno was the only one to make an odd comment after they stood, heading to the hallway.

“Back to work already? Maybe you should take today off. It’s… a good day to relax.”

“I’m fine, Yuno. There’s a bit more to get done,” they lied. 

Milgram’s paperwork and logs had been turned in weeks ago. Everything currently strewn across their desk was there for personal use. It was better to continue their endeavors in the privacy of their own room rather than be an annoyance out here.

“If you say so…” her voice lilted with a lightness Es hadn’t heard in a long time. “Just try and take one break out here, okay? We don’t want a repeat of last time, hehe~”

They nodded, her cheery tone only plunging them deeper into shame. The prisoners had every right to ensure they didn’t overwork themselves again. It must have been infuriating to be expected to care for their own warden. They had to spend a whole week watching over some helpless child who’d dragged their prison into despair.

That night, Mikoto further drove in the knife by repeating the request cheerily. He brought them a plate of dinner, stopping the door with his foot when they tried to shrug off his comments.

“Just a little change of scenery,” he prodded. If even he was offering advice about overwork, the prisoners must have been desperate. 

“Alright.” Es glanced down at the plate, knowing it would be going straight to the garbage given their current appetite. Something sweet sounded more palatable, but that would only sound childish to admit. “I’ll come out to grab some tea in a minute.”

The prison felt oddly quiet when they finally honored their word. They crept from the corridor into the kitchen. Es thought Jackalope maintained control of the meals, but the new mess of dishes told them the prisoners had made something on their own. Es felt a pang of guilt for throwing out their dinner; it may not have been as fur-infested as they originally thought.

They made their tea as silently as possible. The ache had returned to their muscles and temples. All they wanted to do was curl up on the couch in their room, grab a blanket to stave off this chill, and cry as silently as they could manage into their tea.

As Es approached their quarters, they realized they wouldn’t be so lucky. 

The door to their quarters stood open a crack, voices of the prisoners rising up from inside. 

“Hurry up! They’ll be back any minute now.”

“I thought you told them to leave their room?”

“I don’t think they were really buying it...”

Es already figured out the motive was out of selfishness rather than concern, but the betrayal still stung. They were the Warden, after all – they should have been far above falling victim to some mutinous plot to ransack their bedroom.

They took a measured breath. Their plans would need to wait. Es placed their tea on the ground, straightening out their uniform. They mustered up all the authority they could by lifting their chin and making the most of their height. They closed the gap to the doorway and hoped the stomping of their boots announced their arrival with enough intimidation.

“And just what do you think you’re do–”

 “Surprise!”

Es’ mouth hung open, the rest of their lecture falling away into complete bafflement. Their room had been transformed with homemade materials: paper chains hung like party streamers above. Colored crafts were strewn about, in various shapes but with a clear rabbit theme. The books on their desk had been cleared away to make room for a cake, on which Kazui was hurriedly lighting some colorful candles. The icing displayed a shaky-handed drawing of Jackalope’s face. 

“Happy birthday!” Muu beamed at them, unwavering even through her horrid veil. She linked her arms through theirs to drag them forward. “Didn’t we do such a good job?”

“I – what? My birthday…?”

Mikoto shrugged. “It’s close enough.”

“We figured you’d had enough bad surprises lately.” Kazui gave a guilty laugh. “We thought we owed you a nice one.”

Es’ shoulders sank. “No. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s good,” Amane said, “because Fuuta-san completely ruined your cake.”

“It’s going to taste fine! If you actually helped with the icing, maybe it wouldn’t look so bad…”

“I was busy making the chain.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Muu said. “We couldn’t surprise you with gifts, since you see our requests. But it was fun making decorations. We still don’t really know what you like, but we know you and Jackalope get along, so we thought you might like rabbits.”

They blinked. “Ah. Where is Jackalope?” There was no way he’d allow all this. After all, he was the one who specifically told them that a Warden of Milgram has no birthday, or age, or anything else to call their own. It was easier that way, he said. Es had agreed, at the time.

The others looked away nervously, but Yuno kept up her bright smile. “Kotoko’s cell. She never does party stuff like this, but I think she still wanted to help. She’s looking after him a bit.”

That sounded like a terrible idea. Es should go make sure he was still in one piece. Then again, what were a few more minutes to understand the situation…?

They eyed the cake. Though the decoration wasn’t the highest quality, there seemed to be a lot of work put into the dessert. “I thought you all were above petty bribery.”

“I told you they’d be a baby about it.” Fuuta crossed his arms. “No kid likes their birthday to be a big deal.”

 Yuno flicked his ear. “Every kid likes that! You’re just the weird one.” Before he could complain, she turned the attention to the flickering candles. “Now, you should make your wish!” 

“Mm-hm. Muu won’t eat it if it gets gross candle wax in it.”

The Warden shouldn’t sit around and share a cake with the prisoners under them.

Kazui said, “it has berries in the filling – your favorite. At least, I thought you mentioned something like that to Shidou-san.”

The Warden should recall information about the prisoners, not the other way around. 

“How does that sound?”

“That sounds…” 

The Warden shouldn’t have a birthday, to begin with.

They tried to get a hold of their trembling voice. “That sounds…” Their throat squeezed itself tight. The others’ eyes widened. They started to cry.

“Oh, Warden-kun!”

“I told you, you’ve been working too hard!”

“Here, let’s get you some cake.”

“It’s okay!”

Es wanted to demand everyone stop with the coddling and the childishness. They didn’t need all this fake concern. But they were outnumbered – too many arms pulled them in and patted their back to fend off. Amane used a sheet of paper to blow out the candles, cutting a slice early.

Es was ushered over to the couch. With all the bodies around them, it felt warmer here. The plate of desert landed right into their hands.

“I… I don’t understand,” they said at last. “It’s not even my birthday. And even if it was, none of us are getting any older. After everything… I mean… You know I don’t deserve this.”

They hung their head. Yuno let out a drawn-out sigh, and they waited for her to agree with them. 

Instead, she nudged them playfully. “I know that everyone deserves something sweet on their birthday. And some company, no matter the homicidal status…” Es didn’t expect so many chuckles from the group. “And a wish.”

Amane reached over to place a half-melted candle into their slice. She lit it.  

It was mere flattery, they reminded themself. These prisoners had no reason to care, other than to get on Es’ good side in hopes of skewing their verdicts. There was nothing special about it – anyone would do the same.

They looked at the gazes surrounding them. Their smiles weren’t forced. But how could anyone tell what was real, anymore? They curled their legs up under them. 

Es closed their eyes, and made a wish.

[crownpastelyellow]

Starkissed AU Pt. 1

Pairing: Tango/Jimmy

Summary: Tango is just trying to fix his tin can of a spaceship when he meets a charming young man.

Length: 2.5k

Read it on Ao3

---

Overview for the whole AU

Thanks to my buddy @chlmngo for beta reading this <3

Fic is sfw and under the cut!

Year XX96 - 4th Month

Tango really didn't like stopping on any of the planets or stations nearby, especially since he wasn't out of food or gas for another while. But he also knows better than to tempt fate when he hears something in the hull of his ship rattle while he's out in the vast nowhere that is space, hours and hours away from the nearest sign of life.

So, reluctantly, he makes his way to some place that looks like it hosts quite a friendly crowd.

The feeling of discomfort and being out of place hasn't quite left Tango in the past months and he doesn't really know if it ever will. But so far he has learned that sticking to the shady sides of the universe is going to make avoiding the lawmen, who are surely aware of him, a lot easier. And as long as he keeps his head down, he can avoid enough other unfriendly interactions.

Now, Tango is on his back, half crawled into a latch at the bottom of the hull, using the flame of his tail as a makeshift lantern. First to figure out what was wrong, and then, hopefully, find a way to fix this without having to break the bank on new parts. If he can even find anything suitable on this planet. There is a large market a bit of a walk away and at least Joel instructed him specifically how to spot a seller selling faulty parts. So just maybe, Tango could be in luck. 

It takes him longer than he'd hoped to locate the issue and an even longer time to figure out what was actually wrong and how it happened.

On top of all of that, it doesn't help that this planet is closer to the nearest sun than Tango is comfortable with and on top of being annoyed and covered in grease, he's also sweating and taking less breaks than necessary, trying to push through to get away from here again as soon as possible.

But the metal of the ship was heating up in the midday sun and, despite his affinity for heat, Tango needs to get out of there. Take a break, eat something, maybe even grab some spare parts already while he waits for the sun to go down, and the ship to cool off. He leans against the metal facing away from the sun, cool against his back, catching his breath, when he notices someone close by, clearly staring at him.

He fears for the worst as he glances up, because who even comes out to the far corner of this glorified parking lot, but relaxes when he sees a young man in surprisingly fancy clothing for this part of the universe. Doesn’t look like a cop or someone who’s looking for trouble. Tango relaxes, and rests his eyes slightly, just trying to cool off a bit, while eyeing the stranger. The guy is human, quite young looking and his clothes look more pristine than most other stuff on this planet.

"Not buying anything," he just rasps throat dry from working under the heat for hours. This just earns him a head tilt from the man, before a bottle of water is tossed at Tango.

"Saw that you've been working at it for quite a while. Your ship's broken?" The man asks. 

Tango is about to give the bottle back and tell him to leave him alone, not worth taking any risks for, but it's been a while since someone smiled at Tango like this. So he takes a sip, using the time to think of a reply that doesn't give too much away.

When he finally responds, all he manages is a quick, "Something like that." And when that feels too curt, Tango adds, "Wouldn't be out here otherwise, would I?"

And to his surprise the man laughs, eyes shut and his face undeniably handsome. Tango has to shake his head. The kid is probably not even past his mid 20s.

Banishing every thought about this he watches as the young man sits down, still smiling brightly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“If this is how you wanna spend your time, make yourself at home”, Tango shrugs with a laugh before scooting over, making some space in the shade of his spaceship.

“I'm Jimmy, by the way.” Again, big brown eyes stare at him and Tango forgets every fake identity he came up with over the last few weeks and just blurts out “Tango.” 

There are a million Tangos out there, right? Right… At least he had enough sense to not  give out his last name so freely too. But there is no spark of recognition of his name in Jimmy’s eyes so that is at least something.

“Well then, Jimmy, do you already know anything about these types of ships?”, he asks, trying to fill the silence and stir away from anything involving his identity. One look towards Jimmy gives him the answer he had already expected. 

Tango spends a while explaining the parts, what's broken, the general layout of the noodles – and he has to admit it feels good to finally be talking to people again. Especially about this. Mechanics he knows inside out because he helped invent some of this. In his head he can already see the way Jimmy would laugh and stare at him in disbelief, if he ever revealed that.

Instead, Tango smiles to himself, satisfied by watching Jimmy nod along, occasionally pointing at cables and parts asking, “And what's that?” while looking at Tango with his pretty eyes. Jimmy knows exactly what he is doing and Tango isn’t really sure he minds.

Sitting back he smiles at Jimmy, who now also has a grease stain on his otherwise perfect blue shirt, but the young man seems entirely unbothered by it. 

“You didn’t really get anything about this,” Tango gestures to the mess of cables and mechanisms in front of them. “Did you?” which only makes Jimmy laugh brighter. It is charmingly infectious and Tango catches himself chuckling. 

“Would you explain it again if I said I didn't?” Jimmy sticks his tongue out the slightest bit and Tango needs to look away, hoping his sigh masks the fondness that is quickly building. He's really been alone too long, huh? 

It takes Tango a lot longer to finish than it normally would have but this was nicer than any of the other times he needed to land to refuel or repair in the last seven months he’s been on the run.

Seven months of barely any contact with a living person, except for the occasional short call with Etho when he wasn't distracted by Joel, and now this? It's nearly too much. But only nearly. Which is why he doesn’t want this to end, him and Jimmy sitting on the floor in the shade his shuttle barely provides. 

A gentle back and forth of Jimmy talking about how he ended up here, and his friend that he's looking for. In return, Tango carefully evades talking too much about himself, but Jimmy makes it easy.

“I was traveling with another friend, just kinda seeing where it takes me. Been to nearly every planet this part of the solar system so far,” Jimmy explains. “But he had other plans so we split a while ago. Been hopping about alone for a few weeks now.” And if Tango didn’t know any better, he’d think Jimmy might actually consider him as more than just a means to an end.

Tango also doesn't miss how Jimmy has gotten closer during their conversation, arm brushing against his shoulder, fingers brushing against Tango's hand that's resting on the floor.It's obvious what Jimmy is doing but why can't Tango just pretend and ignore the weird feeling in his gut. 

With a sigh, he looks up at Jimmy, who of course has to be stupidly tall on top of very handsome, and plays right into what the blonde wants. Because maybe Tango can also have something nice, just for a little bit. “You wanna catch a ride to the next place on your list once I’ve got it all fixed up?”

Of course Jimmy eagerly nods.

“You wanna grab something to eat before we grab the parts I need? My treat.” Tango offers. He can spend his more than limited funds on something fun for once. 

“I'm not sure if there's anything fancy around here but-”, before he can finish, Jimmy interrupts. “Yes! I've been to this one place, not too far.” he's already up on his feet, holding a hand out to Tango.

The way he is smiling down at him, the firm grip and the ways his muscles work as he pulls Tango up  just affirms that this was a good idea.

Jimmy tugs him along and Tango dutifully pays for their food, a steaming bowl of something that has Jimmy singing high praise and doesn’t taste half bad. Especially not with company.

As they eat and Jimmy tells him more about this pink haired friend of his, Tango looks over various vendors' stalls and thankfully finds a part that should fit well enough. Normally he might attempt to steal it - or at least take some screws and other tiny bits he needs to replace often enough. But with Jimmy here, he can’t, not while he enjoys not feeling like a hunted criminal for one day.

So instead he pays for it, only grinding his sharp teeth slightly when the credits leave his digital wallet. 

While replacing the part, Tango is surprised by how willing Jimmy is to help, even if it only consists of him handing Tango wrenches and whatever else asked. And he has to admit, Jimmy is pleasant company.

Grease stained and happy to be finally done, after having to use his tail flame as a light inside the hull of the ship with the sun now entirely gone, Tango opens the door to the ship and finds himself hesitating. This tin can is barely enough for him, and from all that Jimmy told him, he’s clearly more used to the high life and not a ratty pull out couch and instant ramen. “It’s… a little rustic,” Tango delivers it with a chuckle, even if it is the understatement of the century.

Jimmy steps in after him, looking around the one whole room the ship has, cockpit, bedroom and living, all in one. 

“I know it’s a bit cramped so if-” Tango begins but Jimmy shakes his head, already guessing what he wants to say and instead declares, “I like it.” He lets himself fall onto the couch, a spring creaking. “It’s rustic.”

“Rustic? One way to say it.” But Tango can’t help the smile. “Here you see almost everything. Bed, fridge, bit of storage built into the walls. Bathroom is through there,” If one could even call the cabin with the only door that, “And the cockpit.”

Jimmy nods, following Tango’s description with his head, as if it wasn’t all within two steps reach.

“You, uh, can just sit back a bit. I’ll get us into orbit and then we can see where I can take you?” Tango’s proposal is met with Jimmy immediately making himself comfortable on the couch while Tango straps into the pilot's seat and he can practically feel Jimmy’s eyes on him, making him feel warmer than he already is but he resists the urge to look over his shoulder.

Only once they are stable and away from the gravitational pull of the planet does he take a deep breath and swivel the chair around. “So, where’s your next stop? I, uh, normally don’t land this thing unless I need to refuel.” A glance to the controls in front of him, “So for about a week or so? But I can drop you off somewhere.” Tango winces a little at how pragmatic his words sound even to himself. He doesn’t want to get rid of Jimmy, quite the opposite actually. 

“Hm, I’m not really in a hurry. And just wherever fits you best.” Jimmy is so carefree. Earlier he talked about this woman he was looking for and now he has all the time in the world.

“So you’re always up here? Not going anywhere?” The question pulls Tango out of his thoughts.

He could lie but instead settles for a vague truth, “Just kind of… getting by.”

Brown eyes study him before nodding, casually leaning back. “Right, right.”

“I used to work in engineering,” Tango offers after a moment of silence, unsure what to say. There’s millions of engineers out there, this is fine. “I made engines, designed some ancient ones all the way back on earth.” 

At the mention of Earth, Jimmy practically perks up. “You’ve been to earth?” He doesn’t even try to mask his excitement.

“Uh, yeah. I was born there. Shocker, I know with me being…” He trails off and gestures at himself; the flaming hair, his tail, the long ears.

“But yeah, I grew up there. You’ve ever been?” Tango asks, regretting it when Jimmy’s smile falters for a second. 

“No. Always wanted to but the laws changed long before I was born,” he admits, looking genuinely sad about it.

The tiny stab in Tango’s chest could be sympathy, but it’s more likely that it stems from the fact that Tango remembers when the laws changed, first prohibiting anyone who wasn’t from earth from landing, then banning even Earth’s own citizens from returning just about a year before Tango graduated from college. 

When Jimmy wasn’t even born yet.

With a cough, Tango tries to mask the brief lack of air, before threading onto safer ground and not thinking about how young the man sitting on his bed actually is. “So you’re just interested? It has a lot of good history, but trust me, you’re not missing out. Anything you can find on earth, you can also find out here. Most of the time even better. It’s really rather boring down there.” Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s foot, causing the young man to smile.

“But I want to go to the cinema. The ones with the cars.” Tango laughs at that.

“Those haven’t been a thing for like at least a hundred years. A buddy of mine tried finding one and the whole country didn’t have a single one. And besides, there are actually planets that do have those.”

He could’ve predicted Jimmy’s reply but hearing it still causes Tango’s flames to heat up, his tail coiling around his own ankle. “Then take me.” Jimmy’s expression is right between proud and goofy. “You did ask where I want to go.”

There are a million reasons why Tango shouldn’t agree to this. He is a terrorist, currently on the run from the whole galaxy. And here he finds himself agreeing to a date.

Racking his brain he thinks where to actually find one of these places but he’ll get Jimmy there. “Might take a bit longer than a week but yeah. I’ll take you.”

[cheshireliam]

"Me and You, Always" Story Event: Silvio Ricci Chapter 3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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Emma: Prince Silvio?

I pulled Emma into my arms, trapping her and that oddly intense enthusiasm for gathering autumn greens.

Silvio: Before I waste my time humorin’ yer little game, ya better come clean with it.

Silvio: Same with summer, what’re ya really up to?

Emma: … I just wanted to see a new world I’ve never seen before.

Silvio: Still plannin’ to keep it a secret?

Emma: … 

Silvio: If that’s how ya wanna play it, I’ve got my own ways to make ya talk. 

(Didn’t wanna resort to this, but I ain’t got no choice.)

Holding onto her with one arm, I slid my other hand to her side—

And started tickling Emma mercilessly, her composure shattering in an instant as she thrashed about.

Emma: W-wait…! Stop— haha…! 

Silvio: What was that? Can’t hear ya.

Emma: Ahaha… stop… I’m going to die laughing!

Silvio: Ya know what ya gotta say if ya want me to stop, don’t ya?

(Can’t believe Valerio’s old secret tactic actually works on you too.) 

It was childish and underhanded, even I was embarrassed about it, but it was also undeniably effective. 

Emma: I’ll talk…! I’ll talk, so please…!

Seeing tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, I stopped, but kept my hand resting on her waist so that she wouldn’t bolt off.

Emma: I want to train.

Silvio: Train for what? 

Emma: So that… I’ll be able to join you on your voyages some day.

(Huh?)

Silvio: What the hell for…? 

Emma: Because it's my dream.

Emma: If I could travel together with you and return to the kingdom with great treasures… 

Emma: I just know that would be the greatest, most valuable treasure in my life nothing else can replace. 

(... So that’s what’s been in her head.)

Without realising it, a small smile tugged at my lips, and my arm tightened its hold on her. 

Silvio: Ya needed to hide that?

Emma: … I didn't have the confidence to tell you.

Emma: I have neither knowledge nor experience in sea voyages, so I thought I’ll only end up being a burden. 

Emma: That’s why I wanted to train and learn lots of things…

Emma: Until someday, you’ll feel like you could take me along with you.

Emma: I didn't want you to laugh at me either.

Silvio: I ain’t laughin’.

(If it were any other woman, I’d probably laugh in her face, but I’ll never do that to ya.) 

Going on sea voyages could easily go horribly wrong if anything bad were to happen.

If it were a short trip, sure it could be a noblewoman's little joy ride.

But the farther you want to go, the more preparation and guts you would need. 

(Still, you’re still the only noblewoman around who’d try learnin’ to set up a camp herself.)

(Most of em’ just leave that stuff to others and don’t lift a damn finger.) 

I almost said those words aloud, but decided to swallow them.

It didn't feel right to say things that’d trample all over her determination.

So instead of mocking her, I reached out and ruffled her hair.

Emma: You’re making it messy again!  

Silvio: Shut up. That’s yer punishment for hidin’ stuff from me.

Silvio: … Let’s go.

Emma: Huh? 

Silvio: Ya wanna learn how to gather mountain greens, don't ya?

When I let go of her and started walking, her face lit up so obviously as she hurried to catch up with me. 

Emma: And how should I thank you this time?

Silvio: Anythin’ is fine. But if ya start gettin’ all cocky again, I ain’t teachin’ ya nothin’. 

Emma: I’ll be sure to stay humble and do my best. 

(Now that I know what’s been goin’ through that head of yers, I’ll give ya a hand.) 

(It’s this side of ya that I—) 

(Nah, forget it. I’d just end up gettin’ laughed at myself.) 

…

Autumn flew by in the blink of an eye, and now came the cold winter. 

(... Still feelin’ like I’ve lost my damn mind.) 

(I should just change it, even if I’m only doin’ it now.) 

(But… she’s the kind of woman who’d be happier with somethin’ like this than a precious gemstone.)

(I know that. I know, but damn it, this is insane.)

(Somethin’ like this for a christmas present…) 

???: Where are you going, Prince Silvio? 

(...!)

I stopped in my tracks and forced the discomposure off my face before turning around. 

Seems like I’d walked right past the room I was headed for, and Emma was peeking out from behind the door with her head tilted. 

Emma: Are you not done with work yet…?

Silvio: … I’m done. 

Silvio: I just, uhh… forget somethin’ and need to go grab it, that's all. 

Emma: Ah, then I’m sorry for stopping you.

Emma: I couldn’t help but open the door when I heard some jangling, but I’ll be good and wait patiently. 

Silvio: … Be back in a sec. 

Emma gave a small wave and closed the door. 

I quickened my walking pace to avoid making any noises she might hear, but I couldn't contain the big sigh I almost let out. 

(The hell am I even doin’?)

…

A lavish feast worthy of a christmas dinner filled the table, and Emma was all smiles throughout the dinner. 

Only after she finished the last bite of cake did she finally set down her cutlery. 

I was thinking the dinner ended peacefully, but I had a bad feeling the instant Emma locked her eyes onto mine.

Emma: Are you hiding something, Prince Silvio?

Silvio: Hah? What’re ya talkin’ ‘bout all of a sudden?

Emma: You’ve been fidgeting the entire time.

Silvio: I ain’t. It’s all in yer head. 

Emma: You know you can’t fool these eyes of mine. 

(... She’s weirdly sharp when it comes to times like this.)

Emma stood from her seat and moved behind me—.