#I told them it is very much not a necessity to tip

[ron-do-i-get-to-sing-my-way]

I’ve never felt so punk in my life today. This middle-aged man started talking down to these university students from out of town sitting near me. I was busking and he was going off, saying it was rude to not tip buskers and that they “ought to learn how our culture works” or some stupidity like that.

You bet I publicly denounced that man. Because, what the hell, man? And he turned red, quickly threw change in and fled. Yeah 💪

[kingconia]

TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WITH MC, WHO IS MUCH WORSE THAN THEM

(Aka. In their ’signature’ character trait.)

A/N: Idia was left out, because this author had no idea how to write his part.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— It is not a secret that Riddle might appear a little bit obsessed, when it comes to rules. He knows all of them, and he merely can't understand how others can be so careless!

— And since no one learned them, excluding him, they trusted with each word he said. Mostly, Riddle said truth, following the codex precisely;

— But, oh, he is still a human. Sometimes, he can make mistakes or confuse things...

— That is why, when a new student of his suddenly stood up to point out at his mistake, Riddle doesn't even know what to do: be happy that there is someone else like him, or get annoyed for a necessity to admit his wrong?

•

”Hmph, how dare you call yourself a housewarden of Heartslabyul, when you can't follow elemental rules?”

As other students gasp, shocked by this kind of braveness, Riddle feels his cheek heating. Either from anger or from a strict gaze of yours, that reminds him much of his mother.

”You said that the ’only ever drink tea with slice of lemon on even thursdays’ rule is under 53 number,” you repeat, with hands on the tips, and with no care to Trey, who tries to stop you.

”That, I did,” regaining his coldness, Riddle admits.

Truth to be told, he sensed that he made some kind of mistake with this one. But recently he had been more tired than usual, and it is not like someone else know those rules but him, right?

Right?

”Well," you huff. ”It is under number 35.”

Oh.

”I...” Riddle tries to ignore others eyes on him, fingers digging in the fabric of his pants.

He fights an urge to lie about checking other students, instead of admitting his fault. You don't give him time for any of that.

”Well, keep that in mind then,” you say. ”I expect my housewarden to respect our dorm rules, after all.”

With that, you merely leave.

Riddle has a very mixed feelings about this encounter...

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— When headmaster Crowley stops him not for yelling at him for missed lessons, but to speak of another troublemaker from Savanaclaw, Leona is caught off guard;

— It appears, a new freshmen, gained a quite awful reputation. You seem to be sleeping all the time—you did, in the ceremony; and you do, if you appear on lectures, though, mostly, you don't at all—and the only good thing about you is your surprisingly high grades;

— Truth to be told, Leona is just amused by that. All those warnings some pretty familiar, so, he decides to see you himself;

— Of course, Leona couldn't expect you to be so familiarly annoying!

•

”Shit,” you yawn, a frown touching your face instantly. ”Dude, you must have a really good reason to wake me up.”

Leona blinks; his curiosity changing with irritation quickly as he hears you speaking so carelessly, while stretching under the tree, not even standing up to meet him properly.

”Oi, brat, pay some respect to your housewarden!” He hisses. ”Perhaps, you are forgetting who are you speaking with?”

”Leona-sama,” you sigh tiredly, not impressed by his answer, ”I can't pay respect to someone, who thinks that distracting me from my power nap, is fine.”

Leona is speechless. Mostly, because he doesn't know how to argue about this—he agrees that sleep is more important than anyone or anything in this school, after all. But the amount of disrespect...

”Do you have an idea of your reputation? Headmaster plans to expel you from the school if you continue like this.

Leona internally cringes from these words.

”Sure,” you hum lazily. ”Good luck with throwing off the best first-year student, just because they find those lectures boring.”

Leona can't even answer to you properly. You just fall asleep as soon as you stop speaking, with your tail wrapping around your legs peacefully. At least, he understands Ruggie now...

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Azul makes a quick background check on all of his students, of course. For safety reasons. More or less;

— So, he is surprised, when one of the freshman, who happens to be you, is too secretive. Azul can't find anything on you at all, even the smallest piece of information, and so, he gets curious;

— His first plan—to get twins stalker on you—fails, when you catch them in the action, somehow. Even worse, you somehow make a pact with them, which stops them from trying to dig in your past more...

— Your next step is to send Azul invitation for a little friendly lunch in the Monster Lounge. Sadly, when he agreed, he couldn't know that was expecting him here...

•

”I am failing to understand a purpose of our meeting,” Azul locks his hands together, staring at you without even blinking.

You make another sip of the apple juice you ordered, lips stretching in a soft smile.

”I am here to offer you a pact, Azul-sama.”

Azul almost bursts in the laughter. Who do you think you are, making this bold offer, going against him? What an amusement.

”Oh? Surprise me, then.”

”As far as I know, you spent last three weeks, trying to gain a little information about me. But, oh, all for nothing. Just as I tried to find an answer for a few questions considering you and the Monster Lounge, and failed... So, what I am proposing, is to exchange our secrets mutually,” you wink. ”What do you think?”

How stupid of you to think that he will agree on something like this!

”And why would I want to make a pact with you?”

Suddenly, you search for something in the inner pocket of your jacket. And as you find some envelope, you offer it to him.

”Because you don't want this to get leaked, perhaps?”

It takes a few minutes from him to process what is inside, but when he does, colours leave his face instantly.

”Y-you—”

How did you?..

”It is a deal, then.” You laugh.

Azul hates how there is nothing he can say to you...

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Kalim tries to befriend each student of his house naturally! But, sometimes, others don't want to return his sentiment as he is too loud and too naive for them, so they avoid him or offer a fake sympathy;

— So, when one of the students rushes to befriend him first, smiling widely as they met their old friend, Kalim is very, very happy!

— You match instantly, your undying energy and enthusiasm about everything bringing you close as soon as you start speaking;

— Even better, you take him seriously, too. It is something other do rarely, seeming him stupid and air-headed, but you know that is more than that. It goes in both way, after all.

•

”I... I must admit, I am very happy to be your friend,” you muse softly, back pressing to the carpet as both of you taking your short flight around the school. ”I think, I annoy a lot of people here... But I am not annoying you, am I?”

Kalim looks surprised with this question—after all, you knew him better than anyone!—as he rushes to shake his head in denial.

”No, no! You would never.”

You hum, turning on your stomach slowly. Head pressed on your crossed hands, you nod at him.

”That's good. Thank you.... And, Kalim?”

”Yes?” He asks, mirroring your pose, your shoulders pressing together.

”I think you are amazing housewarden, too. Don't allow anyone think otherwise.”

Before you manage to understand, Kalim is already tucking you on the back, to hug rightly. Just how you always know what to say to him, or how to make him happy?

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Everyone knows that despite his tight schedule, Vil always checks on all of his students, so they could fit standards of their dorm;

— He takes more time to deal with new students, though. Most of them are still not aware of Pomefiore rules and expectations, so, he needs to speak with all of them individually;

— So, Vil is slightly taken aback, when someone is already instructing new students before him. He watches as you explain others common rules, while giving them random advice on how to enhance their skin and hair routine, basing on different problems and offering interesting solutions, curiously:

— Of course, Vil can't wait to speak with you personally!

•

”Y/n Y/s, right?” You pause your speeches, nodding at Vil, who just entered the room. ”I had been watching you for a while, and, I must say, you have impressive qualities. And style, too.”

Vil partly expects you to become all shy over his compliment—that is what happens usually, at least—but, instead, you became even more serious than before.

”I appreciate that, but I believe my wish to help other classmates is partly selfish. And selfishness shouldn't be praised.”

It is not what he thought he will hear.

”And how so?” He asks with unhidden curiousity.

”I strive for perfection, and perfection can only be achieved by the hard work,” you punctuate firmly, raising your chin higher. ”But I also believe that your surroundings should fit you—and so, my dorm, classmates, and housewarden should meet my expectation for myself, too. Therefore, I need to guide them in perfection alone with myself.”

Ah.

Vil can't help but smirk. What an absolute pleasure to speak with someone, who knows what they are doing, who has right morals!

”Well, well,” he folds arm on his chest. ”I can't wait to see more of your hard work, then.”

”I would never disappoint.”

But as the conversation is finished, Vil already knows who is going to be the next housewarden, when he leaves.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— When Lilia tells him that they now have another half-dragon creature in the Diasomnia, Malleus is partly curious. It is a rare thing to have someone of his own kind, after all;

— But, of course, Malleus can't just walk to you and start a conversation. Instead, he tries to see you more often; in school or corridors;

— It doesn't give him much. You seem very cold, and other classmates ignore your presence constantly, though, you don't seem to be interested in them, either;

— He finally has a chance to speak with you personally, when he finds you walking around gargoyles in the evening, though.

•

”Malleus-sama,” you bow your head, noticing his presence even earlier than he announces it. ”Good evening. How this one can help you?”

”Y/n,” he slightly nods, examining you closer. ”If I am not mistaken, there is party for the first-years in the school. Why are you here?”

Malleus can't help but notice hints of confusion, raising in your eyes, before you cover it with the usual stoic expression of yours. With a quiet sigh, you start petting the statute affectionately, much like an animal.

”Is that so? I am afraid, I wasn't invited, then.”

He rewards you with sympathetic look.

”I see,” he adds, awkwardly: ”I am sorry to hear that.”

”Oh, no time for regrets,” your fangs bare in a smile. ”Actually... Malleus-sama, I planned to ask you something for a while, but never had a chance to speak with you before. Can I?”

”Of course.”

”Headmaster told me, that you are leading the club of the researches that are dedicated to gargoyles... And so, I wanted to know what I need to join it. You see...”

As you start rumbling about the importance of gargoyles, Malleus can't help but wonder why he saw you as someone cold before. Was it something others thought of him, judging by short glimpses of his attitude in school?

But it doesn't matter anymore. He thinks, your company is very enjoyable, after all.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Vessel and the New Lore

So the new messages got me thinking and connecting dots. I don't know coherent this will sound, but I think there's something here? Anyways. Something about the relationship Vessel has with himself vs. The Mask.

I thought it'd be interesting to link the parallels between the Room Bellow show and the Fall For Me video messages, with the new ones and the album. Long post ahead so I'll put a cut somewhere.

(This is the second time I'll be writing this cus tumblr decided to be a hoe and deleted my entire draft so if it seems weird, you know. Pro tip: never use the app for long posts.)

Disclaimer: I'm in no way endorsing or encouraging any type of discourse about Vessel's irl identity and/or other [Redacted] and such. Unfortunately I do know things, but not everyone does. Respect the band; don't spoil it for others. If you know, keep it to yourself.

So, starting with the first message:

Mask: Why am I here? What is my purpose in all of this? Vessel: Your purpose is twofold. You protect me, from them, and you also protect them from me. Mask: How is it that I serve to protect anyone from anything, that makes no sense. Vessel: In order for all of this to work there has to be a certain boundary in place. They need to be able to project themselves onto this, without anyone else's identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect. Mask: So that's what I am? A boundary? Vessel: Yes.

We have here a confirmation of what he has told us many times before, either indirectly or not. The Mask/the Vessel persona serves as a way for him to connect and engage with us, while keeping both parties safe. We get to project onto and take from him some sort of comfort and catharsis, without any external factors to influence and skew the way we interpret his music, and He gets to expose and deal with his pain and negative thoughts in a protected environment. Who he is is irrelevant, we're merely here to share and understand each other.

Through the anonymity the mask offers, he is free to be as vulnerable and open with us as he wants, while keeping his identity safely stored away. The Mask serves as the physical reminder of how much we are allowed to know about him, and in return, how far he can (or should) expose himself without compromising his true identity. By living as Vessel and forgetting himself, he is ironically free to bare his most fragile and imperfect parts of himself on display (much like how we're all infinitely more honest about our struggles behind a fake online name than in irl.)

(curiously, this seems to be a contradiction to Higher's second verse, which feeds into the idea that Sleep is not the protector Vessel sometimes claims Them to be - "With all that you believe / You still refuse to shelter me")

From the Room Bellow:

"I experienced a great deal of pain in my life, however I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that Is another reason why we are here. At the very least, we have all suffered."

Lore wise, we are told time and time again that Vessel is a "sacred guardian", a messenger, a weapon, a tool - a physical vessel - for Sleep and Their message. He is the answer to Sleep's necessity for connection with us. And for that to work, he willingly gives up his identity for Sleep. For us.

Mask: I don't believe you. I believe there is more to it than that. I believe you are afraid of something. Vessel: We are all afraid of something, are we not? Mask: What is it you are so afraid they will see? Vessel: That I am exactly like everyone else. ... Vessel: I think I am afraid of becoming you. Mask: What does that even mean? Vessel: My life is becoming gradually consumed by you. Before long, all that I am will be contained within you. Then, one day, when I no longer wish to wear you, there will be nothing else left.

"I am afraid, are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go." (Fall For Me)

At the end of the day, Vessel is just some guy - he fears, and aches, and bleeds the same as us. We're equals. But as Vessel, he can't allow himself to crack, to break the illusion. As Vessel (and to connect to the lore, as the vessel of a god), he poses as someone we can look up to, someone who's there to carry our pain for us, almost like a symbiotic relationship of sorts - we feed on each other's emotions and energies.

From the Room Bellow:

"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. (...) My own path towards greater self acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else."

Without getting too much into it, it seems Vessel/Sleep Token were created as a sort of coping mechanism to deal with whatever it is that He went through. And he seems to have achieved that - he escaped his former self and became "Vessel", someone who's allowed to cry and rage and let his feeling loose. Someone who receives praise and comfort for it, someone who is finally understood.

Except that somehow, that same safety the Mask offered him backfired. Because how can you tell what's you and what's not? It appears that the lines between Vessel vs. Him have blurred beyond recognition. Because "Nothing lasts forever", so once ST ends, and Vessel is no longer a necessity, who does he become? Can he go back to his old self? Is there even a self to go back to?

Do you ever believe that we can turn into different people? It's getting harder to be myself. Do you wish that you loved me? Could we ever release? Is it better to just not feel?

I think it's worth mentioning DYWTYLM. Usually when I listen to it, I just interpret as being about self-love/esteem, suicidal thoughts, insecurities, yada yada yada, BUT! I think it kinda fits this right?? Like a conversation between Vessel and Him, the guy behind the mask.

And really, if you think about it, I think this dialogue is the basis of what TMBTE is. It's Vessel facing all these different facets of himself, the past versions, the ugly sides, coming to terms with them and learning to move on. And in the end, we see he finally does realize, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that there is more to it, than he can "be someone new", even if it means he needs to shed and let go of past versions of himself.

(of course, this is putting aside the whole trilogy and the story we've been told about Sleep/Vessel/Whatever romantic entanglement he was involved in. i'm merely giving this some other meaning and choosing to look through a very specific lens. call it a parallel universe if you want)

It's him accepting that although there may not be a version of himself to come back to, his Eden so to speak, there is finally something more waiting for him. But I'll get more into it later.

Also worth mentioning, this part of conversation-

Mask : Do you think they want you to cry? Do you think they like it? Vessel : Not as such, I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps. Mask : Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you? Vessel: I don't know. But at least I feel something, if I don't feel anything than why would I even do this?

-seems to be directly co-related to those lines on DYWTYLM. He wonders if maybe would be better not to feel at all, as if really asking himself, "should I continue to live as Vessel?", because that is his/The Mask's function.

(I almost forgot to mention the "Smile back at me" / "I can only ever see them smiling. That's good, I want them to smile." co-relations, but you see where I'm going right?")

Mask: It seems you have forgotten who you are. Before you had me you were nothing. All of this artifice, all this pathetic conjecture about your identity, it is nothing but a manifestation of how short-sighted and solipsistic you have become. I lifted you from misery and obscurity. You would be better to become me. You are nothing without me. You always were nothing without me.

"I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask." (Room Bellow)

Sleep is a dickhead. And there it is - another confirmation of what we all assumed, of what he has also told us many times before in different words. Vessel, or better yet, Him, struggles with imposter syndrome, and a part of him seems to believe his worth is exclusively tied to his ability to create music and perform. Because who matters is Vessel, not Him. The praise and adoration, the glory, belongs to solely Vessel (in-lore, to Sleep).

He does not matter. He is insignificant. He is nothing.

So it makes sense to see how much he wishes to be someone else. How dependent he on his Mask (on Sleep). He can't shed that new identity away, because somehow, it became is ONLY identity. And yet, he knows that one day that must happen. And from a creative/artist standpoint, when you expose yourself the way he does into your art, almost bleeding into it, if that outlet is taken away, you really are left with nothing.

(yall, read the poem "about the PEN conference" by Bukowski).

"The truth is, I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost. I am no God." (Fall For Me)

And can I just say, how incredibly heartbreaking it is to hear him talk about himself like that? I have so, so much love and respect for Ves, it's almost ridiculous to think he is only worth the weight of his mask. I would give him a million hugs if I could. Whether or not he still believes that, I hope he one day can look at himself the way we do, and be proud and happy of the amazing human that he is.

I also think that, and this is just me rambling, their sudden explosion to fame must've taken some sort of toll of sorts. It must be SUCH an amazing feeling to see this many people connect and dedicate themselves to something you created, to be able to read between the lines of you thoughts, but it must just equally as scary. Suddenly there's SO many eyes on you, demanding and picking apart every gesture. Viciously clawing at the mask for a glimpse of the fragile soul within. It must not be easy to cope - and this goes to everyone in Sleep Token. They have to deal with so much unfairness, it's disgusting.

Vessel: You. Are. Wrong. In the end, my fractured sense of self was only another piece of fuel for the fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us. They too are pained. They too not know who they truly are. They are each stood alone on a stage of their own. And yet, they are here. United by that sense of never truly belonging. They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now. To reflect their joy and to serve as a conduit for their anguish. To swallow their fear. To Worship.

"So for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged then let us be submerged together." (Fall For Me)

And this is the part that really breaks me. He knows how much we need this, how much we rely on his music, on his words. He fights against his own claims that he has no value - he serves a purpose and that purpose is to serve the audience. Us. To take our struggles, our desires, and make it his own. To basically serve as a sacrifice for our well-being. To suffer, to feel together. To serve as a living drama of OUR pain.

"I will smile through the agony for you".

Because in the end, we're all equally broken. Because that's what the Mask is for, the anonymity, the mystery, the band - for us to "project ourselves" onto him, onto them. They are vessels, servants, worshippers of a god who shelters them; much like how we interact with their music, much like how Vessel thinks his purpose is for.

(and I could expand on this weird worshipper vs worshipee cycle, but i'm tired and i can't ramble on for too long. someone more clever than me feel free to expand)

(a post edit: peep that "fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us" vs "those eyes like fire, I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre" parallel. Vessel sacrificing himself to us, for us. Performing and being Vessel as something he cannot but feel compelled to do.)

From the Room Bellow:

"We are here to silently collect. To project ourselves onto one-another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget."

WHICH BRINGS US TO EUCLID.

No, by now The night belongs to you This bough has broken through I must be someone new

If we are to take the messages as a complement to the album, then this definitely marks the "shift" in Vessel's perspective. He CAN be more, and he NEEDS to be more. To be new.

The night does not belong to god - it belongs to US. To Him. Not just Vessel, but Him. Obviously this is all speculation, but it really feels like he's ready to let go of so many things, and move on. To renew himself, to stand up and fight. To finally "bite back". He doesn't seem to be completely changed, as there are things he still seems to hold on to (just listen to Euclid). But it´s different now. The "vicious cycle is over."

"They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now."

Vessel seems to emphasize the "collectiveness" of what Sleep Token is and represents quite often. So in a way, it´s him saying "We´ve all suffered together, we've all experienced so many things together, so let us reach for something better as one. Let us all become new. You are not alone in this, and neither am I, so hold on to us and be happy."

WHICH IS!!!!! JUST!!!!!

I think this shift represents something important. My guess, like many others have said, is that Something Big is going to happen in/after Wembley. I don't know what, I don't know if it's truly the end of the road for ST, as many speculate, but something is definitely going to happen. Whatever it is, I hope this is a positive change for them, and specially Vessel, and I am just so so grateful to be part of this amazing community of ours.

(if you read the whole thing, I love you and thank you and I'm sorry. My brain was itching real bad and this had to be let out. Don't take this a proper analysis or whatever, this is me squeezing excess water off the old rag that is my mind)

[lifeiskentastic]

gn!Reader in one car with Holland March in the middle of a traffic jam

Gif by @adoresbenho

A/N: Tell me, would you read a fanfic about Ryan Gosling's five-minute role as a lecherous elf on snl New Year's episode? (this sounds so crazy, but Ryan is so cute with the pointy ears, bangs, and tall hat... I just need to write it.)

Summary: Agency partner Reader once again gets stuck in a traffic jam with Holland;

Song I recommend: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen was just made ror Holland;

Word count: 724 words;

Nice reading!

It was just another morning as the third member (counting from the moment of join, although Holland always argued with Hilly to take over as "second" as if it were something really important) of the detective agency. It was just another morning traffic jam in Los Angeles, the only advantage of which was extra time to shave or drink a cup of coffee. After all, as it turned out, working as a detective requires punctuality, which in the case of Holland March was a big problem. So from the very beginning of the day, you were in a hurry, rushing to get things done, and only during irreparable traffic jams could you afford to exhale.

Holland could finally shave, and you could have a cup of strong coffee instead of breakfast.

For such occasions, Holland even kept a thermos of coffee and mountains of plastic cups in the car. No matter how many times you persuaded him to get rid of at least half of them, he categorically refused, calling it a "necessity of life." Well, given that he also used them to drink his liter-long supply of alcohol, it's not surprising.

The only thing that remained a mystery even to the three detectives was why a jar of whipped cream kept appearing in the glove compartment of his car. Although you had a bold guess that after you told Holland that you loved whipped cream coffee, he took it too much to heart.

"Do you think Healy is there yet?"

You asked, sipping from your cup.

"Oh, yeah, Mr.I'm-right-on-time-because-this-is-an-important-job has been there since sunrise."

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. The special relationship between your two partners couldn't help but make you laugh, literally, every day.

Holland beamed with pride when he managed to make you laugh.

"Oh, and also..."

But another laugh from you didn't let March finish his sentence. But what could you do? Still, the naive look on Holland's face with a piece of shaving foam on his cheek was more amusing than you could have imagined.

"Pfft... Ha-ha, wait..."

You reached for his cheek to brush away the remaining lather as Holland watched you in pure embarrassment. His eyes looked even more confused when you were a few millimeters away from his face.

However, you quickly returned to your seat, showing traces of white, puffy foam on your palm.

"Is that what made you giggle so much?"

This made you think back to that unsuspecting look on March's face, caught up in his own joke, and made you laugh uncontrollably again.

"I'm sorry... You just looked so cute."

"Did I?"

Holland leaned closer to your seat, scrutinizing every part of your face. You were about to ask what he was going to do, but...

"Aha! Found it!"

His head came as close to yours as possible, and he touched something near the tips of your lips with a triumphant exclamation.

"Is that cream? You're such a sloven."

Holland's finger did indeed show traces of cream from your coffee. And your partner seemed to be expecting some kind of funny reaction from you, looking expectantly into your soul, but you were honestly not in the mood for it... Still, your heart was still racing from being so close to Holland. For some reason, when there were so small distance between the two of you, you began to feel strange jolts inside your chest.

When you barely regained consciousness, the only thing you could do was to move your whole body as close to Holland as possible, making your partner's eyes widen in surprise once again. You didn't know what was driving you at that moment, but you knew you had to work, and you were within a pinkie nail's distance of March's face.

"You're one to talk..."

You ran your fingers through Holland's mustache, wiping away the subtle streaks of shaving foam that had started this whole thing.

Although you wanted something like this, you hadn't expected Holland to do it first. That he would push forward, quickly crossing the short distance between you, and confidently touch your lips. Of course, you immediately returned his kiss.

It seems that car horns were already blaring behind you and angry drivers were furious, but for now you were too busy with each other to pay attention to such trifles.

[thana-topsy]

hi!! 35 or 49 for elenwen/tullius? they’re fucked up and intriguing and I’ve seen a lot of art for them from one artist but I’m curious how you’d write them. thank you!!!

Y'know, I'm with you. This ship is very intriguing and has a certain allure to it. This one is definitely on the raunchier side compared to the rest, but I tried to keep the language vague enough for tumblr standards. Thanks for the suggestion!!

---

Elenwen x Tullius "A kiss out of necessity." (599 words)

It was a necessary evil, he reminded himself. 

War itself was little more than a necessary evil upon which the axis of the world spun. The threat of destruction, sweetened by the promise of an end to it all. If war could end, he was sure it would have ended by now. Every day, as new recruits marched into Solitude, young men and women, pink and callow, he signed their lives over to the cause. He could not read their names, his eyes glazing over the myriad lists with practiced detachment, but he did look into their eyes, finding optimism, righteousness. He prayed the volunteers would continue to trickle in, as drafted soldiers carried no such spark behind their eyes. 

A necessary evil.

The gold skins that patrolled the roads were ghosts haunting his steps. He would see the faces of long-dead soldiers beneath their hoods. Flashes of expression devoid of humanity. Unquestioning loyalty; perfectly molded indoctrination. Despite it all, he found their cause both tenacious and baffling. How could one, with centuries of life left to live, march unquestioningly into their own death? 

Then again, to express doubt was a vile and mannish quality, or so he’d been told. 

“You question your own cause, even?” 

“I do not question my cause. My cause is much narrower in scope.”

Elenwen tutted, sliding a hand along his bare chest, her long fingers trailing through the sparse graying hair. “Having your own agenda in these times is unwise, but I’m sure you already know that.”

She was beautiful and hideous—elongated features and too-large irises that reflected his own expression back at him like a warped mirror. One of her long, smooth legs moved against his, her knee hitching along the inside of his thigh. Every muscle in her body was lean and coiled, and he wanted to sink his teeth into her until she begged. Yet he was often the one begging when all was said and done. 

He’d invited a predator into his bed, and he found that he couldn’t stop. 

She pushed upright to straddle his hips, her pale hair framing her face like a halo as she leaned over him, the kohl around her eyes smudged like war paint. The heat between her legs pulsed against his own, and he groaned, tipping his head back and gripping her thighs. Her mouth was on his throat, one hand sliding between their bodies to guide him in until they were joined. 

She used her height to her advantage. He felt like a moth pinned to a board when she rode him—helpless, his hands fluttering anywhere they could reach, tracing the lines of her stomach, cupping her breasts, pulling her down for kiss after kiss after kiss. She’d always pull away when he was close, finishing him with her hand until he spilled across his own hips with a shudder and a sharp gasp. Then she’d settle herself over his face, and he’d devour her like a man starved until she was shaking, holding onto the headboard like a drowning sailor clinging to the wreckage of her ship. He shoved his tongue into her mouth when they kissed next, forcing her to taste herself. 

See what you do to me? Was winning the war not enough?

Tullius hated her. He hated himself for allowing any of it. Yet somehow he’d wandered too far off the road, lost his sense of direction, and the hatred had turned to worship along the way. And he supposed that’s exactly what the golden elves wanted out of men.

A necessary evil, he reminded himself.

[fallenlightsif]

Here's an example of a 500-word commission as I finish my ko-fi and patron commissions. They're available on my ko-fi.

“Hand me the bone shavings,” Rowan says, squinting down into the bowl they’re using for mixing.

You survey the assorted jars and bottles and reach for one filled with a powdered white substance.

“No, no. That’s bone powder.” They correct you, reaching across you to grab a jar you’d missed off to the side, “These are bone shavings.”

“Is there an important difference?” Your brows furrow, “And…whose bones?”

“It’s not a human’s bones. Likely deer or cattle.” Rowan gives you a dry but amused glance, “And when it comes to a potion that causes erosion, shavings are a necessity. The powder doesn’t pack the same punch, so to speak.”

You’re perched on a stool next to them, watching them crush and heat and stir. Ingredients are strewn about Rowan’s workspace, and you enjoy seeing them in their element.

“Don’t you crush them up regardless?” You raise an eyebrow, giving the mortar and pestle a pointed look.

“They’re melted, not crushed.” Rowan corrects, lighting a fire beneath the mixing bowl without even snapping their fingers.

Their magical aptitude is…breathtaking. You’d been told you were a powerhouse all your life, and you can only surmise that Rowan is at your level or higher in terms of raw magical potential.

“What do you plan on using an erosion potion on?” You freeze briefly, eyes widening, “People?”

Rowan pauses in their actions, looking at you incredulously, “Really? People?”

“It’s a fair assumption,” You flush red, “I saw you summon a spirit inside a man’s chest one time. He exploded.”

Rowan blinks, “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” You huff, crossing your arms, “So I think my question was warranted.”

“You might be correct,” They concede, which is a rarity in and of itself, “To clarify, the use of an erosion potion can be to eat through castle gates, render weapons ineffective…things of that nature.”

“Ah.” You brows raise, “Alchemy is…more useful than I imagined.”

“So it is,” Rowan gives you a small smile, “I’m glad our chats can be enlightening.”

“I come here for more than chatting,” You say, before realizing exactly how that sounds and feeling the heat rush to your face.

“Oh? And what else do you come here for?” Rowan raises an eyebrow, their full and undivided attention now placed solely on you.

“Um,” You swallow, glancing away, “You, I suppose.”

They blink, their face softening just a bit. Their potion is forgotten as they turn toward you.

“And I’m thankful you do,” They admit quietly, “I enjoy your presence, even if you only pester me with questions.”

“I can always go pester Orion.” You offer.

“Perish the thought.” They wave a hand, their smirk bordering on playful, “I’ll keep my inept assistant here at my side.”

“Inept?” You can’t help a quiet laugh, “Apologies if my lack of skill in alchemy is too much of a burden.”

You had meant it playfully, yet all traces of amusement flee Rowan’s face at the words.

“You’re not a burden, never a burden.” They say firmly, golden eyes flashing with some unknown emotion.

It’s clear the words has some baggage, at the very least. So you nod, and they turn back to their work. From your view of their profile, you can see the beginnings of a deep red flushing along the tips of their ears and you know their unintentional vulnerability was not something only you noticed.

When they ask for the next ingredient, charcoal, you pass them the jar with a shy grin. Your fingers brush theirs and they pause for a moment longer than necessary, just staring at the place where your hands touch. 

You feel warm all over from the briefest graze against them, and you aren’t watching their potion for the rest of the evening. Instead, your eyes are locked on their face; the curve of their smirk, the furrow of their brows. You find you’re quite happy to stay exactly where you are.

[sweetiecutiedarling]

Why I did what I did in Chapter 58 of Take Me to Voldemort… (I started to ramble in a comment the other day and I’ve decided to write it all out in a post.)

🛑 It goes without saying but just to be clear- there are some massive spoilers in this post. If you have not read through chapter 58, stop here!🛑

From the very start I had two deaths that I knew would come. Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley. The basic principle of the story was that I wanted Harry to have the Marauders + co raise him, I wanted a family hero. Neville’s death quickly took Lily’s death’s place as a way to make the horcrux but also as an early turning point in Harry’s somewhat sheltered life. Ron’s was also a turning point and a necessity.

After Hermione and Harry sneak out of Hogsmead so that Hermione can threaten Nott Sr, actually really while they do it, Hermione touches on why Ron can’t remain alive the entire time. Ron is, as an awesome AO3 commenter by the name StabbityRabbit put it, The Reasonable One. He is their limiter, the one who reminds them of their physical and ethical limits. With Ron there, Hermione NEVER would have participated in the plan for Draco to use the killing curse to destroy the horcrux in Harry. Which means that Harry and Draco would have continued without her and they certainly wouldn’t have told even DA leadership what they were doing. Though Draco read the books and helped with the plan, Hermione was key to the plan design. Draco could not have developed the method of directing the killing curse within Harry’s body without her. He may have ALSO killed the horcrux, but he wouldn’t have saved Harry.

There are other character developments that wouldn’t have happened with Ron there.

The entire rehab plot would have been missed. Yes, the potion that Narcissa fed Harry was the tipping point, but Harry would have had a better anchor if Ron was there. It’s not that I wanted Harry to relapse and suffer for no reason but that Harry needed therapy and time to himself. He needed to recognize in a way that most teenagers don’t that his personal development must be intentional. That personal development needed to be guided by a third party, a professional from outside of the war. Furthermore, Harry needed to go to Australia specifically. This opened his eyes to the flaws that he sees in the Statute of Secrecy which is a part of The Dumbledore Problem in his eyes.

Hermione diving deeply into dark magic, really losing herself in her ruthlessness, couldn’t have happened with Ron there. Furthermore, Hermione feeling so lost without her childhood friend contributed to her friendship with other witches that developed in her seventh year. These friendships still would have occurred, though perhaps not as quickly. This ruthlessness to herself and others is a key part of the war efforts moving forward. Yes, it is a flaw, but it is necessary and arguably not a flaw in the current context. (Voldemort has the Ministry and has declared the war won. Things are terrible. As Theo observed after his kidnapping- you have to give your all because Voldemort will take it either way.)

All in all, Ron’s absence was necessary and it couldn’t just be an absence. It had to be viewed as permanent. However he has an important role to play in the war, and also I just adore Ron as a character, so it couldn’t actually be permanent.

I don’t know if anyone noticed but I very much so never said that Ron was dead in my comments. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. 😂😅

I did toy with the idea of Ron ending up in the canon universe for a bit, if only because the idea of these two universes colliding is really intriguing to me, but that never panned out. It just felt off any time I wrote it.

[beedreamscape]

(Third instalment of me being obsessed with hair tending as a form of affection, but also background for some personal lore/fanon exploration. Laerryn/Loquatius. Pre-marriage. 2.4k words)

"Would you like some help, dear?"

Loquatius' not wearing shoes, rarely does at home despite the nice slippers Nydas gifted him, which is why she doesn't hear as he walks into the room.

Laerryn blinks and takes a moment to process his words, hair brush held still mid-pull. Yes, she did spend the night tangled in his arms and legs, yes, she tasted him, but the sight of him --- especially now with his honey-gold velvet robe falling over one shoulder, teacups on a silver tray, and hair ungroomed falling over his forehead --- never fails to leave her mesmerized.

He places the tray on the still messy bed and steps behind her where she sits before her vanity, placing one of the teacups before her amongst the mess of beauty products and jewelry, patting down the voluminous tangled mess the bed made of her hair. Well, the bed and Loquatius.

She lowers her hand from her hair with a half puff half chuckle. "What do you know about braiding?"

He gently takes the brush from her hand with a toothy smile. "I've been every type of person, you really think I didn't teach myself a few braiding techniques?"

She adjusts her posture to get more comfortable, knees to her chest. "Doesn't mean you know mine."

"I've looked at you enough hours to have it figured out. It'll kill the curls if I brush through, is that what you were planning?"

"Yes, I'll wash my hair tonight, don't worry. I'm just trying to get it controlled for work."

He acknowledges her words with a nod and so begins brushing, careful and dextrously enough to not pull much on her scalp without sacrificing speed, working his way up from her tips.

She looks at his focused face through the mirror, the tip of his silvery grey tongue poking from between his lips. "Tell me something, and don't lie."

He smiles. "It's not like I could."

"Have you turned into me before?"

The answer is instantaneous and his tone without shame. "Of course I have."

"Quay!" She laughs, scratching her knees.

"I have turned into you a few times before but only because I missed you and I wanted to bring you to memory, I didn't do anything inappropriate. I do it to every relevant person I meet, I keep an archive in case of... necessity, both mental and on paper."

It was almost out of necessity, he thinks. If she were ever to leave his sights forever, if she ever told him she didn't want to see him ever again, he couldn't possibly stand to live a life where he couldn't see her.

It took him some time until he was able to piece her together accurately, it started the first time she smiled at him and it became complete the fourth or fifth time they slept together completely naked, the night when neither of them slept and he spent the intervals between fucking, admiring her as she laid spent on the bed.

"What would you need to turn into me for?"

"No idea but I'm always prepared." He stops, sighs, and places deliberate kisses from the tip of her ear inwards. "You are an exceptionally beautiful woman," he whispers... in her voice.

She jumps in her seat. "What the actual fuck!? That's uncanny!" And he laughs back with his voice which, in the end, mingles with her laughter. "I hate that that turned me on a little."

He nuzzles behind her ear. "We can have a little fun someday."

Her eyes are wide as her head swings to look at him. "Seriously?"

"Yes." And pulls back, straightening up.

She laughs even louder but Laerryn, who is very far from being a shy person, can't help hiding her heated cheeks behind her hands.

"I love you, Loquatius."

And he can't gauge the weight she places in her words but it's irrelevant to his heartbeat that skyrockets in a blink of an eye or his face that glows like a nightlight which she wouldn't have noticed so fast had he not fallen silent so suddenly.

A sigh falls from her lips. This man, who spent that previous and several other nights loving her down to the bone, blushes at the playful confession of her affection and Laerryn can't help the surge of butterflies just below her lungs.

"Quay," she calls to get him to look at her. There's a hit of wicked satisfaction in her smile as their eyes meet. "I mean it."

He licks his lips before looking back at the work at hand. "I know."

She reaches back and nips his hip. "I love you, silly goose."

He both winces and laughs. "Oh, my... Thanks, that woke me up. Don't say that ever again."

She raises a finger. "Then don't force me to say it!"

He grabs her shoulder and sets her straight. "Stop moving or I'll take longer!"

It's hard to sit still while pondering the possibility and technicalities of banging him as herself --- How would he taste and smell then? How would he moan? It'd have the potential of being awkward, but she's just the right amount of narcissistic to make it work.

"Am I an easy or hard person to turn into?"

"Well, no shift is technically hard unless the person has too many little details, scars, beauty marks, facial hair distribution, or hair that is... something, or tattoos, I can never reproduce those perfectly."

He considers for a second, stressing on a specially tangled section.

"No, I lied, any species too far-fetched is a struggle. Eisfuura? Dragonborns? There's a pattern, a precision to the texture and disposition of feathers... As for humanoid standards, you're easy because I'm familiar with every inch of you."

She regards the concept, tracing her jawline while observing her reflection in the mirror. Of all her face, she's particularly fond of her eyes, deep set, sharp edges, and golden irises, most times she puts her makeup to work on accentuating them.

She knows she's good-looking given the technicalities of symmetry and convention, but when she stops now, thinking of herself through the lens of Loquatius' eyes, it's as if she never really stopped to look at herself too deeply. He can be whoever he wants, she'll have to sit with this face, mostly unchanged, for dozens maybe hundreds of years to come.

And yet he chooses her, solely her, again and again.

He gathers her hair in a bunch having finished untangling it and takes a deep breath before tackling the mess of her vanity in search of clips and a hair band.

"How do your siblings look like?" He asks in a fit of curiosity and his inability to remain silent.

She sighs and tries bringing them to memory. She doesn't think of her family very frequently and definitely doesn't see them as often as she did around thirty years ago which wasn't that often even then. She has all fond emotions towards them and a collection of good memories, but she was the one who flew the furthest away from the nest. They all stayed back in Domunas while she followed her place of birth and destined home as it traverses the world.

She never called any aspect of her life a product of destiny.

Then she met Loquatius.

But now she thinks of them as if looking through a photo. Through, not at, because within the second all pieces would move and change and shift.

"We look quite a bit different, I'd say. Izar looks like my mom, his skin is imperceptibly lighter than mine but his hair curls more. Golden eyes, big mouth, not just lips. About the same height as me. He's often frowning for some reason but I often heard how people thought him handsome."

He starts braiding, first, the side braids she likes to sport extended to the back of her head, converging to a point.

"He's the one that's married, right?"

"Ten years now. She's a sorcerer."

He almost laughs at her tone of poorly concealed disdain. "Nieces and nephews?"

"Not that I know of."

"Aw." Which makes her laugh, she tries weighing her feelings on the scene of little toddlers calling her aunt and it comes inconclusive, it would be an every seven years occasion either way. Quay's giggling when she refocuses on him. "I like children...! Sporadically. I'm sorry, darling, go on."

"Me..." She looks at her reflection once more, smiling now. "I'm a pretty good mixture. I got dad's features, the eyes, nose, lips, but the overall shape is hers. Dad was very tall and mighty, very handsome with dark skin and even darker hair." She smiles with her teeth which she rarely does. "It was unnaturally black like tiny kinky threads of obsidian, made the gold in the eyes pop out. He was an extremely magical person."

His hand stops at the crook of her neck. "Darling..."

He's not smiling anymore when she lifts her eyes. "What?"

"You never told me your father..."

"Oh... it never came up."

"You don't have to talk about it."

She waves it off. "Don't worry, it's been a long time since he passed. He was already an old elf when he met my mom. He's the reason I got so interested in the engineering of magic."

"And what about the younger ones?"

"The twins look like him, decidedly, except for the most striking features, the eyes and the height. Coily hair, really dark skin, perked up ears, slender. Warvely's hair is so long and puffy, she does works of art with it since she was very young, she's a kindred spirit to you in that aspect."

He smiles. "What about the boy?"

"Keeps it close to the scalp. Emryn's an anomaly in that aspect. We're all very meticulous with our appearance and he's... a mess. Or was the last time I saw him. They're young elves, it's all I have to say." She bites her lip and tries to observe what Loquatius' doing without moving too much as he starts braiding the other side of her head. "Not to sound narcissistic, but I think we're a pretty good-looking bunch."

He laughs heartily. "I have no doubts about that. I can't wait to meet them next time we land."

"Please, do not tell them I said that. I need to humble them, not feed their ego."

"I've no doubts you're the humblest of the pack."

She reaches back to the hand he has in her hair and skims her palm up to his elbow. "It's your fault, you spoil me."

"Guilty. Well, I'm especially excited to meet your mom. A runecrafter... if you're unbearable as an abjurist, I can't imagine how much of a brainiac she must be. I wanna see the kind of woman that birthed Laerryn Coramar."

"I probably came out her with a fist stretched out."

"That sounds... painful."

She puffs. "I... can't believe I'm saying this, but she'll love you. You're the perfect amount of flourish and charm to satisfy her social needs, she's as extroverted as you. Which I inherited none of."

"Well, you were precisely the right amount of extroverted to get with me, and that's excellent by my standards." A smirk curls on the corner of his lips all of a sudden. "And how will you introduce me to her as, huh?"

She shrugs. "That depends on how you'll behave until the next replenishment."

"Oh, I promise I'll be good to you."

"We'll see."

And as the conversation fizzles out, she occupies herself with her makeup as she has already showered off the remnants of the night before, emanating a soapy scent of violets. She opts for the familiarity of her palette of metallic eyeshadows and dark brown lipstick, every now and then catching Loquatius' eyes watching her before sharing a smile.

Now with both sides braided to her scalp, he takes the loose extension of it and unites it into a single chunky braid. He ties the end with a small dark hairband and decorates the top braids with hair clips of tiny golden flowers that, as he takes a step back, look like specks of gold.

He places both hands on her shoulder and leans down, watching as she brushes her eyebrows into place. "You didn't finish your tea, now it'll smudge your lipstick."

She purses her lips and swirls the teacup. "It must be cold by now anyway."

"So is mine." They just look at each other in silence and Laerryn decides that this, this moment, every single one of those slow mundane moments she's spent with him matters, being near him simply breathing the same air matters. He smiles, brushes the back of his fingers against her cheek, and she has to clench her jaw to keep herself from kissing him. "So, did I do a good job?"

He takes a curved table mirror and holds it up so she can see the back. She doesn't even dare to touch it, for a second considers never again touching her hair, keeping the work of his hands forever there whenever someone asked she'd tell them it was Loquatius who put it together, who took half an hour of his day to focus solely on her.

But then if she did he wouldn't be able to bury his fingers in and she quickly discards her reverie.

"Your hair is a full thick blessing, there's so much we could do with it."

"We?"

"Didn't you like my job here?"

"Of course I did, it's beautiful. Would you want to help me with my hair again in the future?"

"Of course, whenever our schedules allow us, I will love to do it again. Maybe you could show me the hairdos you like most or that you always wanted to try, if you have any you haven't tried at 138."

"Oh, trust me, there are many."

"So it's decided. There's a beauty catalogue Zenith used to publish, it's been out of publication for a while now, but I kept a few of them for inspiration. I bring it here and we can flip through the hair section of it."

And, for reasons he doesn't understand, she bursts out laughing, full of joy and levity, before turning around and wrapping her arms around him.

She pulls back her head without unwrapping her arms. "Quay, Quay, only you to get me to do things like that. Meeting my family, flipping through beauty magazines, tea trays in the morning. I'm a grown woman, I'm an Architect to be... but I guess I'm also a fool."

The kiss he places on her painted lips is cloud-soft. "Don't worry, darling, all your foolishness and secrets are safe with me."

[demonicangelics-world]

Redamancy - Zestial x Angel!OC

Chapter Twelve: Monsters

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter Twelve: Monsters Chapter Thirteen: Claw Finger

Word Count: 4,864

*********************************************************

Today has been an absolute whirlwind. 

The cafe was busier than ever, even with the windows gone and missing chairs and tables from last night's chaos, it felt like we were working in the middle of a disaster zone. Customers kept coming in, oblivious to the fact that we were running around like headless chickens trying to keep up with orders. The espresso machine sputtered and hissed as if it, too, was exhausted, while the line of impatient demons and sinners seemed never-ending.

Vinny, of course, was no help at all. He stayed holed up in his office, only emerging to bark orders or complain about the state of the place. The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee and frustration. Every time a customer complained about the noise or the lack of seating, I had to plaster on a fake smile and apologize, all while silently cursing Vinny for his incompetence.

Thankfully, Vinny decided to let us off a bit early, though not out of any kindness. It was more a necessity due to the repairs. Not that I was complaining.

Earlier in the morning, before I came to work, I found myself wandering through what seemed like an open street market. It was a chaotic mess, typical of Hell, with demons and sinners everywhere, selling everything from the mundane to the bizarre. Stall after stall lined the street, a mixture of shouts and haggling filling the air. The smells were a blend of sulfur, sweat, and something vaguely metallic—like blood.

And I was on a mission: I needed clothes. 

The clothes that I had on, that Charlotte had given me, were practically in tatters. The hem of my pants was frayed, my shirt had a tear across a sleeve, and there were more stains than I cared to count. Each rip and stain told the story of my time here, but I needed something that didn't scream "I barely survived an apocalypse."

The thought of Charlotte made me nostalgic, and I realized how much I missed her and Aramel already. She had given me these clothes, out of free will, worried about my well-being more than her own. I could still hear her melodious voice, complimenting me. Aramel, with his unwavering support, had been my rock. His confidant and charming nature had gotten us through more than one scrape. Thinking of them made my chest ache with a longing that was almost painful.

With the meager tips I had earned, I managed to buy a few pieces of clothing. As I inspected a particularly worn jacket, I asked the seller where he got it from. His answer sent a shiver down my spine.

 “Got it from my neighbors that were exterminated.” 

I quickly put the jacket down, realizing that most of the market’s wares were from the dead. I decided I had enough clothes for now and moved on.

On the bus ride to work, I couldn’t shake the seller’s words. My head spun with the implications. Whatever war or exterminations Hell was conducting, it was none of my concern. My primary objective was the redemption hotel and overlords. As the bus rattled along the crumbling streets, I began to piece together a plan to find the hotel and watch it from a distance after work.

I needed to gather information discreetly and I would start by asking around. In the distance I saw the giant clock tower that loomed over the ruins, a constant reminder of unnatural time ticking in Hell. I made a mental note to avoid drawing too much attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to attract the notice of the wrong kind of demon—or worse, another overlord.

Zestial was an unexpected variable. My mind drifted back to the strange dream I had of him. In the dream, I had been enveloped in a terrifying blend of darkness and cold. As the golden light of a heavenly ballroom faded into eerie shadows, I found myself in Zestial’s cold embrace, my heart pounding with fear.

I shivered at the thought of Zestial's cold touch and the fact that he had claimed me in that dream. The fear was irrational, a manifestation of my subconscious warning me of the danger he represented. Despite his courteous demeanor during our encounter last night, he was still an overlord, unpredictable and dangerous. The hint that he intended to see me again made my stomach turn.

I forced myself to swallow my fear and focus on the mission at hand: to gather intelligence from overlords. The fact that I had managed to capture Zestial's attention was a step forward, not backward, a significant piece of progress. But I have to be careful. I couldn’t let my fear or the unsettling dream distraught me from my objective. 

When I finally arrived at the cafe, I was greeted by the sight of Vinny berating my co-workers. “The damages will come out of your paychecks!” he barked, earning groans from them. 

He glared at each of them in turn, his eyes narrowing.  "And don't think I've forgotten about you running off and abandoning your shifts yesterday. You're all lucky you still have jobs. Now get to cleaning up this mess before we open.”

Then he spotted me and sneered, “Thought the boogeyman took you away for good. Didn’t expect to see you back.”

I shot him a wry smile. “Thanks for introducing me to Zestial, Vinny. Really appreciate you looking out for my social life.” 

Vinny rolled his eyes and lit a cigar, clearly not amused by my sarcasm and stomped away upstairs, leaving us to clean up the mess from yesterday. I headed to the small, cluttered locker room to stash my shopping bag when the petite pink-haired demoness from yesterday approached me.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she gave me her hand. “Well, well, if it ain't the new face from yesterday. I’m Ashley, by the way.”

“Celeste,” I replied, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you properly.”

She smiles. “From the looks of it, you must be fresh off the mortal coil, sugar.”

I noted her accent and I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How’d you guess?”

Ashley leaned in closer, her southern drawl making the words sound almost melodious. “Oh, honey, it ain’t rocket science. When you see someone in rags like those”—she pointed to my tattered clothes—“you can tell they’re new. You got a look, like a sheep lost in a lion’s den.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m planning to change before work. Can’t say I’m keen on wearing clothes from the dead though.”

Ashley’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You don’t say! The thought alone makes me shiver. But tell me, how’d ya find Zestial? Terrifying, right?”

I chuckled. “Word travels fast, huh? Honestly, he was creepy. But he actually was pretty nice.”

Ashley’s eyes grew even wider, her mouth forming an exaggerated “O” of disbelief. “Nice? Zestial? Honey, if you’ve heard the tales, you’d know he’s terrifying for a reason. Trust me, there’s a reason his reputation precedes him. I reckon you must’ve caught him on a good day then.

I shrugged, trying to seem unfazed. “Maybe I did.”

Ashley burst into laughter. “Well, ain't you a breath of fresh air. I reckon you’re the first person I’ve met who survived a chat with him and lived to tell the tale with a smile.”

I grinned, “Let’s hope it stays that way. I’d rather not test my luck with his ‘bad days.’”

Ashley’s laughter trailed off as she gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You keep that spirit, sugar. It’ll serve ya well around here. And if you ever need tips on surviving this place, just holler. I got plenty to share.”

This is my chance. I can ask Ashley about the hotel. As I stood there, Ashley's eyes sparkled with admiration. I took the opportunity to delve deeper into her background first.

“So, Ashley,” I said with a curious tone, “Where are you from?”

Her grin widened. “Well now, ain't that a question. I’m from the Wrath Ring, sugar.”

I blinked in surprise. “The Wrath Ring?”

Ashley chuckled, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, you know, just where folks like me hang out. Imps, they call us. Red skin, long horns, tail, all that jazz as you can see” as she twirls to show off her horns and tail. 

I raised an eyebrow. “An imp? I thought everyone here was a sinner.”

Ashley’s laughter was genuine and warm. “Oh, bless your heart. That’s a common misconception. Only in the Pride Ring are sinners allowed to stick around. But with Lucifer opening up all the rings for travel and work in recent years, you got all kinds of demons mingling around.”

I made a mental note of Lucifer’s policy. “Interesting. So, you’re saying it’s like a free-for-all now?”

Ashley’s eyes twinkled. “You could say that. Though it’s more like a regulated chaos. But don’t worry, sugar, your curiosity is cute.”

I felt a little sheepish. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

Ashley waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, not at all. I find your innocence refreshing, really. It’s rare around here.”

I smiled gratefully and got to the root.

I smiled, relieved. “Glad to hear it. Actually, I was hoping you could help me out. Do you know where the redemption hotel is?”

Ashley’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You mean the Hazbin Hotel?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the one,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Ashley’s laughter rang out again, light and teasing. “So, you're already desperate to get out of Hell, huh?”

I shook my head, grinning. “No, I’m just curious about it.”

Ashley put a hand on her hip, her southern drawl thick with amusement. “Curious, huh? Well, I can definitely help with that. I’ll text you the directions.”

I looked down, a little embarrassed again. “I don’t have a phone.”

Ashley’s eyes widened in faux horror. “Oh, sweetie, you’re new! Silly me, I should’ve remembered. No matter.” She grabbed a napkin and a pen from a nearby table, scribbling furiously. 

She handed me the napkin with a flourish. “Now you’ve got the golden ticket to the Hazbin Hotel.”

I took the napkin, feeling a bit overwhelmed but grateful. “Thanks a lot, Ashley. I really appreciate this.”

She straightened up and gave me a warm smile. “You know, after work, if you’re up for it, we could hang out a bit. Hell’s not all bad if you got good company.”

I hesitated, then gave her a polite smile. “I’d love to, but I’ve got some things to take care of tonight. Let’s definitely make it happen another time.”

Ashley laughed, a sweet, melodic sound. “I’ll hold you to that offer, sugar, and I’ll be here, ready to show you the ropes when you’re free. Don’t be a stranger now.”

With that, she waved and sauntered off, her pink hair bouncing with each step. I looked down at the napkin, a mix of relief and anticipation bubbling up inside me. 

I changed into new clothes in the bathroom and joined my co-workers, who were cleaning up the debris from yesterday's chaos. Broken chairs, shattered glass, and spilled drinks were scattered everywhere. The usual hum of the cafe was replaced by the clinking and clattering of us trying to put things back together.

As I grabbed a broom and started sweeping up glass shards, Vinny appeared and hovered nearby, his scowl ever-present. “Make sure you get every piece of glass. Last thing we need is a customer suing us because they stepped on something.”

“Don’t worry, Vinny,” I replied, my tone as dry as the dust I was sweeping up. “I’m sure we can handle it.”

He grunted and moved on to harass another unfortunate employee. Ashley exchanged a knowing glance with me, and rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Jackass.”

We worked tirelessly, trying to get the cafe back into some semblance of order before the first customers arrived. Despite the broken windows and missing chairs, we managed to clean up most of the mess. The place still looked like it had been through a war zone, but it was the best we could do on short notice.

Just as the cafe was about to open, Vinny came storming out of his office again. “Alright, listen up! We’re gonna close early today for repairs. Once the last customer leaves, you’re all free to go, but don’t expect to get paid for those missing hours. Now, get to work!”

The announcement was met with another chorus of groans, but none of us dared to argue. As the first customers trickled in, we resumed our tasks, putting on our best smiles and pretending everything was perfectly normal.

The rest of the day was a blur of nonstop work. Despite the broken windows and missing furniture, customers kept coming. Vinny, of course, did nothing but occasionally come down from his office to check on us and make sure we were working.

A few hours before closing time, Vinny put up the closing sign, telling incoming customers we had to close early for repairs. Once the last customer left, he announced, “You can leave now. Get the fuck out of here.”

I grabbed my bag and left with the rest, waving goodbye to Ashley and feeling a strange mix of relief and exhaustion. 

And now I've found myself on my mission again. 

Pentagram City bathed in the dim light of early evening, casting long, twisting shadows that danced over the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the mingling smells of sulfur and exhaust, a heady blend that seemed to cling to everything around me.

With Ashley’s directions, I made my way through the bustling streets, where neon signs flickered erratically and the sounds of demonic revelry filled the air. It was a strange, vibrant chaos that somehow felt both alive and decaying at the same time. As I wandered, I heard a sound that made my heart skip a beat—a small, forlorn cry that seemed to pierce through the din of a street.

Following the sound, I turned a corner and was met with a sight that shocked me: a small child, no more than two or three, was sitting on the pavement, clutching his knees and crying softly. The child looked so out of place amid the harsh, chaotic surroundings of Hell that it was almost surreal.

I glanced around and noticed that the demons and sinners passing by were ignoring him entirely. My heart ached at the sight. I approached him gently. “Hey,” I said, kneeling down beside him. “Where are your parents?”

The child sniffled and slowly turned to look at me, his blood colored eyes wide and shimmering with tears. He was holding something in his hands, clutching it close to his chest. As he turned further, he revealed a small grotesque bird, its neck twisted unnaturally. The sight of the lifeless creature in his tiny hands sent a jolt of shock and horror through me.

The child's tears had momentarily stopped, replaced by a strange smile. He held up the bird to me proudly, as if showing off a precious trophy. 

I felt a mix of disgust and sorrow. This small child, with his tear-streaked cheeks and fragile form, seemed so utterly out of place in the midst of Hell. 

Yet as I looked into his wide eyes, I saw more than just a lost child. I saw the deep, unsettling impact of this infernal environment on him. The way he clutched that twisted, dead bird with a strange smile—a smile that should have belonged to a child showing off a beloved toy—revealed a mind already disturbed. The innocence, if he had any, was tainted, overshadowed by the malevolence of his surroundings.

What should I do? The question gnawed at me. I was just one being, alone in this abyss. The demons and sinners around us were indifferent at best, hostile at worst. They wouldn’t help; they didn’t care. But despite the unease I felt, I couldn’t just leave him here. I had to help him.

Not because it was some grand moral imperative as a guardian, but because deep down, I knew that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to reconcile it with my conscience. This was a child, alone and vulnerable, and that simple fact outweighed any fear or hesitation I had.

I began asking every demon and sinner that passed if they knew the child or his parents. Each inquiry was met with blank stares or dismissive grunts and most brushed me off with a sneer or a shrug. Some didn’t even bother to respond, their eyes sliding past us as if we didn’t exist. The indifference stung, but I kept going, refusing to give up.

Time passed, and the child's stomach rumbled loudly. To my horror, he lifted the dead bird to his mouth, his tiny teeth bared in a grotesque parody of hunger. His eyes, still wet with tears, took on a vacant, almost feral look as he prepared to sink his teeth into the mangled flesh. I watched in stunned disbelief as he brought the bird closer, its twisted neck and lifeless eyes a macabre contrast to his innocent face. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and revulsion as I quickly grabbed the bird from his grasp, my hand trembling at the grotesque scene unfolding before me.

 “No, no, let’s get you some real food,”  I said, my voice trembling

His eyes flashed with confusion and a touch of anger. For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might bite my hand instead. But then he seemed to understand, his expression softening as he reluctantly let go of the bird.

I threw away the bird at a bush, and I spotted a nearby food stand and walked over. The smell of the food made my own stomach growl—I hadn’t eaten all day or really since I arrived in Hell. But my pockets were nearly empty, the meager tips I had earned barely enough to buy a small meal. I ordered and paid what I could for the child.

When the food arrived, the child devoured it with a hunger that suggested he hadn’t eaten properly in days. I watched as he ate almost all of his meal, feeling a pang of guilt as my own hunger grew. I had to convince myself that fasting was an option, as long as the child was getting something to eat.

Once the meal was finished and the tab paid, I led the child back to the street where I had first found him. We sat on a nearby bench, and I turned to him with a gentle smile. “What’s your name?”

He stared at me blankly, and I realized he might be too young to know his name. “What happened to your parents?” I asked, trying to piece together the fragments of any information he could give.

My eyes widened at his first word. “Monsters,” he said as his tiny arms flailed as if he were flying. I was puzzled by his demonstration and tried to make sense of it.

Just as I was about to question him further, a shadow fell over us. I looked up, my heart sinking at Zestial’s sudden appearance, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over us. At the sight of Zestial, the child painfully grabbed my arm with natural strength. 

Not this creep again.

I tried to calm my nerves down, as I’m already tense and hungry from the long day. 

Zestial’s eyes locked onto mine, and he asked, “What art thou doing with this demon child, Celeste?” 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “I found him crying. I’ve been waiting with him to see if his parents would come back, but they haven’t.”

Unexpectedly, Zestial’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at the child. “I see,” he said slowly. “Thou art quite the Samaritan, art thou not?”

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. “I don’t know where else to turn. I’m hoping someone might come by who knows him.”

Zestial studied me for a moment, his gaze shifting back to the child. “Very well. I shall see if I can assist with this matter. Hath the child told thee aught?”

I turned to the child and said, “Can you tell him what you told me?”

The child slowly let go of my arm and looked up at Zestial. “Monsters,” he said again as he demonstrated his flying motion.

Zestial observed the child with a contemplative expression. “I understand now,” he said, “What we have here is an orphan, Celeste.”

“Orphan?” I repeated, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Zestial’s expression grew serious. “Thou can wait all night long with the child, but I guarantee the parents art not returning.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you mean by that?”

Zestial’s gaze hardened slightly. “Given the recent extermination, their chances of survival art slim. 'Tis highly probable they be dead.”

My mind raced at the mention of extermination. Before I could speak, Zestial continued, “There is an orphanage not far from here. 'Tis likely crowded, but it would not hurt to check. Follow me.”

Unsure of what else to do, I took the child’s hand and followed Zestial. As we walked, the streets of Pentagram City cleared before us. Demons and sinners scurried away at the sight of Zestial, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

One demon, eyes bulging, muttered to his companion, “Is that Zestial? What is that woman and child doing with him?”

When we finally neared the orphanage, Zestial stopped and suggested, “Given mine reputation, 'tis best if thou handle this. Thou hast noticed they react not well to mine presence.”

I nodded and approached the orphanage, a grim-looking, old building that seemed to lean inwards with age. I knocked on the door, and after a moment, an overweight, haggard looking demoness answered.

She took one look at the child and immediately complained, “The orphanage is full. I can’t take in any more!”

I tried to persuade her, “Please, he needs help. I know the place is full, but he’s just a child—”

Before I could argue further, she spotted Zestial from a distance, her eyes widening in fear. “Never mind,” she said abruptly. “I think we do have one more spot left.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the child and slammed the door in my face. I stood there for a moment, stunned, then turned and walked back to Zestial.

“Looks like the orphanage did take him,” I said, a mix of relief and frustration in my voice. “Thank you for your help.”

Zestial gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable “Tis fortunate thou found the child. Hell is full of predators.”

I shivered at Zestial’s implication. As a guardian, I knew all too well that children were the most vulnerable, having witnessed countless horrors on Earth. The weight of those experiences had never truly lifted from me which was why I pushed to help the child. 

Seeing the sadness on my face, Zestial offered, “Allow me to walk thee home.”

I hesitated, my polite smile barely concealing my unease. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to trouble you further.”

I was already so faiguted and hungry and I did not want to deal with Zestial.

Zestial’s gaze remained steady. “'Tis already quite late in Hell. 'Twould not be safe for thee to wander about alone.”

The weight of his words settled over me, and I glanced at the darkening sky, realizing how much time I had wasted in helping the child. I inwardly cursed myself for losing track of my mission.

Seeing that I couldn’t go scout the hotel anymore and with Zestial in my radar, I sighed, feeling the pull of practicality outweigh my reservations. “Alright, if you insist. Let’s go.”

As we walked, my thoughts churned with conflicting emotions. Zestial's imposing presence was a reminder of his terrifying reputation, yet his actions contradicted everything I had heard about him. I couldn't help but feel that the deep-seated fear I felt for him was born from stories and preconceptions, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I reminded myself that he had been nothing but cordial and even helpful so far. My irrational fear and biases, fueled by tales and dreams, were unfair. Zestial had shown me aid when I needed it most. Yet this was Hell, a place where true intentions were often masked.

I had a mission to complete, and letting unfounded fears cloud my judgment was not an option. I needed to see him for who he was in the present moment, not as the embodiment of the horror stories I had heard. It was difficult to reconcile his terrifying reputation with the helpful demeanor he had displayed, but I had to try. Prejudging him based on hearsay and nightmares would only hinder my ability to fulfill my duty. With each step, I pushed away my apprehensions and focused on the reality before me.

As we traversed the now desolate streets of Hell towards my residence, a profound sense of isolation enveloped us. The emptiness of the surroundings only deepened the unease I felt from the child's words. Hell was full of monsters. 

Unable to shake the unsettling question, I seized the moment to address Zestial directly. "Earlier, the child said ‘monsters.’ What did he exactly mean by that?" I asked

Zestial's eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and gravity. "The monsters the child saw," he began, "were angels."

I stopped in my tracks, confusion and disbelief flooding my senses. "Angels?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Zestial noted my reaction and continued. ""Each year, on Extermination Day, angels descend from Heaven to exterminate sinners. They are called exorcists."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. That can't be true. Angels are guardians and protectors, not killers.

Zestial carefully watched my shock and disbelief, “I understand that thy former life as a nun led thee to believe that angels are purely good. But they are capable of the same atrocities as demons," he said in a firm tone. 

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. No, it can’t be true. He had to be lying. 

I questioned, my voice faltering. “Why would they do such a thing?"

Zestial's gaze hardened and his voice remained firm. “Because, Celeste, Heaven is not as infallible as thou wast taught to believe. Angels follow orders, and sometimes those orders are harsh and unforgiving."

Zestial’s words were something I wasn’t prepared for and I wanted to get away from him. I looked around at anything but him and spotted a newspaper stand. Without thinking, I ran towards it and snatched a newspaper, provoking the news seller to yell at me.

"Hey, you bitch! You better pay for th—"  

He cut himself off mid-sentence as he said Zestial slowly towered behind me and without another word, he turned and bolted, abandoning his post.

“Annual Extermination Report”

The headline read and beneath it was a picture that sent chills down my spine. 

The figure in the image was undeniably an angel, but its appearance was twisted and terrifying. Exorcists, as they were called, had black halos. Their large wings were without a doubt angelic. But it was their masks that were the most disturbing. Full-head demonic looking masks, each mask sported a pair of black horns with white stripes. 

Staring at the picture, I could see the angel’s mask, its face contorted into a grotesque grin. The image captured the moment of slaughter, a sinner being torn apart beneath those cruel, angelic eyes. 

The revelation struck me like a physical blow, and the foundation of my beliefs seemed to slowly crumble beneath me. It all made sense now—the war-torn buildings of Hell, the streets full of discord, the breaking news, the child’s fear of monsters. It all hit me like a ton of bricks. The reality of what Heaven had become, the truth behind the exterminations, the orphan clutching a dead bird. Everything collided in a horrifying clarity.

At that moment, all the fear and hunger since my arrival in Hell hit me at once. 

The gnawing emptiness in my stomach, a constant reminder of my deprivation, suddenly intensified. Every rumble and ache seemed to echo the torment of this infernal place. The shadows of dread that had been lurking at the edges of my mind surged forward, overwhelming me. The oppressive heat, the unending darkness, and the ceaseless screams that filled the air—all of it converged in a single, crushing wave. My chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow gasps as faintness gripped me. My knees buckled, unable to bear the weight of the cumulative terror and starvation and revelation. 

Before I hit the floor, I caught a brief glimpse of monstrous, elongated claws reaching out. Just before my vision faded to black, I felt those claws catch me, halting my fall. Darkness enveloped me, but the image of that demonic mask remained, seared into my mind.

*********************************************************

Thanks for reading!

Story is also available on AO3.

Chapter Thirteen: Claw Finger

[lifewiththelulus]

Oh you know for sure that man says it's his money now

So he probably starts hiding his money under his bed in a shoe box so he always has something to get food or other necessities

One day he sneaks back in and doesn't realize his dad isn't sleeping. He starts to tip toe behind the recliner when a gruff voice speaks. "So, wanna tell me where the hell you've been?" He's frozen and before he can respond his dad throws the box of loose change and dollar bills onto the floor. He's interrogated pretty harshly at the table why he's got money, how he's got money and why he's leaving the house when he's supposed to stay inside. Of course him being like 7-8 years old he's in tears and that just makes his dad angrier. He tries so hard to find the words but all the stuttering and sobbing makes him finally lose it and he slams his hands so hard on the table it topples over and accidentally hurts Wilton's arm and snaps a branch In fear he sprints out of the house and to the only safe place he can think of in that moment.

Kindlin and Cirrus already got the kids in bed and were just about to shut off the lights when they hear frantic pounding at the front door. Kindlin throws on a robe and slippers, not knowing what to expect. The last thing was to open the door and have Wilton shoved past her to run inside and go hide behind the cooling racks in the kitchen. He moved so quickly she almost didn't see it was him. She was in such a confused and shocked state she didn't lock the door and went to the kitchen after him. He was curled up in the corner trying to make himself as small as possible and his leaves showed how bad he was trembling

As she got closer her light shone on him and saw his snapped branch. She slowly reached down to put a hand on his shoulder but as soon as she did he yelped and backed away. He had this look in his eyes she would never be able to forget as long as she lived.

Cirrus suggested that they give him space, and cook something for him, leaving the meal at the side of the door for whatever he feels like eating

Aurora sneaks in to find him still shaking, she picks up the plate and sits next to him and encourages him to eat. (I’d imagine he’s more comfortable around kid than he is with adults)

maybe the others kinda follow her out to see what going on

Nebi is the kind of kid who gets into a lot of mischief but knows when things are serious

Same with Charlie, though he’s pretty bad at reading the atmosphere and has to be told when he’s being insensitive

Oh very much He finally eats a little bit and is able to calm down with Aurora there He even lets her look at his arm because she notices he's not using it to eat. He whimpers when she gently touches it, and pulls away again.

Ohhh yeah Maybe they sit down on either side of him and ask him what happened He makes them promise not to tell and tells them what really happened He's pretty jumpy and every little noise has him on edge

Aurora is very much a softie who's pretty in tune with other people's feelings, but there's a lot of social cues she still misses She's a sensitive little soul

… Autistic trio?! : Dc

"Well hey you better eat that food before I do" "charlie that's not cool" nebi pouts

“I don’t want to talk about it” “Awesome, does that mean we can go back to sleep?” Nebi punches his arm

"Don't pay attention to him, we're glad you're here. It'll be like our first sleepover!" She just tries to comfort him and he finally stops trembling when she gives him a soft hug on his good side. He just nods "I've never had a sleepover before."

Nebi just lights up "omg ok ok we need kernals,some movies,oh i need to hook up the palyer, and a bunch of pillows for a fort!"

Kindlin coming back to check on him and when she sees all of them awake she just kinda stays quiet and watches from afar how they stay with him She's never been a more proud mother than that moment right there.

Charlie: I’ll get the scary movi- Notices Aurora’s side eye Charlie: …Um kid friendly movies? Aurora gives him a thumbs up

Aurora might be the soft spoken one but she knows how to keep them in check when it's necessary

That’s why she’s the elected leader

She has the same look that Kindlin does when they're about to do something they shouldn't

So I'm thinking after he starts to get sleepy Aurora goes and finds Cirrus to let her know he was dozing off in the kitchen. She doesn't understand really what happened but gets that something hurt him because he was starting to bruise and he wouldn't use his hand for anything. She just asks Cirrus really innocently if he's gonna be ok, and if he was allowed to spend the night for real

Cirrus looks at her with sadness but says yes, they will make sure he’s ok, and that he’s allowed to spend the night

Kindlin comes in and tells the kids to go to bed, kissing them each on the cheek as they pass her. She gives them all a warm smile and as soon as they're in their room she goes over to Wilton. He's just looking down at the floor when Kindlin sits next to him. After a bit of coaxing she gets him to let her look at his arm and broken branch. Aurora was right, he was already bruised up and he refused to move his arm past a certain point. She felt just so awful and guilty about sending him home at all

She wrapped him up in a blanket, and immediately got dressed to take him to the hospital. Before leaving though she gives Cirrus a soft deep kiss and promises she'll be back soon.

In the morning the kids wake up to the bakery being closed for the week, and Wilton sleeping soundly on the pullout couch with a cast on his arm. Kindlin sits them down and tells them to let him sleep. And that he might need to play more gently for a while so he could heal.

They find her knelt by the couch, she'd been up through most of the early morning gently stroking through his leaves to help him sleep soundly

She couldn't leave him alone for a single moment after seeing him go through what he did

And going to the doctor was a whole other thing because he'd never been so he was terrified of everything It was a struggle to let them put the cast on.

If he had to go to the doctors they almost definitely asked what her relation to him was and tried to find parental contact information

She made it very clear to the doctor what happened and they did contact someone about it Fortunately Birch was still technically allowed to foster/adopt so they granted Birch emergency custody Birch was more than willing to sign for it, and finding out what happened made her so upset for him. It was actually the first time she saw Birch genuinely angry about something (of course she wasn't in front of him but couldn't contain the anger once out of earshot)

She got him a bear from the gift shop for being so brave at the doctor

Kindlin eventually falls asleep kneeling on the floor and resting on the part of the bed that was free She just felt so protective of him and didn't want to leave his side for anything

When he finally wakes up in the afternoon he's a little fuzzy headed, the pain meds causing him to still be drowsy, but at least the pain was low. He sat up to look over when he felt a warmth and saw Kindlin sleeping at his side. Then the memory of the night prior flooded back. He looked down at his cast, then at the bear, and hugged it close. Kindlin woke up to him crying quietly, and immediately she got up to sit with him. Without saying a word she wrapped him up in the blankets and cradled him in her lap. He pressed his face into her chest as he cried and she rocked him soothingly until he was calm again. When he was, she whispered "Hey buddy… you hungry?" He peaked up at her and just nodded. She smiled softly and carried him downstairs He was getting whatever the fuck his little heart wanted and she would make sure of it

Omg I can imagine the triplets fighting over who gets to sign his cast first XD

I can imagine people just looking at him then all of a sudden they have the urge to make the world a better place.

I think he probably starts to smile more after just a week of being with them honestly He's always so quiet so Kindlin had to walk away and cry the first time she heard him genuinely laugh out loud

[jmreyes9]

A DELIGHTFUL SUMMER DAY IN DOWNTOWN CHICAGO

By Jesse Reyes

It was a pleasant late summer day in downtown Chicago, the temperatures hovering in the mid 70’s, not humid at all, the sun coming in and out of the cloud cover.  There was no gusty wind today in the “windy city” and poet Carl Sandburg’s “City of Big Shoulders” and “Hog Butcher for the World”—just a mild cool breeze coming from Lake Michigan.

We drove from the Chicago suburbs to downtown Chicago to have some documents authenticated at Consul General of the Philippines Generoso Calonge’s office in Michigan Avenue.  Actually there was no necessity in meeting the consul general himself but it’s nice to know his name in case a “trivial pursuit” nut asks me for this information in the future!  My daughter had accepted the driving honors, as she knew I dreaded driving in “the city” like I dreaded going on the “Screaming Eagle”, the heart-stopping, nerve-wrecking roller coaster in Six Flags Over Great America in Gurnee, IL, the rollercoaster which I had made the mistake of riding in when I was younger just to prove I wasn’t “spineless”.

We found a parking lot just a few minutes walk from the consulate office but ended up paying $40 as we had to park there for 4 hours.  We waited for about half-an-hour at the waiting area and when my number was called and after submitting the documents, we were told to come back at 3 pm.  So my daughter looked for a restaurant where we would eat lunch.  She found an Italian place which was supposedly a “short” walk away but we ended up walking 4 or 5 blocks slightly overshooting the place (and when you’re hungry, searching for the place seems like an eternity.)  I told myself as softly as I could, so my wife and daughter would not hear, that “this place better be good, for all the walking we did.”

The Trattoria #10 (I wondered where the other 9 trattorias were!) was located at the corner of Dearborn and Calhoun Streets.  We had to negotiate this semi-winding stairs that led to the basement.  When we went in, the elegant ambiance of the restaurant greeted us.  It was a cozy, dimly-lit place and the waiters/waitresses were very friendly (they usually are, knowing the amount of their tip was directly proportional to their nicety, courtesy and pleasantness.)  I ordered the grilled organic Amish chicken and my two female companions (my wife and daughter) ordered pastas (a dish which I don’t care for that much.)  Well, the tasty food met our gustatory expectations, hence our waiter received a “generous” tip. 

On the way back to the consul’s office, I noted the plethora of skyscrapers along Dearborn, State and Michigan Streets seemed taller, and there seemed to be more lawyers’ offices than before.  As we wanted to go to Monroe St., I recalled that the streets going east to west were named after US presidents.  We passed by a store selling bags in Michigan Avenue and entered they did, my two lady companions, as if sucked into the store by a strong vacuum.  I told them I preferred staying outside, for my interest in ladies’ bags was zilch, nada, zero! 

As I waited outside the store for the two “window shoppers only”, I marveled at the elegant architecture of the imposing skyscrapers along the northern side of Michigan Avenue towards Lake Michigan, mainly the Aon Center formerly the Standard Oil Building built in 1974, and has 83 stories and is 1,189 ft. high and the Crain Communications Building with its diamond-shaped top that is split in the middle, that has 49 stories, some of which have not yet been told! and is 582 feet high, built in 1990.  To the east of these skyscrapers was the Millennium Park.  I noticed a large head statue on the southern end of the park.  It turns out that this giant head statue standing at 39 feet tall was the work of Spanish sculptor Jaume Piensa and was brought from Barcelona in Spain and installed in Chicago on June 2014.

As we drove home, I thought of how one can enjoy the city of Chicago, especially on a nice and non-windy day, even just walking along the streets, admiring the majesty and architectural beauty of the towering skyscrapers. 

Written in 2016 and revised on March 13, 2017 in Chicago, IL.Posted in my blog 11/30/22. Other writings and poems of Jesse Reyes can be found in his blog: anadventurecalledlife.com.

[gameofsevens]

hey cowboy! for the ask game, I have a lot: 13, 16, 24, 46, 57 and 74

Howdy!

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

I don't know if this is a tip I saw or a rule I came up with myself, but I try not to start a sentence with the same word twice in a row. That usually applies unless I'm making a stylistic choice to repeat. One that I do know is a tip I saw once was how to tell when to start a new paragraph. I do think I'm a little too excitable when it comes to starting a new paragraph, but I think reading on my phone makes paragraphs look longer than they actually are.

16. already answered

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

I remember it clearly: sophomore year, accelerated English II. We were learning about passive and active sentences, and the teacher told us that in both creative and professional writing, you should aim to mostly use active sentences to keep your reader engaged. I then wrote a report that included a fair amount of passive sentences, and when he called me up to ask about it, he said he highlighted all the passive sentences--spoiler alert, he missed more than half of them because, like I'll say next, they didn't matter. He said I should've written those sentences he highlighted in active form, and I said "but I don't care about those sentences--they don't matter in keeping the reader engaged" because in my mind, they're transition sentences that are only there because of necessity. If you only have active sentences, it can become too much or bog down the entire piece of writing because nothing sticks out. If I want to build tension of scare the reader, I'll start by writing passively and build up to only active sentences, or if something's boring or depressing, I'll use passive sentences to portray something dull and monotonous. I still follow my own advice (and ignore his) to this day.

46. How would you describe your style?(Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Hm, this is a hard one. I guess I would say my style aims for the reader to be able to visualize it exactly as I do in my head: I try to paint it as a picture or a movie, one that you can see every expression or twitch of the muscle, can feel the environment around you, or hear the swell or decrescendo of music as the scene moves on. So depending on what I'm writing, it changes between character, emotion, or action-driven.

57. Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

Usually, I wait until after I'm finished so I don't get distracted. However, with the recent big bang event, I was editing as I went, which cut it very close to posting time lol

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

This is also a bit of a hard one, but I think there's two things. The first is "lore"—I tend to over-explain, if you couldn't tell by my lengthy answers, so I'll always stick in some explanation for characters' reasonings and actions. This is also because I don't like characters being two-dimensional, so I want to give a history for the 'why'. Another would be symbolism. I like to have a deeper meaning and purpose for objects, actions, or dialogue, and for my longer works (like Monster Party was going to build to), have stuff that will make things click in the reader's brain. I'm also a slut for Chekov's gun, so I like to sprinkle that in there when I can, but that's almost solely for longer works, like mp or some original works

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

So I (finally!) bought a pair of really good noise cancelling headphones, and it has changed my life! It's the fanciest thing I've bought in years, so to recoup some of the cost, I’ve researched & written a little essay based on my experiences with extreme noise sensitivity.

Hypersensitivity to sound is something I’ve dealt with all of my life, but I only recently found out it's medically known a Hyperacusis. (Please note this is a separate condition from Misophonia.) If you consistently struggle to cope with noise, the info below could be helpful! I’m including a link to my ko-fi, and I will be answering questions in the notes.

(skip to the bottom to read fun facts about my tax return and/or street organs vendettas!)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional, this is based solely on my experiences as a patient, and on what I have read and been told by professionals. Please notify me if you have corrections or concerns about accuracy!

BACKGROUND: Sensitivity to sound is a common type of sensory issue. While anyone can experience such issues (most people, for example, might be bothered by loud music in a crowded restaurant), some people are more sensitive than others, to the point it becomes a quality-of-life aka a medical issue.

If you consistently struggle with environmental stimuli that other people aren’t bothered by (background noises, bright lights, certain textures and tastes, etc), to the point it causes daily discomfort or limits the environments you can be in, I recommend reading about Sensory Processing Disorder.

SPD and sound sensitivity are both super common in autistic folks (like me!), but allistic (non-autistic) people can experience them too. Weep, ye prisoners of mortal coil, for none are safe, nothing sacred, not in this thy most accursed tomb of human flesh!

Anyway.

SOUND SENSITIVITY or HYPERACUSIS: Noise issues are particularly difficult to navigate in a world that is increasingly...noisy. The relatively new phenomenon of constant overhead music in restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls etc—all of this means that public spaces are increasingly inaccessible to people with auditory issues.*

As a kid, nothing quite triggered sensory overload/meltdowns for me like the constant exposure to noise I couldn’t control—the background chatter of other kids in the lunchroom, the constant noise in public spaces, being trapped in the car with the radio on.... I had so many fights with my siblings about the car radio, and who got to choose the music.**

But it’s not just loud sounds that are the problem. As an adult who lives alone and works from home***, I’m lucky enough to be able to avoid loud environments most of the time. This does wonders for my general levels of anxiety and discomfort. But even in a mostly controlled environment, I still experience problems. Because part of sound sensitivity is that even normal or quiet sounds can feel loud and intrusive. Here are some “normal” sounds that can cause me discomfort (ranging from annoyance to outright pain, depending on the day):

refrigerator/AC/ceiling lights humming

dishwasher/washing machine noises

ceiling fan making that damn ceiling fan noise

faint sounds of traffic

riding in a car

other people having a normal conversation in the background

someone talking to me in a perfectly normal inside voice

Unfortunately, even in a “controlled” environment, many triggering noises can’t be controlled. And many parts of life can’t be lived in a controlled environment. This presents...some incredibly freaking annoying problems. Luckily there are solutions!

Sorta.

There are sorta some solutions.

They are imperfect, but they help.

TREATMENT: And now I have something rather shame-faced to admit. In all the years of managing my symptoms, it never once occurred to me to see a hearing specialist for my issues with sound. I wasn’t even aware that treatment options exist, because none of my other doctors mentioned it. Instead, I’ve spent years finding my own coping mechanisms and tools, with help from therapists and psychiatrists, but without ever consulting an audiologist/ENT. It was only while researching this post that I found out that was even an option, holy shit.

So it turns out I am going to be making an appointment with my local ENT practice. shit.

Apparently treatment options include sound/acoustic therapy, systematic desensitization/exposure therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, sound machines, and other options that I had no idea even existed, goddammit.

MANAGEMENT: In the meantime, here are my current coping mechanisms. I’ve relied rather heavily on hearing protection, which is very useful when used in moderation. Unfortunately, it can cause its own problems: it’s important not to overuse hearing protection, because in the long-term this can increase your sensitivity. So again: a useful tool, but be careful not to overdo it.

With that in mind, here are some of the coping strategies I’ve used over the last decade to manage my symptoms. This is not a perfect system and you should contact your local ENT clinic for better, long-term solutions, but in the meantime here are some tips I use to just get myself through the damn day:

Regularly spending time in a quiet controlled environment, to allow my nervous system to decompress.

Wearing earplugs, (I use two different grade, depending on the level of noise prevention I need), and always carrying an extra pair in case I need them unexpectedly. I bought a 50 pack for $7 and put spares in all my bags and jacket pockets.

(I mostly use Mack’s Ultra Soft, but there are so many types and materials and brands, including foam, silicone, wax, custom moldable etc. Even if you have trouble wearing things in your ears, you might be able to find something comfortable.)

Similarly: hearing protection earmuffs, the kind used in gun ranges and on construction sites. I bought mine online for $10. they look like normal wireless headphones, so I've never gotten comments when wearing mine in public (other than “cool heaphones” bc i added skull glitter stickers).

Sometimes I wear the earmuffs on top of earplugs, when life is just too damn LOUD.

Listening to music w/ earbuds or headphones is a great way to balance out background noises, especially if you can find soothing playlists that help you concentrate. Also useful to put in just one earbud when you need to pay attention in class/at work.

Pro tip: if your hair is long enough you can wear wireless earbuds without anyone knowing.

White noise, rain noises, ocean noises etc can be helpful! Some people like whale songs although personally this activates my primal fear response

Active noise cancelling headphones: the reason I wrote this post to begin with—I finally bought a pair! As in, a really good pair! As in, a depressingly expensive pair with noise cancelling technology that actually WORKS, holy shit. I probably need to wear them a little less at home (bc overprotection causes problems in the longterm) but they have absolutely transformed my ability to go out in public and i never ever want to take these suckers off again please take a power screwdriver and nail these to my head, bury me in the sweet sweet shroud of silence. holy canoli and cream puffs I want to marry form a civil partnership with these headphones. Plus they have a bunch of features, like being able to control the level of noise cancellation, so I can hold a conversation or be aware of some ambient noise for safety reasons.

Oh, and also they play music I guess?

Sorry sorry I promise this post wasn’t supposed to be me shilling for Big Electronics. I’m just excited, I’m an excited flabby little ball of expired flubber. ANC headphones aren’t a perfect solution, and I still sometimes wear earplugs underneath, and I will always be uncomfortable some of the time, but for me it’s been a big step.

Unfortunately the cost of good quality ANC technology means this isn’t an option for everyone, and the (much cheaper) gunshot protection earmuffs I mentioned earlier still provide an impressive amount of protection and bang-for-your buck (maybe even an equal amount of protection, if you can find ones that fit well). But if noise consistently prevents you from enjoying public space and life in general, and you’ve already tried earmuffs & earplugs and find they don’t offer enough comfort/convenience/protection, and if you’re in a position to save up for a one time non-necessity purchase of $150+, noise cancelling headphones are an option to be aware of. (Please always check the return policy so you can try before you buy. I ended up buying and returning 2 pairs before finding what worked best for me. And please look for a retailer that offers an extended warranty. You want those motherforkers to last).

There are cheaper options available, including some under $50. The ones I tried didn't work as well as my hearing protection earmuffs, but some people report good experiences, so that is something to consider. it's always good to know your options! Passive noise canceling is another affordable alternative.

Medication: A final tool in my toolbox, which for me personally has helped as much as every other method combined. Like, a lot, it’s helped a lot. It turns out some anti-anxiety medications can also help sensory issues. There’s not much research on this, and I only discovered it firsthand when a medication my doctor prescribed for anxiety ended up significantly helping my sensory issues. I no longer need medication for anxiety, but my psychiatrist still prescribes that same medication off-label for my sensory stuff. Ask your psychiatrist to research your options (they will probably have to do some digging to find relevant research, but you deserve to know all your options, even the obscure ones). Fyi, the medication I use is in the benzodiazepines class, but there are other options for those concerned about dependency or side effects.

(I'm also told anti-anxiety supplements may be helpful, though I haven't tried this yet. If you're on prescription meds, always talk to your doctor about contraindications before taking anything over-the-counter.)

So there you have it, my main coping strategies for sound sensitivity! They are not a replacement for medical treatment (except that last one which is in fact...medical treatment), but I find them helpful and I hope some of you will too! I’ve struggled for a long time, and I’m very pleased to have reached the point where I can just do things in public. Eating out in loud restaurants? I can do that now, and even enjoy it, holy shit! I can comfortably travel in cars for hours at a time, and walk around shopping malls and grocery stores with overhead music, and, and —and just exist. It is so so freeing, to feel like maybe, after everything, you are actually allowed to just exist in a world that wasn’t really designed for you.

Again, be careful not to overuse hearing protection—the goal is to allow you to be less uncomfortable and to function better, but if you find you are becoming more sensitive to noise, it is time to dial it back a notch. Or maybe consider listening to music (at a reasonable volume) to block out background noise instead.

*(This also includes people with hearing loss and related issues, btw. While that’s not my area of knowledge, I would welcome it if any of my HoH followers want to share their experiences.)

**A sign of sensory issues that parents often miss is when a child complains about music being too loud—but has no problem listening to their own music at high volume. This is because music that is already familiar to the listener (and that the listener enjoys) is much easier for the brain to process, since it knows what pattern of sounds to expect. Loud music that they get to control can be soothing for people with sound issues, especially when it blocks out background noise and sensations. This is why repetitively playing the same songs can be a helpful form of stimming.

***(working on this blog, actually. since it’s my only source of income, my 2020 income tax return literally lists my occupation as ‘Tumblr Blogger.’ Oddly, my parent didn’t feel this achievement was worth including in the holiday family newsletter.)

bonus fun fact: Charles Babbage aka “father of the computer” may have been autistic and hypersensitive to sound. He definitely had a huge problem with public noise pollution, and spent his later year waging a war on street musicians (and organ grinders in particular).

(bc like, yeah. screw organ grinders.)

Sometimes when I’m out in public and the overhead music is particularly unbearable, I’ll take a moment to look up to the sky and scream out: “HE TRIED TO WARN US! THE FATHER OF COMPUTERS TRIED TO WARN US!!! we should have listened, sweet heaven we should have listened!”

except i don’t scream it, i say it very quietly under my breath

(i have issues with noise)

so yeah that is my short essay. and here is the ko-fi goal

k ciao i gotta go pick out glitter stickers for my headphones

[cjsinkythoughts]

The Conversation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 7661 (Don’t come at me - you guys asked for it)

Warnings: !FATWS Spoilers!, Cursing, Fluff, Feelings, I Dunno What Else, This One’s Pretty Chill, Except The Ending, But You’ll See When You Get There

A/N: Here it is! I was hesitant about posting it because that means we’re getting closer to the end and I’m such a nostalgic bitch! I’m definitely gonna cry next week when the last episode comes out! Anyways, I’ve got a few things to talk about:

I think this is one of the most important chapters I’ve written and I’m excited to see your reactions to it. It is longer, but you guys asked for that, so you got it! Also, I’m loving the Asks, Comments, and Reblogs. I try to respond to all of them. I have work in a little bit, so I won’t be able to until after, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Ask me anything; about my series, the show, any of the movies, personal stuff, I really don’t care. If you’re not comfortable, that’s totally fine! Every like means so much to me!

I know it’s not the end yet - we’ve got one more episode and a list of One Shots to get through - but there’s a definite feeling of this series coming to an end, and I just want to thank you all for the support and love you’ve been giving it! I’ve really enjoyed writing these characters and this story! It’s very, very special to me and I’m glad I’ve been able to share it with you lovely people!

On that note, be kind to yourselves and others! Thank you again for reading! Excuse any mistakes - this isn’t beta’d! Enjoy and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT! (Sorry for the gifs I just love them so much and he’s so pretty and this part is technically two parts so...you get four!)

“Louisiana.” Bucky hummed, looking around the airport.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not gonna find anything interesting about Louisiana in here, doofus. Let’s call an Uber.”

“An Ooper? What the hell is an Ooper?”

You giggled, shaking your head and grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the luggage carousel. “Uber. It’s like…a taxi service. But there’s an app on your phone to get a driver instead of waiting for one on the street.”

“Oh.” He blinked, tilting his head. “That’s…helpful.”

You laughed again, stopping in front of Carousel 3, where your flight from New York was assigned. You went back to New York to grab a bag with clean clothes and other necessities, along with taking a real shower for once. It was nice to be back in the States, as much as you loved traveling. It’d been a crazy few weeks and you were ready to just relax.

“Do you think there were any problems with Sammy’s present?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Especially considering they know who we are.”

You snickered at his slight grumble. They had had…problems at the other two airports - first the one in Sokovia then JFK in New York - considering Bucky’s entire arm was metal. It’d taken a full hour before they actually let you go, and by that time they had to give you a new plane because yours had left.

“Seriously. Who else has a fucking metal arm and has 1917 listed as their birth year on their Driver’s License?” You giggled again. That was also true. They thought he was messing with them. It wasn’t until you stepped in a few minutes after they asked Bucky to step to the side, seeing Bucky get frustrated, that they realized Bucky wasn’t pulling their legs.

“Well, we’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

He nodded in agreement, watching for your bags, his hand finding yours when he realized how many people there were. “Do you know where he lives? I didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He invited me over once. I declined, but I saved the address.”

“He…invited you over?” Bucky frowned.

You gave him a look. “I’m sure he invited you, too. You just never checked his texts.”

He licked his lips, tilting his head. “Yeah, no, I know, but I mean…why didn’t you go? Weren’t you two just talking about how you wanted to meet his nephews the other day?”

“Yeah, but I had gotten a tip on Wanda at the time and I didn’t want to miss the chance that she was there. He told me it was fine. I still felt really bad. I could tell he was a bit disappointed. I think it was one of the boys’ birthdays. Or something. I don’t remember. Is that bad? Yeah, probably. I really should remember. Maybe I should keep track of birthdays on my calendar or something.”

“Doll.” You looked up to find him giving you a magnificent smile, teeth and all. “You’re rambling.”

“Oh. Am I? Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

He shook his head quickly, squeezing your hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s cute. I’m just not used to you talking so much. You kinda did on the phone sometimes.”

You shrugged, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck at his words. “I rambled a lot to Steve.”

“Oh.”

His face fell, making you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, nudging him slightly to grin at him. “It’s nice to have someone to ramble to again, though.” There was that smile again. You were stopped from saying anything more when you noticed some kids pointing and chattering excitedly at a gleaming silver box coming around the corner on the conveyor belt. “There it is.”

He looked over his shoulder, dropping your hand and stepping over to grab it, lifting it effortlessly. You didn’t know what was in it or how heavy it was, but you were sure it felt like a feather to him.

“Alright. Got our bag, sweetheart?” You lifted up the duffle in answer and he jerked his head towards the doors. “Let’s get outta here, then. Call that Booper or whatever.”

“U-B-E-R! Ub-er!” You threw your hands up, following him as he started walking towards the exit. “What’s so hard about it?!”

He just gave you a little smirk over his shoulder.

***************

Bucky kept asking the Uber driver questions about his job. The guy was super nice and patient the whole time, a thick southern accent lacing his answers. Southern hospitality was no joke and apparently had no limit as Bucky asked about his experiences, listening intently and telling him his own stories of taxi drivers in NYC.

When you got to Sam’s sister’s house, Bucky, being Bucky, tipped the driver half of what you paid for the ride, thanking him for his time and energy, before getting out.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?” You teased him as you stepped up the porch stairs and knocked on the door.

He rolled his eyes, a tint of pink dusting across his cheeks. “He was nice.”

You hummed at his defense, the smile never leaving your features. After a moment, Bucky raised his fist to knock again. “Jesus Christ! Don’t fucking knock their door down!” You grabbed his wrist and lowered it.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes.” Bucky informed you absentmindedly,  tilting his head to peek in the window. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“They’re probably at the docks, then.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “The docks?”

You nodded, gesturing for him to follow you. “Yeah. They have a boat, remember? He talked about it last week.”

“Oh right. The one he’s trying to convince his sister not to sell.”

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “I’m pretty sure it’s that way. I don’t know how far, but we can call the Uber back-”

Bucky scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Nah. I don’t wanna bother him again. We can walk.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “It’s literally his job to drive people around.”

“Well, yeah, but what if he’s got other people to drive?”

You lifted his metal knuckles to your lips. “Trust me, Buck, I’m sure he’d rather drive you than anyone else.”

“Thank you?”

Swinging your now linked hands, you gave a firm nod, letting him know it was, in fact, a compliment. “You are so very welcome.”

The walk was a lot longer than you thought it was, and you ended up on Bucky’s back after he kept complaining about how you “shouldn’t be walking this long” and you were “injured” and you “needed rest’”. You’re not sure how a shoulder wound affected your ability to walk, but you relented and let him carry you the rest of the way to stop his whining.

“You forget, you did pull your thigh.”

“That was, like, three weeks ago! Yeesh!”

You finally got to the docks, which were bustling with people. Bucky set you down and raised an eyebrow which you shrugged in reply to, before heading over to where you spotted Sam with a few other older men.

“How do we get it off the truck?” You heard Sam ask, pointing to a large boat engine part in the bed of a beaten up truck. Scoffing as Bucky lifted it up without breaking a sweat, you leaned against the truck. Bucky grunted and set it down, looking at Sam.

“You’re welcome.” What a punk. “Just dropping this off.” Bucky lifted the case and set it where the engine was previously, Sam coming to stand on the opposite side of the truck as you. “You can sign for it and I’ll go.” You snorted, shaking your head, making Bucky shove your shoulder - the uninjured one - playfully. “I called in a favor from the Wakandans.”

Sam looked at you curiously. You shrugged and shook your head. “Don’t look at me, Sammy. He wouldn’t tell me what it is. He’s all hushy hushy about it until you say so.”

Before Sam could reply, there was a squeak and hissing over at the boat where steam was coming from a few pipes.

“Sam!” You knew that was Sarah from pictures Sam showed you. You stayed up by the truck, pulling yourself onto the bed while Sam tried fixing the pipe, Bucky butting in to show him how to do it properly.

“Why didn’t you use the metal arm?”

You saw Bucky lift up said metallic limb. “Well…I don’t always think of it immediately. I’m-I’m right handed.” Letting out a laugh, Bucky turned around and scowled teasingly at you. “And what’re you laughing at?!”

“Nothing!”

“Well then get your ass over here!”

You rolled your eyes, hopping down from the truck as Bucky asked if Sam wanted help with the boat. You leaned against a wooden post, grinning when Sam looked at you.

“I don’t have any plans.”

Sam gave a small smile, jerking his head back. “Yeah.”

You jumped down onto the boat to follow him, looking over your shoulder and stopping with an amused eyebrow raised as Bucky introduced himself to Sarah. “I’m Bucky.”

“Ah…Sarah.”

“Sarah.” Bucky repeated her name, before walking towards you, a grin still on his lips.

“Careful, Barnes. That playboy Steve warned me about is coming out.” You nudged him with a smirk, ignoring the feeling of your stomach dropping.

He rolled his eyes, kissing your head as he passed you and Sam to go where Sam was gesturing. “Don’t worry, Y/N. You’re still my doll.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, falling into step besides you and lowering his voice. “Conversation?”

“Hasn’t happened.” You informed him through clenched teeth as he groaned.

Sam gave you a list of chores that needed to be done to clean up the boat, giving you a quick tour and letting you know where all the tools needed where. You set to work immediately.

Sanding down, replacing old parts, cleaning, polishing and painting over the things that didn’t need replacing. They didn’t let you do any heavy lifting because of your stupid shoulder, but you were still able to help.

Sam had turned on some music for you to listen to, so you danced around the boat while cleaning. Turning your head when you felt a pair of eyes on you, you smiled when Bucky snapped his head back down to the wood he was sanding down.

“Gonna dance, Barnes?”

He looked back over, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m good watching you.”

Rolling your eyes, you got back to work, continuing to bop to the music, fully aware that he was watching you now.

A little while later, you were repainting the edges of the boat orange, when you looked over and noticed Bucky playing around with a paint scraper…sitting right on the edge that you had just finished repainting a few minutes ago.

“Buck!”

He looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your mischievous grin. Shaking your head, you waved dismissively. “Never mind!”

He gave you a confused sort of pout, before shrugging and continuing to fidget with the tool. It wasn’t until later when he got up to help Sam tear the metal plating off the edge that it came to light with Sam chuckling and raising an eyebrow.

“Sit in something there, Barnes?”

“What?”

Bucky craned his neck back, eyes widening when he saw the orange paint on his ass, contrasting with his jeans. You let out a cackle and he whipped towards you, pointing at you accusingly, although the small uptick of his lips let you know he wasn’t really mad.

“Y/N!”

“No, no, no!” You laughed, sprinting across the deck, shrieking when he grabbed your waist and spun you around. You gasped when he grabbed a paint brush and painted an orange stripe right down the front of your shirt. “James!”

“Justice, sweetheart.” He breathed in your ear with a chuckle.

You shook your head, wiggling out of his hold. “This is a nice shirt!”

“You should’ve thought about that before.” He smirked, crossing his arms. Your eyes caught sight of Sam behind him, who raised an eyebrow and the bucket of paint he was holding. You nodded with a little giggle, making Bucky’s eyes narrow. “What’s so funny over there, do - holy shit!

You guffawed as orange paint dripped down his head, Sam standing innocently behind him with the now empty bucket behind his back. “Samuel!”

“Oops?”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“Try me old man!”

“Fuck!

“Doll!”

“Oh my God!”

Paint, orange and white since those were the only cans they had out, flew across the deck, paint brushes being used like fencing swords.

You found out too late that wet paint was a little bit slippery and you slid on a huge puddle, sending you, not onto the ground below, but over the side of the edge into the water. 

“Doll!”

“Cher, you good?!” 

The three of you looked at each other, stunned for a moment, before bursting into fits of laughter and you nodded. “I’m good!”

The boys helped you get back up onto the dock, Sarah appearing with towels she conjured up out of thin air. “Let’s get you into dry clothes. Do you have-?”

“We’ve got some. We got a bag.” You told her with a grin, facing the guys. “You two should clean up some, too. Sammy, you’ve got a little something right there.” You pointed to your cheek, his own having a giant white splotch from his temple to his jaw. “And Buck?” You sniggered, gesturing to the whole of him. “You’ve got a lotta something right there.” 

“Ha. Ha.” He looked down. His top was practically tiger print, drenched in orange with white here and there, and his ass still orange as well. His hair, which had been plastered to his forehead, was starting to dry now, and it only made you laugh some more thinking about what a pain it’d be to get it out. For him, at least.

“God. Can’t even have a relaxing day on the boat with you two.” Sam jested once you finished up and joined him and Bucky, who had just finished dumping out some water buckets. Bucky had changed his shirt and it looked like they tried wiping their faces, but Sam still had small lines of white down his face. “How ‘bout a couple of drinks? Surely you can’t ruin that too.”

“Ruin?” You gasped in mock offence. “Sammy! I just made the day more…interesting.”

Sam chuckled, ruffling Bucky’s hair, which still had orange streaks in it. “Let’s go get some beers.”

************

You chatted for a bit, mainly you and Sam with you asking how Sarah and the boys were while Bucky with your legs in his lap, just listening to you two and sipping at his bottle. You had his hand in your own lap, wiping it down with a rag due to the paint that got on it.

“You’re lucky this is vibranium, you know.” You commented off handedly. “If it was your other one, it’d definitely get stained.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Bucky shot back with a teasing grin.

“Sammy’s.”

Sam spluttered. “Wh-what?! You started it!” You laughed, shaking your head.

Falling into a comfortable silence with just the water and birds chirping as your soundtrack, you downed the rest of your drink, which Bucky took as finished. “Well,” you moved your legs to let him stand up. He leaned forwards to clink his bottle against Sam’s and you stood up and stretched. “Gotta catch our flight tomorrow. Get a hotel room for the night.” Sam gave you a look to which you rolled your eyes at as Bucky set down his bottle and grabbed his jacket. “Crash, you know?”

“So you’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?”

“Well I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.”

“Just stay here.” You laughed as Sam babbled on about how nice the people were here, grabbing the jacket Bucky handed to you. It was getting a bit chilly from the breeze on the water and the sun going down. Plus, that water was cold.

“But don’t flirt with my sister.”

You cackled at Bucky’s face, that turned serious, his head shaking. “No.”

“‘Cause if you do I’ll have Carlos cut you up and feed you to the fish.”

“Can’t hold back the dog, Wilson. It’s been stuck in a kennel too long.”

Bucky turned to you, grabbing your jaw and squishing your cheeks together. “You know what? You need to shush. You’ve been snippy all day.”

You just smiled as innocently as you could with your lips being held by his metal fingers. “You’re too fun to mess with.”

He pecked your nose. “As long as I’m the only one you’re messing with. I’ll be right back.” He let you go and spun around, maneuvering around the boat in a way only a trained assassin could do.

“Oh my God, please! Please just put me out of my fucking misery! You’re killing me, cher.”

“What?” You gaped at him.

“Don’t act innocent!” Sam huffed, giving you a pointed look. “If I have to watch you two make googly eyes at you one more fucking day with neither of you doing anything about it-”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, Sammy-”

“Don’t ‘come on, Sammy’ me! And don’t come at me with that ‘he doesn’t like me back’ bullshit. If you think for a second that boy wouldn’t follow you to the depths of the fucking ocean, you’re blind as a bat, woman.”

You shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of Bucky’s too big jacket. “It just…hasn’t come up.”

He deadpanned, shaking his head and standing up. “That’s it. I’m done. You two are driving me insane. I’m gonna lock you in a room until you have the conversation that needs to be had the next time either of you does something stupid.”

“Yikes. That’s gonna be quick.” At his look, your smile dropped and you nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll…I’ll bring it up later.”

“Tomorrow or nothing.”

“Sam-”

Sam tilted his head, brow creasing. “Is it still Steve? Is that what this is still about? Because he’s gone, and he’s been gone and you need to get over it-”

“No. It’s not…” You sighed. “It clicked the other day. When we were hanging out. Steve left and, yeah, I might always love him, but Bucky…God…I love Bucky, Sam.”

The man grinned proudly. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it. So what’s the problem?”

“It’s still complicated, right? I mean…he’s his best friend and I’ve never dealt with stuff like this before and-”

Sam’s smile dropped and he groaned again. “Imma head out. I can’t take this. Dumbass and dumberass. I swear to God.” You sniggered a bit as he grumbled, walking towards the ramp to climb off the boat, just as Bucky reappeared.

“Hey-”

“Nope! Not right now, Barnes! I can’t handle it! I can’t!”

Bucky gave you a weird look. “What’d you do?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“Well, c’mon, doll. Sarah said she’s gonna make gumbo for us, whatever that is.” He held out his hand as you walked over. 

“You’re such a city boy.” You teased lightly, taking his hand and letting him help you pull you onto the dock. You shoved the sleeves of his jackets up again since they slipped from the first time. “Let’s go get some dinner. I’m starving.”

******************

“We have the couch and a mattress we can pull out, I just have to make Sam get it from the attic-”

“That’s alright. The couch is fine.” Bucky waved dismissively while you nodded in agreement.

Sarah raised an eyebrow at you two. “For both of you?”

You blinked, exchanging a look with Bucky, before shrugging and turning back to her. “Yeah.”

“Don’t fight it, Sarah.” Sam peeked out from the hall. “They’ve got a weird relationship.” You stuck your tongue out at the man while Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping your duffle bag by the couch. “How mature, Y/N.” Sam mimicked your action.

“Uhm…okay. Let me set up the couch for you then.”

Once everything was set up, you and Bucky thanking her for dinner - delicious and you’d never seen Bucky smile so much, the boys having kept him highly entertained throughout the meal - and for letting you crash, Sam and Sarah headed to their rooms, the boys already having been tucked in for the night.

“Are you gonna sleep on the floor?” You asked quietly, sitting down on the couch and doing the things for your night routine you didn’t already do in the bathroom.

“I think I’ll be okay.” He sat besides you. “I’ve been doing fine the past week or so.”

You smiled at him. “That’s good. Alright.” You stood up and stretched. “Let me just make sure everything’s in the bag and ready-”

You yelped when his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest, shifting down to lay against the couch’s arm. “Do it in the morning.” He yawned, looking up at you tiredly. “I wanna go to sleep.”

“Then go to sleep, Buck. I’ll be right back.” He shook his head, his hold tightening as he sunk deeper into the couch.

“No. I fall asleep better with you.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned, settling down with your legs between his, your chin resting on his sternum so you could still look at him. He beamed, but you could see the exhaustion settling in, and he grabbed the blanket Sarah left over the back of the couch and draped it across your back, over both of your legs, before his arms crossed snugly under the covers at the small of your back.

“Dinner was nice tonight. I haven’t had a meal cooked like that in ages.” You hummed.

He nodded in agreement. “I think that’s the first time I’ve sat around a table with a family since the 40′s.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah...kinda makes me wish I had my own.”

“Your own what?”

“Family.”

You bit your lip, shyly avoiding his gaze. “You’re my family, Buck.”

A light kiss was pressed to your forehead, his fingers bringing your gaze back to his. “There’s no one else I’d rather have.” The room lapsed into silence again, the clock ticking on the wall, the low sound of crickets outside.

“You have really pretty eyes.” You mumbled, tilting your head slightly as you studied them. They always held so much emotion in them, especially in contrast to when you first met him as Soldat. They matched the water you fell in, and you wouldn’t mind falling over and over into them.

“Yeah, well, you’re just really pretty inside and out, so I think you’ve got me beat, doll.” He whispered back.

“You know who else is pretty? Sarah.”

He nodded with a hum. “That’s true. But I meant what I said. You’ll always be my doll.”

“So you’re not gonna ask her out?”

He gave you a weird look as you traced his sharp jawline absentmindedly. “Nah, sweetheart. It’s just…some harmless flirting. Except on Sam’s part.”

You gave a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah…he’s gonna strangle you. It is nice to see you like that, though. Flirty. Relaxed. Happy.”

“You make me happy, sweetheart.” He hummed, nosing your temple. “The road trip helped. I’m learning everything from you. Maybe not the flirting, but the carefree part.”

You blinked at him, finger stopping for a moment as you thought. “Oh…”

You felt his fingers dance up your spine, making you shiver slightly. “What I would give to know what’s goin’ on inside that pretty lil’ head’a yours, doll.”

“I just think it’s funny you’re learning how to be carefree from me…when I just started learning how to do it myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded, your finger continuing its path down his jaw. “I think it started with the goats.”

“The goats?”

You nodded again, resting your cheek on his chest, watching your finger move up from his chin. Once you got to the end of his jaw, you lightly scratched his scruff. “In Wakanda. Our goats.” You weren’t looking at him, so you didn’t see the way he physically melted at your words, his eyes going soft, his lips turning up slightly.

“Our goats, huh?”

But your tired brain wasn’t really processing what he said, instead focusing on the features your finger was now tracing - over his lips, up his nose. “You’re pretty too, Buck. Did you know that? Inside and out.”

He craned his neck to kiss your forehead. “Go to sleep, cuddle bug.”

Nodding, you nuzzled into his chest, finger feeling over the bumps and indents on the dog tags resting near your head. You tried going to sleep, but you kept shifting, your mind not shutting off.

“Hey, sleepyhead, I’m trying to, you know, sleep.”

“Sorry.” You apologized meekly. “I just…I dunno. I can’t.”

“Are you comfortable?” He peeked open and eye to look at you questioningly. You nodded. “Is it too hot? We can take the blanket off. I know I’m a walking furnace-”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t know why. I just can’t sleep.”

He licked his lips thoughtfully, before cradling your head and guiding you back down to his chest. “Lay down, sweetheart. Relax.” He stroked your hair, moving his head down to rub circles in your back muscles, pressing down harder when he felt knots. 

You hummed, your eyes closing. “That feels good.”

“Shshsh. Just go to sleep.” His lips pressed against your head once more, lingering a bit longer than they usually do, as you felt yourself drift off. You cuddled his side, throwing a leg over his waist, before nodding off, only barely hearing his words. “Attagirl. There we are.”

******************

“Doll?” You felt a shift underneath you and groaned, your eyes barely cracking open. “Hey, sleepyhead…it’s okay. I’m just gonna slip out from under ya, alright? Gonna go help Sammy with somethin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting him move you against the cushions as he sat up on the edge of the couch. “Sammy?”

“Yeah.” He bent over and kissed your cheek. You stretched out your limbs, about to rub your eyes, when he stopped you, kissing the inside of your wrists. “No. Not you, doll. Go back to sleep.” 

“Bu’...’m gonna help.” You slurred out, looking at him with confused, squinty eyes.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Rest. You can help when you wake up again. Okay?” You mumbled out an “okay”, bringing the covers up to your chin and snuggling deeper into the cushions. “There ya go, cuddle bug. Good girl.” There was another kiss, one to your temple this time, before you slipped back into unconsciousness.

******************

The next time you woke up was because of a clatter in the kitchen. You yawned and sat up, stretching, eyebrows furrowing when you realized Bucky wasn’t with you. It took you a moment to remember your conversation, which you half thought you dreamt.

“Boys!”

“Sorry!”

You chuckled at the shouts, rubbing your eyes. “I am so sorry!” Sarah apologized, looking over at you from the stove. Trying to make the boys breakfast before school. Do you want anything? Eggs? Cereal? Toast?”

“Uh, cereal’s fine.” You stretched out your back again, before throwing back the covers and standing up, a little shakily.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Sam went, would you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh, I think him and Bucky went to fix something on the boat. I don’t for sure, though.”

Sarah groaned. “He probably went to fix the stupid water pump which doens’t need fixing. Dumbass.”

You chuckled, padding over into the kitchen. “Yeah. I just work with him. I can’t imagine growing up with him.”

“Trust me; some days you want to throw him in a box and send him out to sea. Bowls are in that cupboard.”

You snickered, moving over to grab a bowl from the cupboard she pointed to. “That’s how I feel with Bucky. Sam is less often, but when those two get together…it’s a full zoo.”

She laughed at that, nodding as she got out the milk and a few boxes of cereal for you to choose from, handing you a spoon. “That I believe.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You started pouring your cereal, watching in slight amusement as she got the boys ready for school. “Bus is here! Get out the door! Bye! Love you! Make sure you take those extra lunches to-!”

“Yeah, mom! We know! Love you too!”

You gave a slight smirk as she huffed, looking around the kitchen at the pans and dishes left out. “Kids, huh?”

She gave you a smile. “Yeah. They’re a handful, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. How about you? Any thoughts of kids?”

“Me?” Your eyes widened, nearly choking on your food. “Oh God no. Not right now, at least. I don’t even have a solid house right now. My life’s too off the walls for that.”

“And Bucky?”

You raised an eyebrow as she leaned on the counter. “Bucky? What about Bucky?”

“Does he want kids?”

“Uh…I dunno.” You shrugged, clearing your throat as you remembered your talk last night. “Kinda makes me wish I had my own.” You quickly pushed his words aside. “He hasn’t told me.”

“Wait, wait. You two…aren’t together then?”

You blinked, your eyes widening again. “Together? Me and Bucky? No…why? Did Sam say something?”

Her expression morphed into one of disbelief, crossing her arms. “Sam didn’t say anything. You guys did. Are you seriously expecting me to believe you aren’t together?”

“We’re not! I mean - he was flirting with you yesterday-”

“Right, okay. Honey, that’s flirting. And it’s harmless. The way he follows you like a puppy and you look at him like he hung the stars? That’s feelings. And that’s a lot more impactful than flirting.”

You frowned in contemplation. It was really that obvious? You were really that blind? This whole time? You knew Sam knew - but you just figured that’s because he’s been there since it started. And Sharon knew for the same reason. But Sarah? The woman you just met the day prior and had barely had a conversation with?

“It’s, uh…” You chewed on your cheek, swirling your cereal around. “It’s complicated.”

Sarah didn’t look impressed. “Do you like him?”

“I’m kinda in love with him-”

She shrugged, not letting you finish your bashful statement. “Then I don’t see what’s complicated about it.”

And that was that. She turned to clean up breakfast, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You thought it was more complicated than that. I mean…you were in love with your best friend. Who left you. With the guy you had feelings for who just so happened to be your best friend/crush’s best friend. And now you were completely in love with your best friend’s best friend, but your best friend still had a piece of your heart.

But…you loved Bucky. And he was here. And Steve was not. And when you put it that way…you guess it wasn’t so complicated after all.

******************

You snickered as you walked up behind Sarah, the woman berating the men for not leaving the water pump along like she asked.

“Hi, Sarah.”

Sam shot Bucky a warning look, who grinned, but you were surprised to see Sarah ignore him, sending you a knowing glance instead, before turning back to Sam. “I told you specifically that the water pump was not the problem, and yet, here you are.”

“Yep, Samuel.”

You chuckled, Bucky shooting you a wink. “Yeah, Samuel.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at you, turning to Sarah. “In our defense, you were supposed to be done long before you woke up.”

You nearly facepalmed at his “defensive” and you were trying so hard to hold back laughing as she told Sam off, sending them away.

“I don’t wanna hear a peep from you.” Sam pointed at you, but that only made your chortles come out, and you didn’t even bother hiding them. “She’s a very mean person.”

“It’s tough love.”

You giggled as they started arguing, slipping an arm around their waists, their arms instinctually coming up to your shoulders.

“Oh my God. A prowess?”

“Yes, Y/N. A prowess.”

“You know, maybe if you someone let me help-”

“Hey, woah! You were tired! I let you sleep! I was being nice!”

“Too late now. I’ll be lucky if Sarah lets me within a hundred feet of it!”

“She got you so good, Sammy!”

“I agree with Buck for once! You’re too snippy right now! And c’mon man! Stop flirting with my sister!”

“It’s my natural charm.”

“Charm? What charm?”

“Ouch, doll! That one hurt!”

****************

“Okay.” You stepped out of the bathroom, walking over to the couch and setting the bag down on it. “I’ve got everything packed. We’ve got a little over an hour until we need to head out which gives you two time to go set something up for Sammy and maybe even a bit or training before we leave.” 

Bucky frowned. “You’re not gonna come out?”

“I will in a bit. I just got a phone call I need to take.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Government call?”

You gave a mocking smile. “Can you guess what they want to talk about? It’s okay. I’ll survive. It’s only a phone call, so I can always hang up. Pretend I didn’t have good service. I do it all the time.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sam chuckled. “In that case, I’m gonna go grab some stuff and get the shield.” As he walked out, he made sure to mouth at you behind Bucky’s back ‘conversation’ making you swallow thickly. You were planning on talking to Bucky anyways, and with Sam’s insistence…

“Okay, so, I was thinking when we get back-”

“Can I talk to you?”

Bucky stopped digging through the bag, blinking at you in surprise at your sudden burst. “Uh…well, we already are, so yes.” He chuckled, straightening and crossing his arms.

“I wanna have the conversation.”

He was left stunned, once again, his mouth opening and closing and his weight shifting form one foot to the other. “Like…that conversation? R-right now? Are you sure?”

You winced at her nervousness. “Sorry, sorry. I know it’s kinda…I just…I need to talk about it. Now.”

“Okay, okay. No, that’s fine. Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Bucky cleared his throat. “That’s all.”

“Okay…” You breathed with a small nod. You opened your mouth, but Bucky shook his head.

“I hafta say this first; I didn’t mean to hurt you by telling you about Steve. I-I dunno what I thought. That it’d give you closure or something. I dunno. But it hurt you and I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Buck-”

“I was jealous. And guilty. And mad. And upset. I still am. Kinda. I guess. I dunno.” Bucky shook his head, running his hand through his hair and all you could do was gape at him as he started confessing to you. “Remember when we danced? In Madripoor? Doll…I don’t wanna dance ever again if it’s not with you. I fucking love you, Y/N. And not in the way we’ve said it before. I’m in love with you. I have been for-for a while now. I just - you were Steve’s. Steve loved you and you loved Steve and that was that and I was just the broken childhood best friend. But Steve left and he told me to take care of you and I didn’t know what to do with that, because you still love Steve. I think. I dunno. And I didn’t want to break what we have because you’re all I have left of him. You and that stupid shield. You’re my family. My home. I really meant it when I told you that. And that’s why I couldn’t tell you. Because it means too much for me to break what we have because I fell in love with my best friend’s girl. You know?”

He looked at you with pleading eyes, begging you to understand, but your brain was still trying to process what he was telling you.

“Oh God…” He groaned. “And now I just told you everything and you’re looking at me like that wasn’t what you wanted to hear and now I’m thinking this wasn’t the conversation you were thinking it was going to be-”

You were moving across the room before you could stop yourself, pulling him by the teal Henley you knew was comfortable having worn it to bed before when you visited him in New York, and slanting your lips over his.

His breathing hitched and he froze, and for a hot second you thought you made everything worse, but then he was kissing you back and his hands were on your hips and he was pulling you closer and it felt so fucking good you didn’t want to pull back for air.

“Shut up.” You muttered when you finally did pull back, your forehead against his, your eyes clenched shut. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.” You pulled back to look up at him, chests heaving against each other, your eyes prickling. “I’m not good at this. I’m not good at opening up. I only ever was good at it with Steve but Bucky…I’ve been doing it with you. This whole time and I didn’t even realize it until the conversation in the car.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, wiping away the relieved tears that were falling from the weight you were finally getting off your chest.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. How could I not be? After all that time in Wakanda? I was never Steve’s girl, Bucky. I wanted to be. Dammit, did I wanna be, but I wasn’t. Not really. And he’s gone. But you’re not. And I don’t know why it took me so long to see that. That you’re the one in front of me. You’re the one who held me when I needed it once he left. You’re the one that would listen to my rambles that I’m just realizing was most of our phone calls. You’re not just the broken childhood friend. Don’t ever think that. I don’t pick up the phone at five in the morning after searching for a friend until two for just anyone. Even Steve’s best friend. And I’m such an idiot because I’ve been pushing away my feelings all these years for Steve and then I let them out with you at the wrong time, because I love Steve, Bucky, but I’m not in love with him. Not since I fell in love with you. And I know it doesn’t make sense, but Steve was the first one I cared about and that’s just how I feel and I can try to explain, but-”

His lips crashed onto yours again and you could taste the salty tears that were pouring down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. He was holding you and he was kissing you and it was even more perfect than you thought it’d be.

“You’re adorable when you ramble, but Jesus Christ, shuddup, doll.” He breathed. “Just tell me you love me. Tell me you love me just a fraction of how much I love you.”

You looked up into those ocean eyes, your own shining with earnest affection. “James Buchanan Barnes. I love you.”

“That’s all I need to know.” He murmured against your lips, holding your head against his, still wiping away your tears. It felt like with each one that fell, you felt lighter and lighter. Like they were taking away every fear and anxiety you held within you for the past six months.

“Alright! I was thinking we could just set up in these trees out here - holy shit! Is it done? Did you do it? Did I miss it? Has the conversation been had?”

Bucky chuckled as you giggled. “He has the worst timing.” The last two words were loud enough so Sam could hear, although the man heard the whole sentence. 

“I’m gonna take that as a yes!” Sam cheered. “Halle-fucking-lujah! Finally! I was that close to locking you two in the attic.”

You shook your head at Sam’s personal celebration, drowning the rest of his words out as you looked at Bucky, who swept his thumb over your cheek catching one last tear, before pecking your lips.

“I finally get to kiss where I really want to.” He spoke softly, kissing your lips again. “Are you mine, doll?”

“I thought you said I’d always be your doll.” You answered cheekily. He grinned, kissing you again, pulling you against him by the hips.

“Okay, okay! That’s enough! We get it! You’re in love, finally, but I don’t wanna see it anymore! Now will you come help me with this shit?”

Bucky left one more lingering kiss on your lips, before you pushed him away reluctantly. “I’ll be right out.”

He nodded, moving over to help Sam carry the things he’d gathered.

You watched them put it all up from the window, gnawing on your cheek as you spun your phone in your hands. Coming to a decision, you tossed your phone in the duffle bag and walked out with it just as the boys finished.

“That was a quick phone call.” Sam raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “Didn’t call them. If they really need me, they’ll find me.”

Bucky grinned as you set the bag down under a tree, pecking your lips when you got close enough for him to grab by the waist to hold you against him. You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully away and giggling as Sam let out a groan.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got, Sammy.”

~

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Bucky knew he needed the tough love talk Sam was giving him. He needed to hear it. Because, deep down, he had known it all along, he just refused to believe it. He tried doing it. Making amends. He knew he wasn’t though. And of course he knew immediately who that one person would be.

“And hey.” Bucky looked at him. “Let me tell you what. Telling my girl all that you told her? That’s a good start. I’m proud of you. Both of you. You’re already happier. I can see it in your eyes.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he thought of the gorgeous woman he nearly let slip through his fingers. He looked over to the house, where she was inside somewhere getting ready after suddenly deciding she needed to shower before they left. “I was stupid.”

“Yeah you were. You both were. I’m so relieved it’s over.” Sam nudged him. “Treat her right, Buck. She deserves it.”

“I know…I just hope I can.”

Sam shook his head. “Uh-uh. Don’t do that. You were just starting to use that cyborg brain of yours! She chose you. And before you say anything,” Sam cut Bucky off from speaking as he opened his mouth to object. “She chose you before Steve left. It just took her dumbass this long to realize it.”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Yeah…okay…” Before he could say anything, the goddess herself stepped out, jogging over, looking absolutely amazing in her jeans and his t-shirt. “Good talk.”

Sam laughed at his quick ending of the conversation as she came up besides them. “Talking about me?” She asked cheekily, eyes shining. Bucky couldn’t help but take her under his arm, pecking her lips. Now that he could, he didn’t think he could stop. He was addicted to say the least.

Throwing Bucky a wink, Sam shrugged. “Just all the things that get on our nerves.”

“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes. “We better get going.”

Bucky and Sam clapped hands. “You know Karli won’t quit.”

Bucky smiled. “Ah. You call us when you have a lead and we’ll be there.”

Y/N stepped forwards to give Sam a hug. “Anytime, Sammy.”

“Eh. Anytime between noon and midnight.” Bucky corrected. “Or noon and ten. Noon and five…you better just call at noon to be safe.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure.”

“Not necessarily as a team.” Bucky continued, grabbing the bag, getting Y/N back in her spot at his side under his arm.

“Nope!”

“We’re not that good.”

“Definitely not.”

“We’re professionals.”

“Definitely.”

“And, uh, we’re partners.”

Sam snapped, pointing at him. “Coworkers.”

“But we’re also a couple of guys with a couple mutual friends.”

“Ones now gone and you’re dating the other.”

“So we’re a couple of guys…with a badass to help out.”

“I can live with that.”

“Perfect.”

“Oh my God.” Y/N let out that laugh Bucky could never get enough of, shaking her head at the two of them. “You forgot dumbasses.”

Sam shook his head. “Nuh-uh. That’s your couple name.”

“Dumbasses?”

“Oh yeah.” The three of them came to a stop, Bucky and his girl - God he loved confirming it now - facing Sam. “Thanks for the help, guys. Meant a lot.”

Bucky patted his shoulder. “Of course.”

Y/N shot him a wink. “Until we meet again, Sammy.”

“Until then, cher.”

Bucky couldn’t stop his grin as she wrapped her arms around his waist, the two of them starting to walk to the main road where she already ordered an Uber. He looked down at her, kissing her lips for the nth time in the past hour.

“I wish I didn’t wait so long,” he told her seriously. “But I’d wait a thousands more centuries if it meant I get to call you mine.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “You’re such a sap! But…” she moved up to kiss him and his heart stuttered. He knew he had a goofy grin on when she pulled back, but he couldn’t help it. Especially when she laughed again. “I have to agree with you on that, Buckaroo.”

[ikeromantic]

Thanks for the tag @the12thnightproject!

I have so many WIPs. So very very many. So I will only post from the ones I am actively working on and not my graveyard ^_^

From Trouble with a Capital C:

“Don’t,” Emma told him. Her voice sounded surprisingly calm. “It will really be better for all of us if you just let them go.”

The purple-faced bandit laughed. “Willing to sacrifice yourself for them, eh? Don’t worry. We won’t hurt them much. Or you, as long as they behave.”

Cyran winced. That word. It wasn’t going to end well for these bandit-mercs anyway, but now? Well, these guys deserved it. Holding a woman hostage was a coward’s tactic.

“I always behave,” Clavis grinned. “I am a refined gentleman.” 

2. From Kitsune's Captive:

“I can spend time with you, like this. Show you at my side, willing, happy.” His smile fell and his eyes grew hard and cold. “Or I can keep you under guard, alone, unseen. Captive. An ally of necessity rather than choice.”

Akiko frowned. “So now we’re back to threats?”

Mitsuhide reached for her, sliding a fingertip along her jaw. He tipped up her chin. “Not a threat. Simply the options available to us. I know which I prefer. What about you?”

3. From Love of the Magi:

"We need to get her back. This place is dangerous for her. What if-"

"I hear you, Napoleon. But if the entire cabal could not manage, why do you think I can?" Le Comte did not look up from his book except to reach for a tea.

The girl pulled her hand free and glared at them both. "You can't keep me here! This is kidnapping! I'll call the police!"

Reading through the other WIPs, I have to say they all sound great. I want to read about Sasuke's booty call and Mitsunari's birthday and Elias (what is this from?? It sounds great!) and sassy Clavis! I wish I could read/write fanfic instead of doing my dayjob.

Last Lines Tag

I was tagged by @lookbluesoup!

Rules: Write the latest line from each of your wips (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are wips you are working on.

As he spoke, a gesture of Artoirel's hand indicated the foot of the sofa and the pieces of armor arranged there as if recently removed - as if, Aymeric realized somewhat belatedly, the comte had but recently been performing the offices of a squire for his adopted sister.

I don't know remotely enough people to tag according to the rules, but I will tag @violettduchess, @greyias, @storyknitter, and @aquagirl1978.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

destructive

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky confesses his feelings for you and why that scares him.

word count: 990 words.

warnings/tags: none. a little of angst maybe??? just bucky being a puppy.

author notes: this was my first story (in english) written for bucky three years ago. i posted it on my other blog, but nobody used to read for him and it has a special place in my heart, so i wanted to post it here. i hope you like it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

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Your eyes snap open by the sound of whispers passing away the door of your room. Rolling over the mattress to grab your phone from the nightstand, you check the hour on it. The guys have come back more late than normally from —what was supposed to be— an easy mission. Focusing your hearing on the heavy steps walking through the huge hallway, you only can count two people. Steve and Sam. Where is Bucky? You scowl inevitably tossing the sheets away and leading your bare feet to the exit of your dorm.

The lights are turned off outside, only the pollution from the city that never sleeps keeps it barely illuminated. Continuing your path to the meeting room, where James likes to enjoy the views since it has the largest window in the penthouse, you glance at his anatomy inside the gloomy place through the glass wall-like. His gaze is lost somewhere in the jungle of buildings that shapes New York. A rocks glass is held by his right hand with —what you think— vodka inside. Not sure of walking in, you wait a couple of seconds studying his posture, trying to figure out what could have happened. Bucky doesn’t move a muscle in the next minute, really worrying you.

Not doubting much more, you make your way to his position, silent like a cat; although he knew you were there from the very first moment. You lick your bottom lip briefly raising a hand to the union between his skin and the cold metal. It always calms him down. On the reflection, you can watch him close his eyes when your fingertips touch him over the rough fabric of his leather jacket. Moving them to his neck slowly, without rushing, you wrap your arm around it as the other surrounds his lower abdomen.

Bucky let out a sigh when, on your tiptoes and using the tip of your nose to put away some locks of dark-brown hair, you place a kiss on his nape with so much tenderness and care. The soldier is not a man of body contact, still getting used to being back to reality —one year after—, but there’s something about you he can’t explain. Like the music that tames the beasts, you can control his heartbeat and push away the darkness from him.

“I, uh... I may be falling in love with you...” Bucky confesses in a wrecked thread of voice, hurrying for a sip of his drink to find some encouragement.

It doesn’t really take you by surprise. You feel the same. And you feel his devotion and adoring for you in every single way of acting with you. None could deny it.

“But it terrifies me”.

With so much delicacy, the soldier moves away from you to turn around and face you, resting his back against the huge glass. His head is bowed towards his boots, not being capable of looking at you as you have noticed the shame hidden behind his words. Steve had told you about Bucky before you met him —before he found him, due you were one of the first people who the Captain trusted in. James is quite the opposite now. He’s mostly in silence, watching his back more than he’d like to recognize. Something easy-to-understand, keeping in mind what he has been through since being captured by HYDRA.

“In my life… there are no good things… but you. I— I destroy everything around me… I can’t see the li— light”. As he raises his chin, you can see his oceanic and deep eyes covered in tears. His lips shivering. His nose wrinkling with a sniff. “I do— don’t want to… destroy you”.

“Bucky…” The consternation takes control of your vocals, quickly shortening the distance between the two of you to cup his cheek into your palms. “James, you won’t destroy me. You won’t hurt me in any way…”

The soldier can’t help but laugh bitterly, cleaning his tears using his forearm before taking a long sip till emptying the drink.

“Look at me. Look at me, please…” Urging him to put his eyes on you after placing his gaze away for a second, he simply obeys. “You are a good man, James. You are not responsible for your past. You are not a monster, nor a robot, nor the Winter Soldier anymore, you hear me?”

Bucky nods his head gulping a soft sob, inhaling by his nostrils as your left hand lands over his heart whilst the other remains to warm his cheek.

“You won’t destroy me”. You reply then, keeping a firm tone of voice. “I will stay by your side anyway, no matter what. I will help you whenever you need me. I will close your open wounds, and chase away the demons of your past”.

“How are yo— you so sure?”

“'Cause you’re wrong, Bucky… You’re looking for the light outside when it’s right there”. Pointing at his heart, he feels the imperious necessity of grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kisses it, once and again in silence. “I will fight for you. For your light. For your future. And you can’t change my mind, alright?”

He knows that last thing. He knows how stubborn you can be sometimes. But he loves it. Leaning his head closer, he presses his lips close to the corner of yours, leaving them there for some long seconds as you close your eyes by inertia. His hand is still holding yours, tightly, connecting your chests by the touch of each other. And you can swear you feel his heart beating under his clothes, under his skin.

“Can I— Can I stay to— tonight with you?” Stuttering, Bucky rests his forehead on yours, praying anything he knows to not receive a no in response.

“Please”. You ask him back, showing to the soldier a tender and lovely smile curving your mouth slightly. “Stay with me tonight”.

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