#I don’t have a problem I have a solution

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky��s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[theliteraryarchitect]

5 Reasons NOT to Use Multiple Point of View (and What to Do Instead)

I've been meaning to make this post for a long time. As a developmental editor, I see a LOT of manuscripts that use multiple point of view (where each scene or chapter is from the perspective of a different character), when they really should be using a classic single character POV. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that writers see multiple POV as a solution to problems that really shouldn't be solved that way. Basically, they're using it for the wrong reasons. And when that happens, instead of making the story more awesome, multiple POV can actually weaken it.

Here are five of the most common reasons writers choose multiple POV (and why those reasons might be a problem). Don’t worry—I’ll also share what to do instead.

1. You Don’t Know What Your Story Is About

Sometimes, when writers aren’t 100% clear on their story’s main conflict, theme, or plot, they reach for multiple POV. It feels like a fix—after all, why focus on one perspective when you can try out a little of this and a little of that?

Here’s the thing: multiple POV actually requires you to be more clear about your story, not less. Readers will naturally look for a thread that ties all the perspectives together, and if that thread isn’t there, the story will feel scattered or aimless.

What to Do Instead: Take a step back. If you’re feeling unsure about what your story is really about, try some journaling or outlining. Ask yourself:

What’s the main conflict?

Who’s the central character?

Why am I telling this story?

Often, writers discover they actually have one protagonist, and a limited third or first-person perspective would work better. If you still feel like multiple POV is the right call, go for it! Just be sure to periodically revisit your outline to make sure the story hasn’t “gotten away” from you. (Multiple POV has a sneaky way of doing that.)

2. You Haven’t Developed Your Characters

Multiple POV doesn’t work unless each character is fully developed. Every POV character needs their own voice, journey, and reason for being in the story. If they can’t stand on their own, readers will notice.

What to Do Instead: Before assigning a POV, ask yourself:

Is this character compelling enough to hold the reader’s attention?

Do they add something essential to the story that no one else can?

If the answer is no, it might be better to stick with a single POV. Sometimes less is more.

3. You Can’t Decide on a POV Character

This one is common, especially in early drafts. You’re still figuring out your story, and it’s hard to choose whose perspective should take center stage.

What to Do Instead: Experiment! Write key scenes from different characters’ perspectives. Often, the strongest voice will make itself known as you go. And remember: just because you write a draft with multiple POV doesn’t mean you can’t narrow it down later.

4. You Need to Share Information Your POV Character Doesn’t Have

Ah, the classic "But how do I show this thing the protagonist doesn’t know?" dilemma. This is probably the most common reason I see writers reach for multiple POV. It’s tempting to throw in a chapter or two from another character’s perspective just to share that extra bit of information.

The problem? Those chapters often feel disconnected from the rest of the story. Every POV character needs to carry their weight, and dropping in a random narrator just for convenience can leave readers feeling unsatisfied.

What to Do Instead: There are other ways to get information across. Here are a few ideas:

Educated Guesses: Let your main character speculate. (“Iris kept tapping her pencil on the desk. Was she nervous about the meeting earlier?”)

Show, Don’t Tell: Use actions, dialogue, or other clues to reveal what another character might be thinking.

Bring in a New Element: Introduce a third character, a conflict, or even an object that reveals something important.

Overhearing or Spying: Yes, it’s a little cliché, but when used sparingly, it can work in a pinch.

5. You’re Looking for an Easy Way Out

Let’s be honest: multiple POV can feel like a catch-all solution to tough storytelling problems. Need to fix pacing? Add another POV! Can’t figure out how to make the ending work? Add another POV!

But here’s the truth: multiple POV is actually harder than other POVs. You’re not just developing one character—you’re developing several, and you have to tie all their perspectives into a cohesive whole.

What to Do Instead: Focus on nailing the story with a single POV first. Once you’re confident the core of the story is solid, you can decide if adding other perspectives will truly enhance it.

In Summary

Multiple POV is a powerful tool, but it’s not a shortcut. It requires careful planning and strong execution. If you’re considering it, ask yourself:

Does every POV character bring something unique to the story?

Am I clear on the main conflict and theme?

Could this story be told just as well (or better) with a single POV?

Sometimes, the simplest route is the best one.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[chase-solidago]

When anyone says the planet is overpopulated, look them dead in the eye and ask them “Okay, so what do we do about it?”

They will hedge, squirm, prevaricate, but don’t let them weasel out of it.

Maybe they’ll land on “I don’t know! It’s a huge complex issue that might not have a solution!” Which is fair, imo.

But usually what happens is they suggest things that don’t impact them. “People should have less kids.” Ask: which people? How are you enforcing that?

Nine times out of ten, it becomes “Well, those people have too many kids.” Often, it’s the poor, or a particular race, or just generally the Global South. Conveniently, not the speaker’s family, race, or class.

This is the path Neo-Malthusian arguments follow. While I was talking about Douglass Tallamy, who advocates for this, I think this is deeply relevant to the cuts we’re seeing in the US government.

Generally, you can’t just say out loud “It’s morally right to kill all (insert class/race here) people.” They don’t like saying that directly. But pulling USAID, cancelling food and medicine projects for communities who need it? Well that conveniently takes care of the problem, doesn’t it? Same goes for revoking universal healthcare. If you can’t afford to see a doctor, then you might as well die. Same goes for medical research. If Black maternal mortality is high, that’s not a problem. It’s a convenient one-in, one-out! It’s not a coincidence that “effective altruist” Elon is leading this attempted-culling while producing as many “master race” children as he can.

I think most people who read writers like Tallamy don’t think twice about this, never reflecting on why it’s so fucked up. It’s worth taking the time to self-reflect on how we discuss things like this.

TLDR: if people start using ecological terms to describe human populations, it’s vital we push back. Scientific terms are often used to make unjust policy appear neutral

[sabrinahawthorne]

Let’s Grow the RPG Hobby

Inspired by this post and the conversation surrounding it.

So the RPG world is facing a multitude of interconnected problems. Let’s talk about them, shall we?

---

1: The Problem(s)

Writing this, I find it hard to pinpoint a way to frame the subject of this post as a single thing. But it’s also impossible to treat it as it it’s a collection of separate problems. In reality, the issues facing the indie RPG world are A Hydra; a many-headed conglomeration of related issues, which each require organized, dedicated work to solve. A few examples:

The Normie-Indie Divide

A problem close to my heart, The Normie-Indie Divide describes the gradient between the mainstream of an artistic hobby and the really independent stuff. I compare this to movies a lot, but the more apt analogy is video games. The N-I-D in the videogame industry is so small as to be virtually nonexistent.

We can see this via a number of factors – one example being that the same outlets which cover massive blockbusters & sequels like Assassin’s Creed and God of War, also cover popular indie titles like Celeste and Hollow Knight. Then, freelance journalists who write for those publications (Jacob Geller is an example) go on to cover much smaller games on their own time, and so on. There’s a smooth gradient between the media coverage of the huge stuff, all the way down to a thriving (if still underserved) super-independant industry.

The N-I-D in RPGs feels uncrossable. The most well known RPG is so big it’s currenly riding the high of its second major hollywood adaptation in 20 years, and the second most popular – Vampire the Masquerade – is an unknown even to some indie RPG fans.* This hobby is shockingly impenetrable, even to those of us who spend our days swimming in the deepest end of the pool.

The Supply & Demand Problem

This one’s simple: People are pumping out RPGs by the truckload, and there are just too many! Not only does this make it hard to sift through everything to find the thing you want to read, play, or review, it also makes it nearly impossible to get anyone’s eyeballs on the cool thing you just released!

As others have pointed out, this problem is exacerbated by the fact that relative to some other art media, it’s pretty quick and painless to whip up your own zine or one-pager and publish it on itch. This disincentivises even the most invested of us from looking at a ton of new games, and means that sharing your work can feel like you’re being ignored by a huge crowd.

A Road To Solutions

If all of that is making you feel pretty bad for the future of this medium, you’re not alone. It can feel pretty hopeless facing all of these problems as an indie designer when all the tools you have at your disposal are a tumblr account and a few indie friends to complain to.

But the truth is, I think that this Hydra is eminently slayable. I just don’t think we can do it alone. That in mind, I’ve spent a large portion of my day putting together…

The Call to Action

I think there needs to be organized, persistent effort put into the future of this hobby and this industry, and I think it needs to start the way all good movements do: with a lot of petty, semantic argumentation over definitions and implementation. And to kick things off, here’s my step zero: If you’re reading this post because I’ve tagged you in it (or because I’ve sent you a link to it), my Dms are open. I want to put together a discord group chat† of my peers within RPG tumblr who are invested in tackling The Hydra, such that we can start brainstorming plans of attack to disseminate into the wider community.

The issues I wish to address are these:

The Normie-Indie Divide: How do we go about cultivating a casual audience of indie RPG fans who can bring sustainability and longevity to the industry?

The Supply & Demand Problem: How do we minimize the cognitive load of sorting through the huge volume of work extant in this medium, and more generally encourage peer-to-peer interaction within the community, like news coverage, reviews, and marketing?

The Cognitive Frontload Problem: How do we make it easier to actually engage with a given RPG, considering the amount of cognitive & temporal investment needed? Further, how do we make RPGs, both general and specific, more accessible to readers with a wide variety of abilities, preferences, and available time?

The Insular Community Problem: How do we better connect this hobby with itself, such that it feels a little less like several dozen cliques across 4-6 platforms, and more like the growing, evolving single hobbyist community that it is? Further, how do we make this hobby more accessible to newbies outside the influence of The Hegemons of the Coast?

And more. I’m positive I haven’t thought of everything, and that’s exactly why this needs to be a group effort.

As a last note: Please tag other people! The folks I’ve mentioned here are just those who I personally feel I know well enough to tag; let’s get the rest of the community involved! If you know someone who would be interested who isn’t on tumblr, they can email me: sabrinahawthornegames@proton.me.

*I’m not kidding. Multiple times within the last four months, I’ve introduced VtM to people who I would consider pretty in the sauce of RPGs. I’m talking folks who’ve played Heart: The City Beneath or Wanderhome. It’s bizarre.

†I need to stress that this is only a start. I’m not looking to start a big public discord unless that’s what a group of folks decide is the right call. By “group chat,” I mean “a chat which exists for long enough to hold 1-3 group voice calls to discuss and hash things out, before it’s dissolved in favor of the execution of whatever plans we devise.”

@theresattrpgforthat; @omophagic-beast; @ladytabletop; @rowansender; @monsterfactoryfanfic; @arsene-inc; @toyourstations

[sailorsoons]

On the Clock | Teaser (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x f. reader

Summary: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the bookstore as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

Word Count: TBD

Genre: Faking dating, Coworkers to Lovers, Romcom

Type: Smut, some fluff and crack

 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Full fic warnings TBD but general warnings include explicit language, explicit sexual content, a little bit of a miscom trope, a hint of angst, a whole lotta stupid!

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab by @camandemstudios

Masterlist | Ask | Join Tag List

COMING FRIDAY, FEB. 14

“Well,” Vernon (from IT) eventually says. “No harm done once you tell everyone we’re not dating.”

“Once I what?” 

“Well you’ll have to-”

“No way.”

“What?” 

“Do you know how embarrassing that would be?” 

He raises a brow. “More embarrassing than grabbing some dude in the bookstore and claiming he’s your boyfriend.” 

The air leaves your lungs and you melt into the seat, your misery showing. “I already said sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell everyone you broke up with me.” You snort. 

“No one would believe that.” 

“Why?” 

Instead of answering him immediately, you busy yourself unraveling silverware. It’s a hard question to answer, not because you don’t know the answer but because you don’t want to tell him. Vernon (from IT) is quiet, though. Patient. 

He doesn’t press you for an answer, happy to wait you out until you’ve folded your napkin and placed it on your lap, and once again drained the rest of your water. It does nothing for your nerves as you fixate on a spot atop the table. 

“I don’t… date.” 

“You dated Minho.”

“Yeah. That’s uh… it. It’s kind of a running joke that I am undateable.”

He frowns at that. “Respectfully, I find that incredibly hard to believe.” 

“Thanks. I think.” You pick at a string in the tablecloth. “Anyway, no one would buy that I ended the first relationship I’ve had since Minho. I didn’t even end the last one and sort of clung to it in a way that was sort of embarrassing.” 

“I see.”

You’re unsure if he really does. When Minho had broken up with you, you’d attempt to make arguments to keep him around. Offered less work hours, even said you’d go to therapy to talk about your insane need for success. He hadn’t wanted any of it, and you’d eventually realized that he just… didn’t want you. 

They never did, when people realized what dating you entails. Everyone wants a woman who works hard. They like the illusion of it, the woman who gets up early in the morning and goes to workout before going to her corporate job and girl bossing all day long. They desire the woman who dresses fashionably, who wears designer tags and commands a room all day before coming home to make an effortless dinner followed by a luxurious night routine. 

And you get it. You want to be that too. But the truth is most days you wake up past your alarm and rush to the office wearing shoes that don’t match, and sometimes you come home so late and burned out from your job that you eat a handful of shredded cheese over the sink with a stick of beef jerky, only to do it all again the next day.

That wasn’t what anyone wanted. At least, not in your experience. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “You’re right, or whatever. I should just tell them I lied. I’ve given worse news. Just you know - less personal.” 

For a few minutes, Vernon (from IT) is quiet. You don’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead you watch the ice cubes in your glass melt, little beads of condensation zigzagging down the curve of your glass. 

A sigh makes you look up at Vernon (from IT). “What if we dated for like a month or something?” 

“What?”

“I don’t mean really date,” he offers quickly, sensing your surprise. For some reason, that stings a little. You swallow it down past the knot forming in your throat. “It’ll get people off your back or whatever and we can just mutually end things.” 

“Really? You’d do that.” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess, yeah.”

“You can break up with me,” you promise eagerly, leaning forward with the new promise of a solution to your problem. “Everyone will believe it. Just say I work too much and I’m too obsessed with my career.” 

An uneasy gaze flickers in Vernon (from IT)’s eyes. “It can be mutual,” he says firmly. “That way it ends nicely.”

“Fine. Everyone will think one thing anyway, you’ll get out without a scratch, trust me. Are you sure you’re willing to do this? I can… suck it up and tell everyone I made it up.”

“Do you really want to?” 

“No,” you admit.

“Then it’s settled.” He shrugs, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you a month and then we can mutually end things.” 

Sticking your hand over the table, you offer it for Vernon (from IT) to shake. His mouth twitches a little as he smiles, leaning forward to take your hand. His is warm and softer than you imagined, enveloping yours firmly as he shakes. 

“Deal,” you smile, feeling a glimmer of hope. 

Just like that, Vernon (from IT) becomes Vernon (your boyfriend). 

Sort of.

[nellasbookplanet]

What with cr3 ending and me having semi-recently read dungeon meshi and currently replaying mass effect, I find myself pondering characters coming back from the dead and the nature of (happy) endings.

The thing is, I generally prefer a happy ending, and I don’t really agree with takes that they're boring. I do, however, want my happy endings to feel earned, and not in a 'the characters went through a lot of hardships and deserve it' way but in a 'this is narratively satisfying' kind of way. Dungeon meshi (which I'm about to massively spoil) ends in an incredibly happy way, with virtually no one dying, and a huge cast of characters coming together to resurrect the lead's dead loved one. However, the plot throughout also massively focuses on the inevitability of death and of how to handle mourning and moving on. It features a character who, like Keyleth, has a very long lifespan and is desperately seeking a way to save herself the suffering of seeing loved ones die, even as they repeatedly tell her they don’t want the 'solutions' she’s offering. In the end, she does come to terms with things, and before attempting the resurrection admits she’s no longer as scared of the possibility of it failing or losing people in general because now she knows how to move on and find new happiness. When the resurrections succeeds, it doesn’t feel like a cop out or her backsliding in her growth, but rather as immensly satisfying. The nature of the happy ending is also overall tempered by very real consequences from the adventure that will never go away, rather than everything being saccharine.

In mass effect (which I'm also about to massively spoil), the player character comes back from having spent 2 years dead in the second game, and has the chance to try to rekindle a romance from the first game (assuming you romanced that particular character to begin with). Except, she doesn’t take you back. She has spent 2 years mourning and building herself up as a new person, and she’s terrified of losing you again to a looming galactic war and having to do it all over again. She can’t just pick up where you left off. Of course, you can still convince her with the right choices, but it’s made clear it isn't easy, and she does have to come to terms with that it’s not only possible but likely that she’ll lose you again (and indeed, by the end of the trilogy she does). You know by the end of it that she has grown.

I'm not opposed to Vax coming back, especially not with the overhanging consequences both of him and Keyleth having inherently changed as people and therefore having to build something new rather than pick up where they left off, and of him still being beholden to his duty as a champion first. Having a character cursed to outlive everyone she loves find a partner who's kind of undead and won’t die is kind of neat actually. The problem is, Keyleth shows little sign that she has learned the lesson so beautifully portrayed in dungeon meshi and mass effect. She still can’t move on from losing a loved one, still can’t accept both the inevitability of loss and how she, as an incredibly long lived person, will have to experience it over and over again. She explicitly asks Vax if he would come back to her if the Raven Queen died/was killed, all but implying she’d support this end if he said yes (he didn’t). At no point does she accept that he is truly dead. And while I'm happy she has Vax back, I'm also saddened it didn’t happen in a way that conveyed true growth of character.

[nightbeforethend]

how would each member of xdinary heroes react when you pick them up from a bar/restaurant and their drunk asf.

I imagine hanjun being quiet and reserved about pda sober but a drop of alcohol in him he becomes a koala, clinging to you and just giggling away

☆*･ﾟdrunk // xdinary heroes ﾟ･*☆

a/n: thank you for this request! I truly had way too much fun working on it and I hope you enjoy anon!

warning(s): drinking/drunk behaviors

want to request something? check this out

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gunil <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ absolutely shocked by the baddie he managed to pull by being a dork and having a funny laugh all the time but especially when he’s drunk

*ೃ༄ knows you’re coming to meet him and the guys at a restaurant after you leave another outing but he’s still stunned into silence when you walk in

*ೃ༄ granted he’s drunk out of his mind but still

*ೃ༄ the type to say some shit like “that’s mine right there” with a cocky smile on his face when he sees you walk into the restaurant like his red cheeks and ears aren’t giving away that he’s flustered and absolutely blasted

*ೃ༄ realizes once you don’t take the seat next to him that you’re there to pick him up now instead of hanging out

*ೃ༄ insists he’s fine just to convince you to stay when he knows damn well that he’s a drink and a half away from yacking all over the table

*ೃ༄ a bit stubborn just because he likes you babying him more than he’s willing to admit when he’s sober but it doesn’t take too much convincing to get him out of his seat and to your car

*ೃ༄ (silently a bit upset that jungsu and o.de carry him there for you like he doesn’t go to the gym almsot everyday. truly expects you to give him a piggy back ride like he doesn’t have one of the craziest sleeper builds known to man, god bless)

*ೃ༄ 9/10 experience overall

*ೃ༄ a pretty easy experience regardless of him yapping just to yap the entire way home

*ೃ༄ 7.5/10 depending on whether or not you having to stop the car a couple times so he could indeed yack on the side of the rode would get on your nerves or not

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jungsu <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ I truly don’t think that he’d be that bad

*ೃ༄ like at all

*ೃ༄ maybe a giggly drunk, red as hell from drinking entirely too much but he doesn’t give difficult drunk energy

*ೃ༄ except for the stubbornness that could come with it

*ೃ༄ my first thought is that one picture of jeonghan from seventeen having to get on his knees and beg dino to get in the taxi so they could get his drunk ass home

*ೃ༄ literally this

*ೃ༄ like he’s perfectly fine with leaving with you and he doesn’t even have a problem leaving the guys and following you to your car but the moment you go to open the passenger door for him his mouth falls open in shock because how dare you open the door for him when he can do it himself??

*ೃ༄ it’s enough to make him refuse to get in the car which is crazy because up until this point he’d been acting so normal that you thought the guys might’ve been joking about how much he had to drink

*ೃ༄ the easy solution should’ve been you closing the door and him opening it himself but of course it’s not that easy

*ೃ༄ you close the door? He opens it again. You try to guide him inside? Now he’s a statue. You threaten to leave him there? Suddenly, he’s a lawyer with a five-minute argument on why that would be a human rights violation

*ೃ༄ has the most crazy pout you’ve ever seen on his face when you finally get him in the car because he thinks you’re “manhandling” him (you barely even touched him, he just low key doesn’t even know how his own legs got him outside at this point, better yet how you got him in the car)

*ೃ༄ actually sits in silence for a solid three minutes after you start driving, only to suddenly hit you with a quiet “I could’ve driven” followed by the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen from him

*ೃ༄ absolutely will not let go of your hand on the way home though because he’s not about to lose out on a little physical affection even in the midst of his little drunk attitude

*ೃ༄ 6/10 experience because why the hell do you have to fight him from the time you picked him up to the time you got him in bed??

*ೃ༄ quickly becomes a 8.2/10 the next morning because he makes you breakfast and coffee the next morning despite his hangover simply because he feels bad

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gaon/jiseok <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ huge believer in him being such a normal drunk human being. Like he’s still mostly sweet and harmless, but suddenly his fight-or-flight kicks in at the worst possible times

*ೃ༄ because when you show up to take him home, he does NOT recognize you

*ೃ༄ like at all

*ೃ༄ he’s squinting, tilting his head, looking you up and down like you’re some stranger trying to seduce him away from his very real, very loving partner (who is literally you even though he won’t believe you or anyone else trying to convince him of the fact)

*ೃ༄ keeps repeating “sorry, I’m in a relationship” in the nicest way possible because he doesn’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings but the fact that someone that could be your doppelgänger is trying to take him home is freaking him out so bad

*ೃ༄ you think he’s joking until he’s literally running away from you every time you physically try to get him to leave

*ೃ༄ why he thinks his loyalty is being tested is beyond you but having to chase this grown man through a crowded bar has you about ready to tell security that he’s causing a scene just to have someone else easily drag him outside

*ೃ༄ "Jiseok, get in the car!"

*ೃ༄ "I told you I’m in a relationship you freak” is his only response at this point and he means that shit

*ೃ༄ something finally clicks in his brain and makes him call you for some kind of help since his equally drunk friends weren’t helping and he’s beyond flabbergasted when he hears your phone start to ring in your purse

*ೃ༄ cue the slowest realization in human history

*ೃ༄ you can literally see the cogs in his brain starting back up

*ೃ༄ “Ohhh... that’s why you’re so pretty...”

*ೃ༄ absolutely devastated by his own actions immediately after

ೃ༄ like the 180 he pulls when he finally gets into the car and pouts the whole way home actually needs to be studied

*ೃ༄ 5/10 experience overall, only because of the chase

*ೃ༄ 7.5/10 if you found it funny

*ೃ༄ 9/10 if you got it on video to use against him later

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> o.de/seungmin <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ down atrociously bad for you in a very visual way while he’s sober just to act like the shyest, most love struck teenager that’s ever existed the moment he gets a drop of alcohol in him

*ೃ༄ like on a normal bases he’s not afraid to leave kisses all over your face as he’s calling you the love of his life in fifty different ways whether people are around or not

*ೃ༄ but the moment you approach him at the bar he’s avoiding eye contact like he barely knows you

*ೃ༄ crazy work for someone who called you himself three separate times to ask you to pick him up because he wanted to, in his own words, “cuddle you until you both became a single being like you’re two crystal gems in Steven Universe” but alas

*ೃ༄ he truly can’t bring himself to even hold your hand for longer than a few seconds at a time when you try to pull him out of the building and to your car

*ೃ༄ he’s redder than you’ve ever seen him because for some reason the alcohol has made him hyper aware to being perceived by others; especially the friends he’s been smooching you in front of way too much now for him to be this embarrassed

*ೃ༄ can stumble his way to your car on his own and literally doesn’t say a word until you’re both inside and he feels like you’re alone

*ೃ༄ literally sighs like he’s been holding in the world’s biggest secret as you pull away from the bar, immediately trying to bury his face in your neckline you stop at a light

*ೃ༄ “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to finally touch you… so many people around… do you think they noticed we’re a thing?

*ೃ༄ “you mean the friends you’ve kissed me on the mouth in front of on several occasions?? I think they know”

*ೃ༄ clings onto you like a koala bear the whole rest of the way home like he’s making up for the few minutes that he wasn’t all over you

*ೃ༄ 9.5/10 experience simply because witnessing what he’d be like if he ever cared about being perceived is extremely cute

*ೃ༄ half a point off because the energy he brings to the table while being uncharacteristically shy is a bit alarming

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> junhan/hyeongjun <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ The liquid courage that would run through this man after a night out needs to be studied

*ೃ༄ He gives the same drunk energy as me I fear (can drink like 5 cocktails, 6 shots, and two beers and there’s no personality difference outside of being extremely affectionate)

*ೃ༄ Like he’s fine, everything’s fine, he’s drunk as hell but he’s not a runner or an intoxicated mess so he’s truly just chilling when he suddenly remembers he has a partner that he NEEDS to be touching right now or he might die

*ೃ༄ and while he doesn’t look as fucked up as he is on the outside, he’s cancelling the uber he got to take him home and calling you to ask you to join them

*ೃ༄ you think he’s joking until gunil calls you to tell you that he’s indeed planted himself on the ground outside the club, sitting criss cross applesauce, waiting for you to get there

*ೃ༄ like he’s not even making a fuss or saying anything crazy

*ೃ༄ he just refuses to leave until he gets a kiss from you (you literally live together but alcohol will fuck up his logic and reasoning every time)

*ೃ༄ when you show up to pick him up he’s literally all over you before you can even speak

*ೃ༄ I’m talking arms wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe, kissing every inch of your face he can reach, lifting you off your feet just so he can spin you around type of touchy

*ೃ༄ not only does it spook the guys (who have never EVER seen him be this touchy with anyone) but also you, who had gotten used to never EVER doing more than holding hands in public

*ೃ༄ very willing to get in the car and go home after he’s gotten what he wanted

*ೃ༄ 8.8/10 experience only because you now have to deal with his homies making kissing noises at the two of you whenever they see you

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jooyeon <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ I fear he’s a runner

*ೃ༄ like the type to disappear, reappear while talking, reappear across the bar, and then by time you get to him he’s gone again

*ೃ༄ although he can’t sit still to save his life he’s surprisingly quiet

*ೃ༄ so you’re not shocked at all when you show up to the bar and spot Jooyeon alone on the patio with whatever pretty drink the bartender suggested and none of the other guys in sight

*ೃ༄ spots you coming and his eyes light up like he didn’t just see you right before he left earlier to go to the bar

*ೃ༄ not a drunk man of many words (surprisingly, considering that he’s one of the biggest sober yappers you know)

*ೃ༄ “took you long enough to get here” headass

*ೃ༄ literally chugs the rest of his drink, throws his arms around you, and you’re now stuck with him clinging onto you for the rest of the night

*ೃ༄ the yapping might go away temporarily but I fear the clinginess is forever

*ೃ༄ the actual pickup itself isn’t the hard part whatsoever once you get him to situate himself in one place

*ೃ༄ it’s after the car ride you’re concerned about, and rightfully so

*ೃ༄ 5.5/10 experience ONLY BECAUSE although I don’t see him being an insane drunk, he’d fall asleep the moment he heard the hum of the engine but now you have over a hundred pounds of dead weight to get upstairs to your apartment once you get home

[fioredeciliego]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒

𝐖𝐂: 𝟑.𝟗𝐊

ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, '����𝔦𝔩 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The council chamber of Argoriath Kingdom was heavy with tension, the air thick with the weight of the discussion unraveling before them. The long mahogany table was lined with nobles and advisors from both kingdoms, their expressions ranging from carefully neutral to outright hostile. At the head of the table, Queen Taeyeon and Queen Tiffany sat with unwavering poise, their regal presence alone commanding the room.

Across from them, Queen Irene and Queen Seulgi mirrored their composed demeanor, though the tightness in Irene’s jaw betrayed her displeasure.

Between them sat Minjeong, now 21 and Y/N, now 19. Their parents thought they were both old enough to give their inputs in important meetings.

This was the first time they had been in the same room in weeks, and the circumstances were less than ideal.

“This proposal is unreasonable,” Irene finally said, her voice calm but firm. “We cannot allow our merchants to be taxed so heavily when passing through your lands.”

Taeyeon exhaled, fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. “The increased tariffs are necessary to fund our defenses. We’ve had multiple reports of bandit raids along the border—raids that threaten both our people and yours.”

“Then we should strengthen border patrols together,” Seulgi interjected. “A tax burden only increases the divide between our kingdoms.”

Minjeong stole a glance at Y/N, who sat stiffly beside her mothers, her face unreadable.

Y/N hadn’t looked at her once since entering the chamber.

“Strengthening patrols takes time,” Tiffany said smoothly. “And time is not something we have in abundance. The taxes are a temporary measure—only until we secure our defenses.”

“Temporary measures tend to become permanent,” Irene countered.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the Mindor Kingdom advisors.

Minjeong exhaled, straightening. “We are not trying to exploit your merchants. We’re trying to protect the trade routes. If we don’t act now, we risk losing control of them entirely.”

At that, Y/N finally turned her head to look at her. “So your solution is to make our merchants pay for your kingdom’s inability to control the problem?”

Minjeong flinched at the sharpness of her tone, though she masked it quickly. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what it sounds like,” Y/N shot back.

Their gazes locked, neither willing to back down.

The room was silent, all eyes flickering between the two of them. The weight of their history—years of shared memories, unspoken words, and something dangerously close to unresolved feelings—hung between them like a fragile thread ready to snap.

Taeyeon cleared her throat. “Perhaps a recess is in order.”

Tiffany nodded. “A moment to reevaluate our positions could be beneficial.”

Seulgi exchanged a look with Irene before nodding. “Agreed.”

Minjeong barely registered their words, her focus solely on Y/N, whose lips were pressed into a thin line. Without another word, Y/N stood, turning sharply on her heel as she strode out of the chamber.

Minjeong hesitated only a second before following.

She caught up with Y/N in the corridor, reaching for her wrist. “Wait—”

Y/N spun around, pulling her arm free. “What?”

Minjeong sighed, lowering her voice. “This doesn’t have to turn into a fight.”

Y/N scoffed. “Isn’t it already?”

Minjeong hesitated, searching her face. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Minjeong took a step closer, her voice softer. “Then tell me.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration flashing in her eyes. “You’re supposed to be different from them. From all of them. But the moment it comes to politics, you sound just like your advisors—just like your mothers.”

Minjeong felt that hit deeper than she expected. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Y/N exhaled sharply, turning away. “I need air.”

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The halls of Argoriath’s castle were quieter at night, the usual hum of court life fading into the dim glow of torches lining the stone walls. Y/N had needed space, an escape from the weight of the political negotiations, from the clashing words and veiled threats between Mindor and Argoriath’s councils.

She walked aimlessly, letting the silence settle over her like a blanket, until she heard voices echoing from a nearby corridor. Minjeong’s voice.

She hesitated, half-turning to leave, but something in Minjeong’s tone—low, troubled—made her pause.

“She doesn’t see it, does she?” a second voice said, deeper, steadier. One of Minjeong’s knights. Perhaps Jeno.

Minjeong sighed. “No. And I don’t know if I should tell her.”

Y/N frowned, taking a step closer, pressing herself against the cool stone wall to remain unseen.

“You have doubts,” the knight stated, rather than asked.

Minjeong let out a humorless chuckle. “Wouldn’t you?”

Y/N felt her stomach drop.

“You and Y/N have known each other for years,” Jeno said. “You’ve always protected her, even before all of this political mess. I thought… I thought you were at least willing to go through with this.”

Silence.

Then Minjeong exhaled sharply. “It’s not that simple.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Minjeong continued, quieter now, as if admitting it aloud was something she wasn’t ready to face. “Neither of us asked for this, Jeno. We’re being pushed into something neither of us may be ready for. What if it doesn’t work? What if we ruin everything between our kingdoms? What if we make a mistake that costs us more than just our own happiness?”

Y/N pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“You’re overthinking again,” Jeno replied, though there was no teasing in his voice this time. “You don’t have to want this, Minjeong. But if you’re not careful, you might end up pushing her away before either of you figure out what you actually feel about it.”

Another long pause.

Minjeong didn’t answer.

That silence was louder than anything else in Y/N’s ears.

She took a step back, heart hammering against her ribs. The stone walls around her suddenly felt suffocating, the flickering torchlight casting too many shadows. She needed to get out of there before they saw her, before Minjeong saw the hurt she knew was written all over her face.

Without another sound, she turned and slipped away, her mind spinning with the weight of Minjeong’s words.

Neither of us may be ready.

The words rang in her ears as she fled into the darkness of the castle, unable to escape the ache settling deep in her chest.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The clashing of steel rang out through the castle’s private training grounds, each strike sending sparks into the cool morning air. The sun had barely risen, yet Minjeong and Y/N stood across from each other, swords drawn, eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

This was supposed to be just another sparring session. A way to keep their skills sharp.

But they both knew this was more than that.

Y/N’s grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles white. Minjeong had barely spoken to her since the meeting with their councils, since the words Y/N overheard in the corridor had carved themselves into her chest.

She hadn’t confronted Minjeong about it. Instead, she held her anger, her hurt, and let it boil beneath her skin.

And now, with a blade in her hand, she was ready to let it out.

Minjeong noticed the shift in Y/N’s stance and raised an eyebrow. “You’re tense.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her shoulders. “And you’re talkative.”

Minjeong smirked, twirling her sword once before settling into position. “Would you rather I let my sword do the talking?”

Y/N didn’t answer. Instead, she lunged.

Minjeong barely had time to react before their swords clashed, the force of Y/N’s strike sending a sharp vibration up her arm. She gritted her teeth, pushing back, but Y/N was relentless, attacking with a precision that left no room for Minjeong to recover.

“Good,” Minjeong murmured, blocking another strike. “Use your anger.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed. “I’m not angry.”

She swung harder. Minjeong sidestepped, barely missing the arc of Y/N’s blade. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Y/N clenched her jaw and attacked again. Their movements were fast, sharp—both of them skilled warriors, neither willing to yield. The tension that had been building between them since the council meeting now spilled into each strike, each step, each narrowed glance.

Minjeong smirked as she deflected another blow. “Are you trying to prove something?”

Y/N’s blade scraped against Minjeong’s guard. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

Minjeong’s smirk faltered for just a second before she retaliated, forcing Y/N onto the defensive. She pressed forward, their blades locked, their faces inches apart.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Minjeong said lowly.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show. “Which part?”

Minjeong hesitated. That moment of hesitation cost her—Y/N twisted her wrist, knocking Minjeong’s blade to the side and kicking her legs out from under her.

Minjeong hit the ground with a sharp exhale, her sword skidding across the dirt. Before she could react, Y/N was above her, pressing the tip of her blade lightly against Minjeong’s throat.

Minjeong looked up at her, chest rising and falling, eyes dark with something unreadable.

Y/N held her gaze. “Do you yield?”

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid. Minjeong’s lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around Y/N’s wrist—not to fight, not to push her away, but just to hold her there.

For a second, Y/N let her.

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she stepped back, lowering her sword. Minjeong slowly sat up, brushing dust off her hands, her expression unreadable.

Y/N turned away. “We’re done here.”

Minjeong watched her go, her fingers still tingling where they had touched Y/N’s skin.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth and pine as Y/N guided her horse through the open fields just beyond the castle grounds. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt was soothing, a rare moment of peace in the midst of the chaos consuming her days.

That peace, however, was interrupted by the sound of another horse approaching from behind.

Y/N sighed, already knowing who it was before even turning. “I told you I didn’t need company.”

Minjeong rode up beside her, effortlessly controlling her black steed. “And I decided I didn’t care.”

Y/N shot her a glare, but Minjeong only smirked, the sunlight catching the edge of her dark riding cloak. “It’s reckless to go out alone,” Minjeong added. “What if something happened?”

Y/N huffed, nudging her horse forward. “I can take care of myself.”

Minjeong followed easily, matching her pace. “I know. Doesn’t mean I have to let you.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant rustling of trees and the soft snorts of their horses. The tension from the past days still clung between them, the weight of politics threatening to swallow whatever was left of their fragile understanding.

Finally, Minjeong broke the silence. “You’re still angry.”

Y/N didn’t look at her. “I’m not angry.”

Minjeong arched a brow. “You nearly took my head off with your sword yesterday.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t want to fight you, Minjeong.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Y/N pulled on the reins, bringing her horse to a slow trot. Minjeong did the same, watching as Y/N’s expression softened just slightly. “It’s frustrating,” Y/N admitted. “I don’t understand why your side won’t compromise. Mindor isn’t trying to undermine Argoriath. We just want fairness.”

Minjeong sighed, running a hand through her wind-tousled hair. “You think I don’t want the same thing? I’m stuck between my kingdom’s expectations and what I actually believe is right. It’s not as simple as giving in.”

Y/N studied her, something unreadable in her gaze. “Then what do you actually believe is right?”

Minjeong opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a sharp crack echoed through the air.

Y/N’s horse reared back suddenly, startled by the sound. Y/N let out a gasp as she lost her grip on the reins, the world tilting as she was thrown from the saddle.

Minjeong lunged from her horse, catching Y/N mid-fall, twisting their bodies so she took the brunt of the impact as they hit the ground. The breath was knocked from Minjeong’s lungs, but she barely registered it—her focus was entirely on the girl sprawled on top of her, wide-eyed and breathless.

The silence stretched between them, their faces mere inches apart. Minjeong could feel Y/N’s heartbeat against her own, fast and unsteady.

“You—” Y/N swallowed, eyes darting across Minjeong’s face. “You caught me.”

Minjeong let out a breathless chuckle. “You sound surprised.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She was too busy realizing something else entirely—Minjeong had moved without hesitation. She had thrown herself between Y/N and danger, without thinking, without question.

Minjeong’s fingers flexed slightly against Y/N’s waist before she cleared her throat and shifted. “Are you hurt?”

Y/N slowly shook her head. “No.”

Minjeong nodded, her voice quieter this time. “Good.”

"Are you?" Minjeong gulped. "No."

Y/N nodded. It took a second longer than necessary for Y/N to finally push herself up. Minjeong followed, dusting herself off before offering Y/N a hand. Y/N hesitated, then took it, letting Minjeong pull her to her feet.

They stood there for a moment, still close, breaths uneven. Y/N opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she turned toward her horse, brushing her fingers against its mane to soothe it.

Minjeong studied her carefully. “Y/N.”

Y/N paused but didn’t turn around. “What?”

Minjeong exhaled, debating whether to say what was on her mind. Instead, she simply murmured, “Be careful next time.”

Y/N finally turned, her gaze meeting Minjeong’s. There was something different in her expression—something softer, something conflicted. “Yeah.”

Minjeong smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Without another word, they mounted their horses and rode back in silence.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

Minjeong stood outside Y/N’s chambers, her hand hovering over the wooden door. It was late—too late to be making formal visits—but after the incident earlier that day, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in her chest. There was too much left unsaid, and for once, she didn’t want to push it aside.

With a quiet sigh, she finally knocked.

A moment passed before the door creaked open. Y/N stood there, her hair slightly tousled, her sleeping garments draping softly around her frame. Minjeong had seen her wear royal gowns, battle attire, and traveling cloaks, but this—this was different. It was intimate in a way that made Minjeong’s throat go dry.

Y/N blinked, surprised to see her. “Minjeong? It’s late.”

Minjeong cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. “I know. I just… we need to talk.”

Y/N studied her for a moment before stepping aside, allowing her in. “Alright.”

Minjeong entered, trying not to let her eyes linger on the way the candlelight cast a warm glow on Y/N’s skin. She forced herself to concentrate as she turned to face her. “About today. About the dispute between our kingdoms.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of her bed. “Go on.”

Minjeong exhaled, raking a hand through her hair. “We can’t keep going in circles. There has to be another way to resolve this without jeopardizing everything.”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her arms absently. “I’ve been thinking about that too. If the trade tariffs are the issue, then perhaps a compromise—lower taxes in exchange for shared security along the borders?”

Minjeong considered it, trying to ignore the way Y/N’s neckline dipped slightly when she shifted. “It’s possible. My mothers won’t agree right away, but if we present it as a temporary solution, they might listen.”

Y/N sighed, pushing away from the bed and pacing slightly. “I know my mothers won’t back down easily either. They believe fairness means equal benefit for both sides, not just temporary relief.”

Minjeong groaned, rubbing her temples. “It’s like talking to a wall with them.”

Y/N snorted. “Welcome to my world.”

Despite the heavy topic, a small smile tugged at Minjeong’s lips. But just as quickly as it came, it faded when Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting her position in a way that caused the fabric of her nightgown to slip slightly off her shoulder.

Minjeong looked away sharply. Focus. Politics. Trade. Not Y/N’s bare skin and how impossibly close they were in the quiet of her chambers.

Y/N tilted her head. “Minjeong?”

Minjeong swallowed, forcing her gaze back up. “I think… I think we should propose the security alliance first. If we push too hard on the tariffs immediately, it’ll only make them more defensive.”

Y/N nodded, seemingly unaware of Minjeong’s internal turmoil. “That makes sense. And in the meantime, we can work on gaining support from the other council members.”

Minjeong nodded, gripping the back of a nearby chair for grounding. “Exactly.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, but Minjeong could still feel the warmth of Y/N’s presence. Her gaze flickered to Y/N’s lips—just for a second—before she caught herself and looked away again.

Y/N arched a brow. “Are you alright?”

Minjeong let out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head. “Fine. Just… tired.”

Y/N studied her, then smirked knowingly. “If you say so.”

Minjeong cleared her throat, stepping toward the door. “We’ll finalize a plan tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Y/N nodded, still watching her with amusement. “You too.”

Minjeong hesitated only for a moment before slipping out, closing the door behind her. Then she stopped.

Rubbing the back of her neck, she debated whether she should knock again. There was something unsettling about how they had left things—not bad, but unfinished. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head at her own hesitation, and turned back.

Inside, Y/N sat on her bed, staring at the door, her fingers gently tracing the embroidery on her sheets. Her mind raced over their conversation. Minjeong had come all this way, at this late hour, just to talk. That meant something, didn’t it?

A knock echoed through the room once more.

Y/N quickly stood and opened the door, her brows raised in curiosity. “Minjeong?”

Minjeong looked slightly embarrassed, rubbing her temple. “Just one more thing.”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Go on.”

Minjeong hesitated, then said, “No matter how difficult these negotiations get, I don’t want it to change things between us.”

Y/N’s teasing smirk softened. “You mean, you don’t want me trying to take your head off with a sword?”

Minjeong huffed a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Y/N studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. No matter what happens, we figure it out together.”

Minjeong felt something in her chest ease at that. “Good.”

They stood there for a beat longer, something unspoken hanging between them. Then, Y/N tilted her head toward the hall. “You should really get some sleep.”

Minjeong exhaled, finally stepping back. “Yeah. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Minjeong.”

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The grand council chamber was filled with the imposing presence of four queens—Taeyeon and Tiffany on one side, Irene and Seulgi on the other. At the center of it all, Minjeong and Y/N sat side by side, the weight of their plan pressing down on them as they prepared to present their proposal.

Minjeong cleared her throat. “We’ve come up with a solution that benefits both Argoriath and Mindor.”

Y/N nodded, her hands neatly folded on the table. “If we establish a security alliance along our shared borders, both kingdoms will benefit from safer trade routes, and it will eliminate the need for excessive tariffs.”

Taeyeon exchanged a glance with Tiffany, while Irene studied the two of them carefully. Seulgi was the first to break the silence. “And how exactly would this be enforced?”

Minjeong straightened. “Each kingdom will provide an equal number of soldiers for the patrols, commanded by a joint force from both nations. This ensures fairness and trust between our people.”

Irene leaned back, considering. “And if tensions rise? What guarantee do we have that this won’t lead to more conflict?”

Y/N exhaled, meeting her mother’s gaze. “This isn’t just a political strategy—it’s an opportunity for our kingdoms to work together beyond necessity. If we don’t take this step, we risk losing not just resources, but any chance at genuine peace.”

The chamber was silent for a long moment.

Finally, Irene sighed. “It’s a bold plan.”

Taeyeon nodded. “And a risky one.”

“But,” Seulgi interjected, “it’s also the most practical solution we’ve heard thus far.”

Tiffany smiled slightly, her gaze flickering between the two young royals. “You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

Irene raised an eyebrow. “As expected of a future ruling couple.”

Minjeong nearly choked on air. “Excuse me?”

Y/N turned sharply to her mother. “That’s—”

Seulgi smirked. “Oh, please. You two might not have made your marriage official yet, but you already act like a couple.”

Taeyeon nodded approvingly. “Finishing each other’s thoughts, working through problems together, prioritizing the well-being of both kingdoms—it’s quite endearing, really.”

Minjeong and Y/N shared a look, both of them visibly flustered. Minjeong crossed her arms. “This is about politics, not—”

“Of course, dear,” Tiffany said, her tone far too amused. “Purely politics.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

Minjeong sighed, stealing a glance at her before shaking her head. “Apparently not.”

Just as the teasing subsided, a royal advisor stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Your Majesties, I have another matter to bring to your attention.”

The room turned their focus on him as he continued, “Lord Shin-Il Lee of the eastern territories will be arriving in a few days with his eldest son, Lord Mark Lee. They have requested an audience with you regarding a proposal.”

Minjeong immediately scowled, her earlier embarrassment replaced with irritation. “A proposal for what?”

The advisor hesitated. “They have not disclosed the specifics, only that it concerns both kingdoms.”

Minjeong scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Of course, they didn’t.”

The meeting was adjourned soon after, and as soon as they stepped out into the hallway, Minjeong turned to Y/N with an annoyed huff. “I swear, if Mark tries anything ridiculous, I—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “You what?”

Minjeong crossed her arms. “I’ll handle it.”

Y/N chuckled. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “He’s irritating, overly charming, and—” she waved her hand dismissively, “—he thinks he’s more important than he is.”

Y/N hummed in mock thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you’re just still jealous about the dance?”

Minjeong immediately stiffened. “What? No!”

Y/N grinned. “You sure? Because you sound jealous.”

Minjeong sputtered, her face growing warm. “I—I’m not—”

Y/N only laughed, clearly enjoying Minjeong’s flustered state. “If you say so.”

Minjeong groaned, turning on her heel. “I’m leaving.”

Y/N called after her, still giggling. “I’ll make sure to greet Mark with a warm smile when he arrives!”

Minjeong’s retreating form tensed but she didn’t turn around. Y/N leaned against the wall, shaking her head in amusement.

This was going to be fun.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ; 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

You break down into tears and tell them: "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this happy, I think I just got overwhelmed. You make me happy.” 

Heartslabyul dorm; Savanaclaw dorm; Octavinelle dorm (here); Scarabia dorm; Pomefiore Dorm; Ignihyde Dorm; Diasomnia Dorm

Jade Leech – The hike was a grueling one, and late as well. You understood now why you had to pack a tent and sleeping bag for this one, thought he cooling air was helping with your sore feet.  

When you had arrived at the clearing, he had the two of you quickly set up and then led away to a hidden entrance. It was a cave where he kept his more dangerous mushrooms, the soft glow of the moon entering through holes in the roof reflecting the stalactites above with dew like a knives edge.  

He’s whispering softly, as if too loud of a sound will disturb them. Maybe that’s why the hitch in your breath seems to echo.  

He only grows more confused as you explain. Is this a land dweller reaction? No, no he had never seen something like this before, even in his short time interacting with others.  

He gives that polite smile that’s just on the edge of something softer, using his gloves to wipe them away before lifting your chin.  

“You must expect more from life,” He tells you, the words echoing divinely. “And if you cannot find it, cultivate it. All things can thrive, under the right conditions. That includes us.”  

Floyd Leech – Azul doesn’t like it when he does experimental dishes in the Monstro Lounge kitchen, which is silly, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the fight right now. So he just breaks into Ramshackle to cook in yours!  

You don’t mind really, they be experimental but they are usually tasty, sometimes even pretty, though you always double check that something like shellfish or shrimp is cooked to human temperatures. You two had learned that the hard way.  

He laughs at your scrunched up nose as you sip the broth from his spoon. He doesn’t see the way you just stare at him a moment, turning your face to hide.  

As he listens, his hands clench. That’s fucked up. It can’t-it shouldn’t- but it is. You can’t always do what you want when your shrimpy size. He can’t even do that at his size.  

He picks you up and twirls you around the kitchen, squeezing until you start laughing again.  

“I’ll just have to steal Shrimpy away more often,” he says, “And we can both be happy together. No more tears though. Lots of people deserve to cry, and Shrimpy isn’t one of them.”  

Azul Ashengrotto – It was a small debate, with you defending local business and him defending corporate business. It was something the two of you had done before, matching wits and parries, but something felt different this time.  

You just stare a moment, a soft smile until he saw it. A small tear quickly wiped away. Azul immediately wipes it away, asking what he did wrong, only to find the opposite. He simply makes you happy.  

He starts crying with you, the both of you a bit hysterical. He never imagined this. Somebody just being there to be there, how he values your opinion and thoughts, how you can debate like this and it not get too heated. The urge to collect and keep is so strong. To simply gather you into a cave and feed and gift you everything you could ever desire. But you wouldn’t take it and he knows it.  

So he settles with wiping your years with his embroidered handkerchief, appreciating the way the lavender contrasts with your skin.  

“Well, angelfish, the solution to your problem is simple.” he declares, tucking the handkerchief into your dorm pocket, “You must simply stay by me.”  

[cloverapple]

Do you have any advice for someone who can't concentrate on their thoughts for the life of them? I'm a maladaptive daydreamer and have dabbled in shifting, but I always find myself thinking about some random thing (or falling asleep. Usually both). Even when I focus on the feeling of being there, I get distracted 😭

I really like your blog!!

First of all, I suuuuper reccomend this guided meditation by Alunir. It’s the solution to the problem you just described, trust me.

My take on this as a maladaptive daydreamer myself:

My dear, I think your daydreaming is the way you concentrate on your thoughts! Don't get me wrong, maladaptive daydreaming can be harmful when it interferes with daily life, but in the context of focus, have you ever considered that this might be your mind’s way of saying “Hey! This is how we concentrate easily!”

There’s no single “right” way to focus. When people talk about concentration, they often imagine a clear, still mind, deep breathing, and allowing thoughts to pass without attachment. And yes, that is one way to focus, but it’s not the only way. Everyone’s brain works differently.

For example, I have ADHD, and I process information better when I’m listening to something while doing another task—washing dishes, drawing, anything that keeps my hands busy. That’s also what triggers my maladaptive daydreaming; the second music hits my ears and I’m occupied, I’m gone. Fully immersed in another world.

And here’s the thing—daydreaming is a state of awareness. Just like being awake, asleep, or in the hypnagogic state, daydreaming exists on that spectrum. If you're prone to it, slipping into that awareness is effortless, which is why it can feel disruptive to real life. But when it comes to focusing on your thoughts, you can use this as a tool rather than fighting it. This makes visualization, shifting, and other mental techniques so much easier.

So what triggers your daydreaming? If music does it, try lying down with a playlist that reminds you of your desired reality and let the scenarios play out. That’s just as valid as any shifting method. The difference between daydreaming without meaning to and daydreaming to shift is intention.

If you spend time lost in a scenario and then think “Damn, I just wasted all that time when I could have been shifting,” you weren’t setting the right intention. But if you go in thinking “Alright, let me do my shifting method” and let yourself naturally fall into daydreaming—then trust that your mind knows how to shift—you’ve already increased your chances of success exponentially.

And you don’t have to be in bed to do this. You can move around, do it throughout the day, so long as the intention and self-trust are there, your subconscious will recognize it and follow through.

Always strive to improve for the sake of your mental health, but never be afraid to work with your mind instead of fighting against it.

I hope this helps in some way ♡

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

It’s a bullshit claim, there are huge swathes of the country that would greatly benefit from claim. Case in point: when I left Texas, the state was planning high speed rail that would connect its major population centers in the east and center (Houston-Austin, Austin-San Antonio, etc.). With high speed rail, you could get a reasonable commute from San Antonio to Austin or visa versa, rather than the hour and forty minutes you have now. That is life-changing for both cities. And thinking about high-speed rail out of Houston makes me salivate even though I’ve left. I spent several years living in Houston while my boyfriend was studying at UT. We’d drive back and forth, and each time it became just a little harder to say goodbye. How much easier would it have been to see each other if we could just catch a train? Or I think about the rush to leave the city when Harvey hit. There were people still stuck on the road when the storm arrived. Let’s be real, that awful nightmare happens whenever a big city needs to evacuate. But how many more people would’ve gotten out if cars AND trains were leaving the city?

That said, there is a kernel of truth hidden in that pile of bullshit. The US really is big, and the geography isn’t always the friendliest to travel, road or railway. The stories you hear about the workers on the Transcontinental Railway….brrrr! Beyond that, there are huge swathes of the country that just aren’t densely populated. Ever see a satellite photo of the US at night? You’ll notice that the lights start to die off west of the Mississippi River. Most of those states are farmland—people sometimes mock them as “flyover states.” Bluntly speaking, you’re gonna need a car to get around those places. That’s not to say that they don’t deserve rail—they absolutely should be connected to rail networks!—but mass transit simply can’t cover the population’s needs alone.

Tl;dr the United States (and Canada, and Mexico for that matter!) is a continent-spanning country that covers an extremely diverse range of environments and populations, so nationwide solutions for ANY problem need to be similarly diverse.

Yo american,

I've heard a lot of arguments on reddit and other platforms that your country's 'too big' for 'trains'.

Is this a stupid argument? I think so. You don't have to use all the land!

What's your take?

we do have trains, its one of the main ways we move stuff around our very big country.

as far as people carrying trains, we have that too, its called Amtrak, President Biden is famously a huge fan, every day he was a Senator he took the train from Delaware to DC and back, in fact when he left office as Vice-President thats how he left DC in 2017, by train, you might see him do it again when he leaves office as President.

any way, a big part of President Biden's Infrastructure Law was investing in trains, now these kinds of things take time, but they broke ground on a high speed rail from Southern California (just outside LA) to Las Vegas, just over 200 miles in just over 2 hours, the fastest way from LA to Vegas, yes faster than flying, if all works out it'll be open in 2028 just in time for the LA Olympics, comes see the games and the Vegas strip.

thats just the project thats closest to being finished, but they plan a high speed rail up and down California linking all its cities from Sacramento to San Diego, they want to bring high speed rail down south, plans to extend from Chicago to the Pacific North West, maybe link up New England

so yeah, clearly we're not too big, no such thing, and we're working on it, assuming we elect Democrats who support such things and not Republicans who will scrap it

[clotheshorsepodcast]

It's really hard to feel okay right now.

There is nothing worse than feeling powerless, feeling trapped in an unfair and unjust world and feeling as if there is nothing you can do.  In fact, that makes everything around you feel 1000X scarier and suddenly you’re rooting for societal collapse because then at least the worst thing will be here and you don’t have to worry about it any more.  But the thing is: you can either be a part of the solution or be a part of the problem. And if you’re doing nothing, well, you’re part of the problem unfortunately.

The good news is that there are many things you CAN do and they come in a variety of different forms and time commitments. You can do all of these or some of these or one of these.  And they all help and matter.

I BELIEVE IN US.

Yes, the world gets scarier every day. The list of things to scare and enrage us seems to be growing exponentially. Yet I still believe that we can and will get through this together. 

Every one of us has an important role to play here. Individual action DOES matter, despite what you might be told elsewhere. Can one person change the world on their own? Probably not. But when working alongside thousands and millions of other people, change is inevitable.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

i’m probably gonna lose more followers over this but i don’t think people are understanding where i’m coming from so i’m gonna tall about this again:

TO PREFACE: i do not hate eddie diaz, i hate what the writers constantly to him

eddie choosing to move to texas is not the automatic fix-it to his and chris’s relationship that a lot of people seem to think it is.

eddie’s entire narrative is built around the fact that he and his son do not belong in texas: we spent an entire episode in s3 showcasing how eddie and chris do not belong there.

chris knows that. eddie knows that. if they actually had a conversation about it, they would both come to that conclusion that neither of them want to be in texas permanently. the fact is, however, that every time we saw eddie speak with chris this season, he skirted around the topic- ignoring the elephant in the room, rather than addressing it.

chris ran away bc he was hurt. his dad hurt him, and being a rebellious teenager, chris chose to hurt him right back by calling eddie’s parents when he knows that they and eddie are not in great terms. he wanted to hit his dad where it hurts, and then wanted his dad to beg for him to come back- it’s the same reason why a lot of kids “run away from home” to grandma’s house; they want their parents to know they’re hurt, and they want the parent ti grovel.

chris wants his dad to ask him to come home- to tell him that he needs him to come home.

what chris DOES NOT want is for his dad to completely uproot and leave their lives in LA behind.

he doesn’t need his dad giving up on fighting for him just to settle for seeing chris a couple hours a day or every other weekend like some split-parent custody agreement. all that does is show chris that the only answer is to run away frok your problems, which is not true.

you face your problems head on- even if that means putting your foot down and telling your child that it’s time to have a serious talk.

is that something that a temporary trip could do? yes, absolutely- but moving there? no.

now i know we know that eddie comes back- but eddie also rented a moving trailer. if eddie truly were only going there temporarily, he would gonfor maybe a couple weeks to see chris and talk in person- get the hatd stuff out of the way, and then after those couple of weeks, they would get chris ready to come back home- yeah, when they get back they may not be completely healed from the hurt but they would be home and able to heal in an environment that they know they have a support group in.

what’s not healthy is forcing eddie to return to the place that hurt him to begin with- that is not the key to healing trauma.

so the solution would be to go for a long visit, right?

so then why does eddie have a uhaul? look, i know it’s a small uhaul but- eddie doesn’t have anything in his house. it is very realistic that the important things are packed carefully in the trailer and more valuable items would probably live in the truck (like wallets, jewelry, fragile items, etc).

If eddie were truly going down for a temporary visit to talk with chris, he would take at most a few boxes of clothes, and maybe some things from chris’s room that he thinks chris would like again. this is the age of the air b&b- why would eddie need a uhaul unless he was moving into an unfurnished house or apartment; something you don’t invest in for a temporary stay

not only that, but if it were intended to be temporary, they wouldn’t be putting so much emphasis on the goodbye between buck and eddie- yeah, buck would miss eddie while he was gone, but he would know eddie was coming back soon, so why make it a huge deal? why have him crash out over eddie driving back fo texas unless the intent of it being permanent was there?

again- yes, buck would be sad and depressed regardless, but regressing back into a sex addiction is not a reminiscent if missing someone who’s gone away for a few weeks

so that’s why i say that eddie’s intentions are for this to be a permanent move

now back to the chris of it all; i guarantee you that if eddie said something to chris about moving to texas in any capacity, chris would freak tf out bc that’s not what he wanted- he wanted his dad to come after him and take him home; not uproot everything

and we also know that if chris said that’s what he needed eddie would do it in a heartbeat.

which is why i aks: why the uhauk? why the explicit final goodbye scene?

just because eddie does eventually come back doesn’t mean that the intent wasn’t originally to be permanent- and all a permanent move would do with absolutely zero input from chris would cause an even bigger rift between them, because it’s taking away chris’s agency in the situation- surrendering both eddie and chrs to ramon and helena’s wishes- again which is the very antithesis to eddie’s motivations of the entire series.

i am tired of the writers constantly shoving eddie further and further into a depressive pit- never allowing himself to move forward because they consistently have him make decisions that read more like self harm than anything else. i want him to actually have development and for his plot to move forward, and making things worse with christopher is only going to drag this plot out even longer than it even needed to be;

chris could have realistically been back home by the end of 8a, but instead they chose to focus all their time and effort on brad- stretching the chris-in-texas plotline along even further by having it take u part of at least 2 or 3 episodes of screentime, and now the writers are trying to stretch it even more by causing more unnecessary angst for then rather than fixing the issue.

anyway, i just had to say all of that bc i don’t think that people are understanding where i’m coming from and think i’m just trying to be a hateful bitch when i promise you i’m not… i hope all of this makes sense it’s like 3:20 am and im running on fumes of energy so i’m gonna go to bed now

i just love these characters and i hate when i see the writers giving them angst that’s both unearned, and fails to move them forward.

[kitschhazel]

So yeah, Mayan style flare plugs are pretty comfortable

[thetriggeredhappy]

before pride month ends im gonna take this opportunity to say. if a transfem corrects you for using ‘dude’ or ‘man’ to refer to her, and you reply that ‘actually dude and man are gender neutral’, consider that she knows this. and she’s correcting you because she doesn’t want to be referred to as gender neutral. she wants to be referred to as a woman. and perhaps - really stew on this one - your reluctance to refer to her with traditionally feminine language, and even to incorporate and co-opt traditionally feminine language into your casual gender-neutral usages in everyday life, are indicative of an internal sexist bias. this is not necessarily in itself a condemnation of your character - but if you feel perfectly comfortable calling someone (regardless of gender) ‘bro’ but not ‘sis’, that’s worth a smidge of introspection.

[sanjisblackasswife]

idk if this is a hot take??

but i think it’s important to realize it’s ok to get rid of friends (or even family) that mentally drain you.

not worth the hassle