#am i going to make it? how many more years of this? do i have time to make it to Heaven?

[russilton]

George has opened up a bit more about his dad in a new article for the daily main (without paywall below) and it's a genuinely gut wrenching read. If you want to go in knowing while George doesn't acknowledge it as such, his descriptions of his dad's behaviour are very clearly abusive.

It’s poolside at the Ritz-Carlton, South Beach, Miami, and a sun from central casting beams down. Just beyond the adjacent cream sands the day before a shark was spotted amid the white caps of the Atlantic.

Some observers gawped. Many recorded the scene on their phones, quelle surprise, while those in the water rushed to dry land with almost comic alarm, the terrified tripping as they waded to safety.

Now all is quiet, and staff bring over watermelon juice as George Russell sits down to talk. Aged 27, the Norfolk-born driver has contended with the sharp-toothed critters of Formula One to emerge as the outstanding British performer of today.

His consistently accomplished drives for Mercedes this season, and the end of last, underline his rightful status as successor as team leader to no less than Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion he acknowledges as the GOAT.

Russell’s route to Formula One was not travelled on a red carpet. He picks up the story of a hard taskmaster father, Steve, and his protective mother, Alison, of their parental rows over his treatment, and the £1.5million they scrimped and saved to fund his career – and tells for the first time how he has now repaid them every penny of their investment.

‘It was hard,’ he says of his father’s tough love. ‘From the age of seven to 16 you are not mature enough to recognise what your parents are doing for you.

‘My father was working every day from seven in the morning to nine at night to earn his money to take me racing at the weekend. As a kid you question, “Where’s dad?” Oh, he’s at work. “Why’s he at work?”

‘And then we go racing and he is quite stressed from his job. And if I was making silly mistakes, he’d be dead angry with me. In those eight years, there were happy times, but there are lots of sad memories from my parents fighting because of how hard my father was being on me. My mum was trying to hold it all together.

‘It was, “You’re not winning.” The expectation was to be on pole and win every race, at least always be on the podium. Even times when I did win, it wasn’t sunshine and glory on the way home. It was, “But you could have done this better, done that better.”

‘He has moulded me into the guy I am today. He would always want the glass full. He would see where I could have improved while never seeing the positives. I continue the mentality of looking at where I could have done better, while ensuring I see the positives. Otherwise, it can be a very slippery slope.

‘I can now see it with my brother: his kids are starting go-karting and he is working his a*** off to give them the chance. Life isn’t simple, with the stress of work and the rest. And I will forever be grateful for what my dad did.’

‘I just accepted the way he dealt with me. I accepted that if I didn’t win, he wouldn’t be happy with me. And that the journey home would be a long one, and most likely end in tears.’

Did young George get the silent treatment?

‘No, I’d be b******ed,’ he recalls. ‘I see it now that kids who are born with a silver spoon in their mouths don’t have the same work ethic as those who had massive discipline over them from a young age.

‘My father was working every day from seven in the morning to nine at night to earn his money to take me racing at the weekend.'

‘If I could turn back the clock knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t change a single thing’

‘So, from my father’s perspective, would he wish that for those six, seven, eight years that he had a closer relationship with his son? Maybe. But those years set me up for life.

‘If I could turn back the clock knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t change a single thing.’

How is Russell’s relationship with your father now, I wonder. Closer?

‘Hmm, yeah,’ he says. ‘What was amazing with my father is that when I was signed by Mercedes (on their Young Driver Programme eight years ago) he opened the cage door and let me fly.

'It went from being a super-controlling, super-emotional, b******ing every time I didn’t do well, to suddenly feeling he could pass me on to the next chapter.

‘Now he supports me from afar every single session. He is taking care of grandkids.’

Steve Russell was involved in agriculture, a seed and wheat merchant – his factory a first port of call after harvesting prior to distribution. ‘He sold the business to fund my racing,’ adds Russell. ‘In 2012.’ Russell was just 14 then.

‘For where we lived, my father was an exceptionally successful man. But in that industry success was making a profit. Now we are in a world of unrealistic wealth with billionaires around us.

The Norfolk-born 27-year-old has now made 133 grand prix starts, with three race wins

Mercedes boss Toto Wolff’s ardour for world champion Max Verstappen seems to have waned, just as Russell’s results increasingly make their own argument

He is out of contract this year but remains confident of re-signing. His results should make that a slam dunk

Russell's new Mercedes AMG One, which has a top speed of 219mph and accelerates from 0-186mph in 15.6sec

‘We could have lived a very happy life had he not done that. I have paid everything back that he spent on me. I made it clear that as soon as I made money, I wanted to pay everything off. It was about £1.5m.’

The dividend can be measured, among other achievements, in the car Russell has just bought – the AMG One supercar. A limited edition of 275, the coupe was initially listed at $2.7m (£2m). It has a top speed of 219mph and accelerates from 0-186mph in 15.6sec.

It is the first car Russell has ever bought, having started on the road in a white Polo bought by his parents – 60bhp, top speed of 100mph with a following wind. And there was no reduction for Mercedes’ top driver for his new car. He chose a navy blue that glistens in the sun. His racing number – 63 – is inscribed at his request.

He intends keeping the car forever (despite receiving an offer worth double what he gave for it), to go with his company G Wagon and the vintage 300 SL he hopes to add to his portfolio.

Three cars – that’s ‘all’ he wants in his garage at home in Monaco; no huge collection. All are Mercedes, we note, a telling symbol of his commitment to the Silver Arrows.

He is out of contract this year but remains confident of re-signing. His results should make that a slam dunk. Both he and boss Toto Wolff are talking optimistically of a successful conclusion, probably this month or next.

Helpfully, Wolff’s ardour for world champion Max Verstappen seems to have waned, just as Russell’s results increasingly make their own argument.

With Russell in Miami, as she is at most of his races, is his Spanish girlfriend Carmen Montero Mundt, 26. She did not know he was a racing driver when he stood in for a friend who was due to go on a date with her. That was in London in 2020. She is upstairs on the terrace as George and I talk. He pays her this tribute as his rock in a volatile world.

With Russell in Miami, as she is at most of his races, is his Spanish girlfriend Carmen Montero Mundt, 26

The Mercedes driver has paid tribute to his girlfriend, labelling her his rock in a volatile world

She did not know he was a racing driver when he stood in for a friend who was due to go on a date with her back in 2020 in London

‘As for Carmen I feel lucky having her around. She is my emotional support in the world of instability I live in.'

‘I left school at 13 and have very few friends to be honest,’ he says. ‘It can be a lonely life. You are in different hotels, different countries, different time zones, different climates.

‘Mondays are emotional hangover days after a race. A slap in the face if you are on a high after a good result, and a slap in the face after a bad one if you dwell on it. I play padel to get my mind off things, rather than sit inside scrolling through social media.

‘As for Carmen I feel lucky having her around. She is my emotional support in the world of instability I live in. I wouldn’t change anything in my life now or what went before.’

Now he is off for a run – a peaceful 7km, next to the ocean where the sharks prowl.

[mysterymachine67]

heyya! bro if I give you everything that's in the list of the things I wanna do to dean Winchester ass, it'd be like dropping a nuclear viagra bomb because jesus I'm down bad 😭

but MY NUMBER ONE I SWEAR I shared this to everyone on here not irl is. dilf reader ladies and gentlemen and not just nonchalant calm dilf no where's the fun and attitude in that? I mean like I mean like a downbad pervert dilf for dean but he never says anything because even he thought it's creepy, until either he walked into dean jacking off to his stolen clothing or like dean bluntly admitting during their drunken state?? IDK DILF READER GOT ME ON A CHOKEHOLD OR EVEM SUBTOP DILF?? BECAUSE COCKY DEANAAAAA

or if you're not into the pervert dilf line, anything relating to reader being older than dean can make my dick cry and ascend

PAIRING -> Dean Winchester x Older M!reader

SUMMARY -> You’ve had a little crush on Dean for a while, but you never told him because 1. You’re older than him by a couple years and 2. You’re sure he’s not even into men. But one day when you hear something from his room, you think maybe it’s the day you do something about it.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I think I love you, anon. Also you sent this back in March and I want to APOLOGIZE. I am so very sorry 😭

You liked him. You liked him a lot actually. To the point where it even creeped you out yourself. Every time you’d work with them for a hunt, or go visit them Dean always caught your eye. He was a complete ladies man, no way in hell did you have a chance. Also with your age. You assumed he wasn’t into older women, or even men. But little did you know you were so, so wrong.

The bunker was quiet as you walked through the door. Sam had called about needing your help on a hunt, so you took it, of course. You got to help them and see the man you love? Hell yeah. But while on the phone Sam said that he’d be out for a few hours, so it’ll only be you and Dean till he got back. In your opinion it was even better.

You sat your bags down onto the one of many tables. The thud echoing a bit. You didn’t see Dean in any of his usual spots. Probably in his room. Not that it..mattered or anything. So, without anything better to do, you walked to the kitchen. Attempting to find yourself a snack, or even a drink. In which you did. Walking out of the room with your preferred option. You probably should be opening books, looking online for more information about what happened, and trying to figure out what you guys were dealing with. Buuut you decided to roam the halls instead. Yes, you already know your way around the place. Yet that didn’t seemed to faze you.

After walking down one hallway, you turned down the one with Dean’s room. Silently getting a bit excited. Your steps were quiet, not intentionally. But they were quiet enough to where nobody could hear them unless they tried. You couldn’t help it. You stopped right in front of Dean’s door. It was quiet in there, or so it seemed to be. Maybe he was sleeping, taking a nap? Or maybe even listening to music. Nope. The moment you pressed your ear against the door, because why not? You heard a muffled moan.

You have got to get your mind out of the gutter. He probably wasn’t even doing what you thought he was doing. Yeah no you were right. Out of every sound that left him you swear you heard your name in between at least two times. It was clear. Broad as daylight. Now the thought of Dean Winchester jerking off to you, a man that is much older than him, is stuck in your mind. You thought about the face he was making— how pretty he must look, and how long had he been trying to get off. If it were to be you in there, hand wrapped around his cock, would he be even louder than he is now? Would he buck his hips into your hand, begging for more?

Oh you wonder what he sounds like when he—

No, get your head in the game. You have a man jerking off, whimpering behind the door you were currently pressing your ear against. What should you do? Walk away and pretend that this isn’t happening? Or walk in and have the best sex you’ve probably had with the man you’ve been crushing on? Choices, choices, choices.

You’d hate to admit, but your cock was hard. Pressed up against the confinement of your boxers and pants. After a few very long seconds you decide to just walk away. Figuring that’d be the best option. But then just as you start to move your feet, you hear Dean moan your name again. That was the final straw. Your hand found itself on the doorknob, twisting. Thankfully it was unlocked, otherwise it’d be super embarrassing if it wasn’t. And ohhhh this is the sight you’ve been wanting to see. Dean’s hand was wrapped around his cock, hand covered in his own cum, face twisted into a look of pleasure, while his cock was an angry shade of red while twitching. Would it be wrong to say you nearly came in your pants right then and there?

You walked in, shutting the door behind you. When he heard that door click shut his eyes shot open. Hands scrambling to hide his hard-on with the blanket next to him. “What the hell, man?”

“Uh, uh. Don’t act as if you weren’t just moaning my name not too long ago.” You stated, bluntly. And all he did was look at you, confused. Knowing damn well he was just doing that. He was caught, there really wasn’t much to do in this situation. So, he swallowed—looking away for a moment. He refused to have eye contact.

“Listen, I don’t know what you mean,” His eyebrows were raised slightly, and he shrugged. “So if you could get out, that’d be great.” You were going to do anything but that.

You soon got Dean to crack; admitting that he was indeed jerking off to you.

Just as you walked away from his bed, not to leave, but to just roam his room. He called out, stopping you from leaving because to him it seemed like you were. He wanted it, wanted you. Especially to feel your cock hit his prostate with every—

Woah.

He looked down. He had to, because every time he looked at you it just turned him in even more. His cock twitching under the blanket he hid it with.

“‘M not leaving just yet. We haven’t even gotten started,”

—

Dean’s lips crashed against yours—groaning when he felt your hands roam up under his shirt. The kiss was heated but passionate. Something the both of you have been waiting for. He was sat on your lap, your hand around his cock. Jerking him off while your other was feeling him all over. But you wanted to see more of him. So you pulled your hands away, Dean letting out a small groan from the loss of your touch, and helped him take off his shirt. The moment it was off he pulled you back in for another kiss. God, could he let you catch your breath?

By the time your cock was deep in his hole, abusing his prostate, Dean was already nearly out of it. Noises flooding from his mouth, movements getting sloppier and sloppier by the minute, and hands grabbing at whatever he could grab at. And you? You were enjoying this. Who wouldn’t? You have a man that you’ve loved forever bouncing on your cock, which feels like heaven. You moaned into his mouth when he clenched. With how good he felt you couldn’t get enough, bucking your hips up slightly. Driving your cock deeper into him. You shut your eyes and leaned your head back, soon feeling lips on your neck. They trailed up to your jaw, peppering kisses everywhere he could. “Jesus—“ Dean groaned—breath hitting your skin. “Feel s’good,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “Yeah?”

“Mmm..” he tried. One of your hands trailed down his back, feeling his skin against your palm. You groaned, absolutely loving and reeling in the moment.

You were sure the both of you would want way more after this. Him riding you was amazing, yes, but you knew in a matter of minutes after the both of you would cum, you’d want more. And oh, you were right. When you saw how he looked when he came, and how such pretty noises left his mouth, you pulled him off your cock and pushed him into a position that left him exposed. Leaning in closer to him you whispered:

“Y’gonna let me fuck you good?”

And Dean responded with a quick nod.

[angelsuecult]

perfect places | s. crosby

warnings: none? maybe some language

summary: Sidney ends up helping you through the overwhelming world that is hockey gear what was once a shopping trip for your daughter leaves you with something more.

request: Would you be able to write a Sidney Crosby x mom!reader story? Like how she has a kid that maybe is on a little league hockey team and the Penguins go to like a practice or something to help out. Or maybe she out shopping for hockey gear for her kid because they want to do hockey and need the gear? She could maybe looking at equipment and looks a little lost and her comes over and helps.

word count: 9.3k

a/n: back with another for you guys! i hope you enjoy it and once again original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if you hate it or anything! requests remain open and i'm hoping to get a few more out this week!

—

You woke up to tiny feet climbing onto your bed. Not just climbing—launching, full-body flopping, elbow-first into your ribs like it was a wrestling match and she had a score to settle. You’d meant to wake up before her today, but apparently five-year-olds don’t care about alarms, or bones, or sleep-deprived parents.

“Mom,” she whispered, even though she was nose-to-nose with you. “Mommy. You awake?”

“I am now,” you groaned, half-laughing as you peeled one eye open. Her little curls were wild and pointing in five directions, cheeks flushed from sleep, a faint pillow line creasing one of them. She looked like a cartoon character and an angel at the same time.

“I had a dream I scored five goals.”

You blinked at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. And they gave me a trophy and then—then everyone chanted my name. And guess what?”

“What?”

“They were chanting ‘the pink rocket.’”

You blinked again, slower this time. “The pink rocket?”

She nodded, dead serious. “That’s my hockey name.”

“Well,” you said, shifting to sit up and gather her into your lap, “I don’t know how many pink things they make for hockey but I guess we’re about to find out, huh?”

She gasped. “You’re going today? To get my stuff?”

You kissed her cheek, already halfway dragging both of you out from under the covers. “Yup. After I drop you off. I’ll go right after.”

She cheered and clapped, and then ran full-speed out of the bedroom with a yell of, “I gotta find my pink water bottle! I need it if I’m gonna be a rocket!”

Your apartment was small but cozy, lived-in. Art made of crayon and washable markers adorned the fridge, and a pair of tiny sneakers were tucked sideways by the door no matter how many times you straightened them. You got her dressed while she told you all about what a good hockey player does—“they skate fast and they don’t fall unless they do it on purpose”—and you helped tame her curls into two pigtails.

The morning ended up a mess of cereal crumbs, mismatched socks, and one very determined five-year-old girl who had insisted on packing her own backpack. You didn’t have the heart to repack it after she proudly zipped it up and hugged it to her chest like a treasure chest full of secrets—though you’d caught a glimpse of a doll leg, a half-used glue stick, and what looked suspiciously like the lid to your coffee thermos.

The car ride to school was full of questions you only half-knew how to answer.

“Do you think I’ll need a helmet? What if it has a visor like the cool ones? Can I pick pink tape for the stick? Do you know how to tie skates? Do you think I’ll be able to do the spinny move like the girl in the video?”

You answered what you could. 

Once you parked outside her school, she kicked her feet impatiently in the backseat while you unbuckled her. The air still had that early fall bite to it—sunny but not warm, brisk enough that you zipped your jacket up halfway as you lifted her from her booster seat. She was a little ball of energy this morning, bouncing as her sneakers hit the sidewalk, her little hand grabbing yours like always, sticky from syrup and too-warm from excitement.

“Okay, let’s go, let’s go,” she said, hopping down. You held her hand all the way up the sidewalk, her backpack bouncing behind her.

At the doors, she turned to you suddenly, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Don’t forget my hockey stuff!”

You cupped her cheeks. “I won’t, baby. I’m going straight to the store after this, I promise.”

Her whole face lit up like you'd just told her she could have candy for dinner. “You’re gonna go right now?”

“Mm-hmm. As soon as you go inside.”

“Look for pink things!” she reminded you. “Pink helmet. Pink gloves. And if they don’t have pink, purple is okay. So you can see me when I skate. ‘S important”

“Pink. Purple. Got it. Anything else?”

She thought hard. “Something that makes me go zoom.”

You smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You bent down and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her nose, and she giggled so hard she snorted. Then she hugged you like she always did—tight and with her whole tiny body, fists balled in your jacket.

“Bye, Mommy. Love you big like the whole sky.”

Your chest ached in that soft, warm way. “I love you even bigger lovebug.”

She let go and ran into her classroom, waving once over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd of other small kids with big dreams.

You were about to turn when a familiar voice called, “Morning!”

You looked up to see Miss Lillian, the teacher’s aide, walking toward you. She was in her usual bright-colored sweater and skirt combo, clipboard in hand, warm eyes squinting in the sunlight.

“Hey, good morning,” you said, smiling.

“I just had to catch you,” she said, pausing at your side. “Your daughter has not stopped talking about hockey since yesterday. I think we’ve heard every version of her ‘pink rocket’ speech. Twice.”

You groaned playfully. “Oh no. She’s gotten to you too.”

“Oh, it’s adorable,” Lillian laughed. “She told Mr. Peters that she’s gonna be the best skater—even though she’s never been on the ice. She said it with her chest. Like a tiny little boss.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, she’s got that confidence thing down.”

“I wish I had half of it. But really—she’s just so excited. It’s really sweet to see. And you know,” Lillian nudged your arm gently, “not every parent supports that kind of dream. It’s amazing that you’re doing this with her.”

That made you pause.

“I mean… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “I’ve never even watched a full game of hockey. But she lit up when she saw those kids playing on the street. Then she tried it herself and came home covered in bruises but still smiling. And then she said ice hockey would be safer,” you added, rolling your eyes, “which I’m pretty sure is a lie.”

Lillian laughed. “That’s some logic, huh?”

“I guess I figured, if it makes her this happy…” You trailed off. “Well, we’ll try it. If it’s not for her, we’ll sell the gear or donate it.”

“I think you’re doing great,” Lillian said. “She talks about you all the time, by the way. Always telling the class how her mom can do anything. That you’re like a superhero.”

That gave you pause in a way nothing else had.

You cleared your throat and smiled. “Well. Don’t tell her I can’t tie skates.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

The two of you said goodbye, and you headed back to your car, heart fuller than it had been twenty minutes ago. The day was just starting, and already you felt like you’d run an emotional marathon. Now, you just had to survive your trip to the hockey store without looking like a complete idiot.

You climbed into the car and started the engine, your mental list already forming—helmet, stick, gloves... was there padding? Skates, obviously. Was there a difference between practice gear and game gear? Did five-year-olds even have games?

After drop-off and a fresh wave of mom-guilt turned motivation, you sat in the driver’s seat of your SUV and Googled: hockey gear for five-year-old Pittsburgh. You stared at the results, rubbed your forehead, and tapped the one that had the most stars and looked the least intimidating.

It was barely 9 a.m. when you pulled into the outdoor shopping complex, the kind of place with cobblestone walkways, faux streetlamps, and fountains that tried to make you forget you were in a strip mall. It was a little too early for it to be crowded yet, and the parking lot was mostly empty except for a few other weekday wanderers—retirees, moms with strollers, maybe someone ducking out of work. When you pulled in, wedging yourself between a massive black pickup truck and what looked like a teenage boy’s first car—dented, bumper stickered, windows covered in sports decals. 

You killed the engine and sat back for a second, staring out the windshield like maybe someone was going to pop out and tell you exactly what kind of skates you needed to buy for a five-year-old who claimed her destiny was to be the pink rocket.

But no one came. Just the pigeons. One strutted past the front of your car like he owned the place.

You stepped out into the cool morning air, shouldered your bag, and told yourself: You’ve done scarier things. Like kindergarten registration. And that one ER visit when she swallowed a Barbie shoe.

Pretzel first.

The pretzel stand was exactly where you remembered it, sandwiched between the upscale candle store and a clothing store that made too-expensive clothes. You ordered a hot soft pretzel with extra salt and a small lemonade, then stood off to the side of the kiosk while you ate, people-watching like it was a competitive sport.

Then you wandered for a bit, peeking into a few small shops near the entrance. A kids’ boutique caught your eye—wall-to-wall sports-themed onesies and toddler sweatpants. You picked up a pair of fuzzy black-and-gold leggings with tiny hockey sticks on them and held them up to your chest with a grin.

“She’d love these,” you murmured aloud, imagining her in them with her pink boots and that crooked little smile she gave when she felt cute.

You took your time. That was part of the luxury of the day: no schedule, no appointments, no other human being asking you to wipe something sticky. Just this.

“Okay,” you said out loud as you stepped back onto the walkway and stared down the main stretch of stores. “Let’s do this.”

The gear shop was tucked at the end of the row, right before a smoothie place. It didn’t look intimidating from the outside—just a wide front with a logo in clean, white lettering. But the second you stepped inside, it was clear: this place meant business.

You gave yourself a pep talk as you zipped your jacket higher. You’re a mom. You birthed a whole child. You’ve survived teething. You can survive shopping for hockey gear.

It was big. Bigger than you expected. Ceiling fans turned slowly above rows of merchandise. Hockey sticks were stacked upright like rows of bamboo, lining one side of the shop. Helmets, skates, and pads were displayed like military gear. You let your eyes drift over the walls, which were covered in team memorabilia. Penguins jerseys in every variation, from current players to legends. You recognized Crosby’s #87 and Malkin’s #71 without even needing to check the names. Your kid had already pointed them out on YouTube clips. There was a whole display in the corner dedicated to Mario Lemieux, complete with a signed photo and a stick in a glass case.

You made a noise in your throat. “Okay… wow.”

There were two adults behind the front counter, both looking mid-thirties—one was chatting with the other, who was scrolling something on a tablet. Nearby, two teenagers stood kind of awkwardly by a wall of gloves and elbow pads, looking like they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves.

First, you took a lap around the store. Not straight to the gear. That felt too overwhelming. Instead, you let yourself drift through the aisles, fingers brushing along soft sweatshirts and team scarves, scanning everything slowly. A few shoppers milled around, mostly adults—probably parents or weekend league players. A couple of them wore Penguins jackets like they were uniforms, heads down, hyper-focused.

You wandered through the adult section, noting sizes and prices, grateful you weren’t here for full pads or whatever gear adult men needed. Some of the gloves looked like medieval armor.

You passed the stick wall—intimidating and enormous—and casually avoided the skates. Not yet. Not today. You weren’t emotionally stable enough for that.

Okay. Helmet, skates, pads... stick. Gloves? Socks? What the hell do kids wear under this stuff? Pink. Sparkly. Maybe a bag? Definitely a water bottle? Did kids her age even wear mouthguards?

Eventually, you made your way to the kids’ section, tucked just beyond the display of goalie masks. You stopped short when you saw it.

Little jerseys. So many of them.

Little shirts, toddler-sized jerseys, beanies so small they could fit a doll. You stopped and ran your fingers over one of the sweatshirts on a low rack—it was gray with a soft fleece lining and a Penguins logo in a bubbly font across the front. You thumbed through them slowly, smiling to yourself as you passed Crosby, Malkin, Rust. And then—

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling out a Letang #58.

Your daughter had randomly pointed to Letang’s photo once and declared him her favorite because “his hair is like a princess.” The jersey was youth small. A little big, maybe, but she could grow into it.

You added it to your arm. Then picked up a black Penguins t-shirt with a glittery logo. Then a matching beanie, soft and warm and clearly made for kids who’d lose it within a week. She’d probably lose it too. You’d buy another. That was the cycle.

You stood there, your arm full of black and gold and fleece and tiny dreams, and just… took a breath.

You could picture her wearing this stuff. Picture her squealing when she saw it. Picture her running around the apartment pretending to be “the pink rocket,” yelling “GOAL!” at full volume and slapping invisible high-fives.

With the clothes over your arm you wandered deeper into the section, avoiding the gear wall for now. You weren't ready for shin guards and blade sizes. Not yet. First, let your brain ease into it. Maybe find something pink. Maybe a miracle.

A teenager behind you coughed into his elbow and said—loud enough to clearly be meant for your ears—“Uh, the youth sticks are along that back wall… if you need help with sizes or anything.”

You turned slightly, caught off guard, and smiled. “Thanks.”

He nodded like he’d done his part and resumed awkwardly re-aligning a row of mouthguards.

You wandered back toward the front counter. The older man looked up and offered a quick nod as you approached. “You find everything okay?”

You gave him a sheepish little smile. “Sort of. I was wondering if someone could help me with... the actual gear part?” You adjusted your grip on the sweatshirt and jersey. “My daughter’s attempting to start playing hockey. She’s five. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

That got a chuckle out of the person beside him. “We get that a lot,” she said, friendly enough. “You’re gonna want to check out the back left corner—youth gear section. We’ve got starter kits, different levels, and some sizing charts posted on the wall. One of the kids can help you if you need it.”

You glanced over your shoulder toward the two teenagers. One of them now had a helmet on sideways and was quoting something that sounded like a bad sports movie. You turned back. “Cool. I’ll... go take a look first.”

“Yell if you need us,” the man added, already turning back to the computer in front of him.

So you headed toward the corner of the store they’d mentioned.

And when you got there...

You stared.

Oh god.

It was just... a wall of black and white. Rows of identical looking gear—tiny shoulder pads that looked like robot armor, pants with layers of foam and plastic, shelves stacked with helmets that all looked vaguely like something you’d see in a futuristic prison. Not a speck of pink or sparkle in sight. Not even a pop of color.

Where were the pink things?

You hovered by the start of the wall for a moment, scanning everything. It felt a bit like wandering into an IKEA when you only needed batteries. You were overwhelmed already, and you hadn’t even touched a stick yet.

You picked up one of the smallest helmets, turning it over in your hands. Inside it was lined with foam, and there were sizing stickers all around the rim. You read one out loud under your breath. “Youth small. Fits 19 to 20.25 inches... okay.”

You had no idea what your daughter’s head circumference was.

You set it back down. Picked up a different one. Looked almost identical. Set it back down.

There were starter kits in bags, sure—some marked. You couldn’t remember what brand your friend had told you to look for when your daughter first brought up the idea of playing hockey. Something with an animal name? Maybe a bird? 

You spent the next twenty minutes slowly picking up items, flipping them over, putting them down, walking in small circles around the same display. At some point you realized you’d been holding a single elbow pad for five full minutes, just sort of rubbing your thumb over the seam like it would give you answers.

You picked things up, tried to guess sizes based on your daughter’s height and width (which wasn’t much of either), and gently put things back down when you realized you had no clue what the difference was between “youth small” and “toddler medium.” Every few minutes, you’d pull out your phone to look something up—How tight should youth hockey skates fit? What’s a cage versus a shield?—but the answers just made you more confused.

You found a pair of pink laces and held them like a victory trophy. One point for Mom.

You were squatting awkwardly by the gloves, holding one up to your own hand and trying to eyeball it, when someone walked past you and reached for a goalie mask off the rack above.

It took you a second to register how silly that was.

Because he was, like... a full-grown man. And that was a tiny-ass goalie mask.

You blinked, looked down at the mask in his hands, then back at him.

You turned your head slightly, curiosity piqued, and said without much thought, “I don’t know that that’ll fit you... but I’m definitely not an expert.”

The man turned, just a little, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. His voice was low, a little gravelly but warm. “Not for me. One of my teammate’s kids. I’m just the delivery guy today.”

“Ah,” you nodded, feeling your cheeks go warm. “I figured. Unless you were shrinking, and no one told us.”

He chuckled, glancing down at the tiny mask again. “Not yet, but never say never.”

He glanced at the gloves in your hand. “You doing gear shopping too?”

You nodded, eyes scanning the mask in his hand before flicking back to him. “Yeah. Trying. I’ve been here almost an hour and all I’ve really figured out is that everything is black and white and confusing as hell.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It’s a lot when you’re just starting.”

You smiled, shifting the items in your arms, the jersey slipping and nearly falling. You caught it against your side.

He nodded toward it. “Good choice. That’s a popular one.”

You looked at the name again. “Yeah? Honestly, I heard her mention him once and it was because she liked his hair, so.”

He smiled again—this time with something a little more amused behind it. “Well, you’re in Pittsburgh, so yeah. Letang’s kind of a big deal. And he’s got great hair,” then offered his hand. “Sid, by the way.”

You reached out to shake his hand, your brain stuttering for half a second. Sid. Sid. Unassuming dark blue tee with faded black jeans. Penguins cap. Goalie mask for a teammate’s kid.

Wait a second.

“I’m... Y/N,” you said, still shaking his hand.

His smile lingered, and there was a subtle, almost imperceptible flicker of recognition in your eyes as the dots started connecting.

You didn’t say anything though. You didn’t blurt it out or ask for a picture or grill him with questions.

You just smiled.

“Well,” you said softly, “If you have any rookie shopping tips, I’m all ears. Because right now, I think I’m buying two left gloves and possibly an elbow pad meant for a squirrel.”

Sid chuckled, stepping a little closer, a comfortable distance, easy and unpressured. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got so far,” eyeing the pile in your arms like it was an unsolvable riddle, “why don’t we start from the top—literally. Helmet, shoulder pads, gloves, all that. Then work our way down.”

You shifted your items to one arm, then gave him a helpless glance. “Lead the way, Captain.”

That earned you another one of his quiet laughs. You followed him a few steps to the wall lined with youth helmets, most of them black, though a couple had red or blue detailing. The sizes were printed along the shelf edge—Youth Small, Youth Medium—and behind each, a row of boxed helmets waiting for homes.

“She’s how old?” he asked, already crouching to one of the lower shelves.

“Just turned five in March. She’s about... say, three-foot-eight? Thirty-eight pounds. She’s got this mess of curly hair, so the helmet can’t be too tight. But also—safety.”

He chuckled, glancing up at you. “Right, no decapitations. Got it.”

You snorted. “I’d like to keep her head attached, yeah.”

Sid picked up a small helmet and turned it over in his hands, fingers checking the inside padding. He handed it to you. “This one’s a good brand. Solid protection. Comes with the cage too, which is what she’ll need. Some of them don’t, so make sure it’s included if you go with a different one.”

You nodded slowly, already overwhelmed again. “Okay, yeah, that looks... safe?”

He grinned. “Very safe. Want to write it down?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know,” he said, standing up and dusting his palms off like this was an outdoor project. “In your notes app. Like an old person. ‘One helmet, small, comes with cage.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Are you always this charming, or is it just for flustered moms trying to buy sports gear?”

“Flustered moms are my specialty,” he said dryly, but his smile gave him away.

Still, you pulled out your phone and opened the notes app, muttering under your breath. “Helmet, small, with a cage, don’t let Sid pick on you.”

He leaned over, trying to peek at your screen. “Did you really just write that?”

You snapped the phone shut. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You moved on together, stopping at the shoulder pads next. He pulled a small pair off the rack and held it up in front of you.

“These’ll probably fit,” he said. “She’s little, but these are adjustable. You want the shoulder cups to line up obviously, but the important part is the chest plate—it should sit flat, not hanging off her.”

You nodded slowly, inspecting the pads like they were alien technology.

“And this is—what? For... falling?”

“Contact,” he said, grinning. “And yeah, falling too. Shoulder bumps, accidental checks. It keeps her chest protected if she takes a puck or a stick. Not that five-year-olds are slinging clappers yet.”

You blinked. “Slinging what now?”

He clarified. “Slapshots.”

You stared.

“Hard shots,” he clarified.

“Oh. See, you should just say that,” you said, squinting at the pads. “Why does everything in this sport sound like a 1950s insult?”

He laughed—this one louder than the others, deep and honest—and you found yourself smiling just from the sound of it.

“Okay, what’s next, smartass?” you asked.

He guided you through gloves next, letting you try a pair on so you could get a feel for the stiffness. “New ones are tough to move in,” he explained, “but they’ll break in after a few practices. You want her fingers to reach the tips, not swimming in there. And if you’re stuck between two sizes, go up. You can’t grow into small gear.”

You made another note in your phone and then paused. “Is this the part where I have to pick a stick?”

Sid turned to the bin of youth sticks and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s the fun one.”

“Oh god.”

“No pressure,” he said. “It’s only the most important part.”

You gave him a look. “Really?”

He grinned. “No. Kind of. Sort of. But not at five.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

He stepped up beside you as you both peered down into the barrel of sticks, most of them barely reaching your waist.

“Does she shoot left or right?”

You frowned. “She writes with her right hand, brushes her teeth with it. But she kicks soccer balls with her left foot sometimes. Does that help?”

He winced. “Only a little.”

You watched him pick up one, then two different sticks, holding them out and comparing them against each other like a bartender choosing between bottles of wine.

“This one’s left,” he said, handing it to you. “More kids start left, even if they’re right-handed. It’s weird.”

You turned the stick over, testing the grip.

“Let her try both when you get home,” he added. “Don’t cut it until you know which one she prefers.”

“Cut it?”

He nodded. “You’ll probably need to trim a few inches. It should hit between her chin and nose when she’s in skates. Too long and she won’t be able to handle it.”

Your head was spinning again. “I’m writing that down.”

“Good call, Old Lady Notes.”

You flipped him off lightly without looking up from your phone.

You followed Sid over to the youth skates, where he walked you through sizing—tight but not painful, with room to wiggle toes—and pointed out which brands had better ankle support.

“This is a lot,” you said eventually, “Like... a lot.”

He smiled softly. “It is. But it gets easier.”

You nodded, watching him now more than the skates. “Did your parents do this for you?”

He leaned against the shelf beside you. “Yeah. My dad mostly. But my mom did her fair share of sitting in freezing rinks with coffee and a blanket.”

You smiled. “I should probably start investing in hand warmers now.”

“Oh, definitely.”

You let the silence sit for a moment before he glanced at the stuff in your arms again and pointed at the Letang jersey.

“Good pick,” he said. “But if you want your daughter to win games…”

You looked up at him, catching the little smirk on his face.

“Oh no.”

He shrugged, not even pretending to be modest. “I dunno. She might have better luck with a Crosby jersey. Not like I’m a professional or anything.”

You stared at him. “Cocky much?”

He chuckled. “What? I’m just saying.”

“You’re just saying you’re better than Letang?”

He tilted his head. “Tanger’s great.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just better.”

You laughed, full and loud, startling one of the teenagers walking past. “Okay, alright. I guess if I had to pick a role model, the guy personally helping me fit elbow pads isn’t the worst choice.”

“I do what I can,” he said with a wink.

You gave him a half-playful sigh and picked up the Letang jersey again. Then slowly, without looking at him, added a Crosby one to the pile. Two jerseys, she’ll be excited regardless. 

He didn’t say anything, just smiled a little to himself and helped you find the right size.

“You’re either really prepared,” he said, lips twitching, “or she’s about to be the best-dressed five-year-old in the entire league.”

You grinned. “Look, if she’s gonna throw elbows, she may as well look cute doing it.”

“Bulked up in pink elbow pads,” he said thoughtfully. “Terrifying.”

“Exactly.”

You made your way toward the checkout counter, arms full, the jerseys, sweatshirt, t-shirt, a beanie—and the mini stick Sidney insisted every hockey kid needed, sat on top like a cherry on a very expensive sundae, mentally ticking off the grocery list you still had to tackle after this. Apples, chicken, string cheese, enough pasta to keep your tiny enforcer fueled or pre-fueled. 

Sid followed a few steps behind, still holding the youth goalie mask you’d caught him with earlier. You glanced at it again now, curiosity tugging.

You smiled and nodded toward the youth goalie mask he was still holding, white and pristine and blank. “So, mystery solved yet? What’s that for?”

He held it up a little, letting it catch the light. “It’s for my godson. His birthday’s next month. He’s obsessed with goalies. Gonna get it customized—mask, pads, the whole nine yards.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s a pretty cool gift.”

Sid shrugged like it was nothing. “He’s a good kid. Deserves something cool.”

“You getting his name painted on it or something?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

“Thinking about it. His favorite goalie was Lundqvist, but he keeps pretending to be Fleury when he plays in the driveway. So maybe something between the two. We’ll see.”

You grinned at that, setting your items down gently on the counter as the clerk started scanning. “That’s sweet.”

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Trying. He’s already better in net than I am, so I gotta keep my rep somehow.”

You laughed. The older man behind the counter gave you a friendly nod as he started ringing up the items.

He hesitated for a second like he might say more, then cleared his throat. “Hey—have you ever heard of the Little Penguins program?”

You paused. “The what?”

“Little Penguins,” he repeated. “It’s this thing we run through the team. We usually do Winters but we added Fall on there too. Kids can sign up and get a full set of gear for free—well, technically a deposit, but you get it back—and they do learn-to-skate stuff, drills, scrimmages. They get to practice on the ice, even skate with a couple of us players.”

Your mouth parted slightly. “Wait—like with the Penguins Penguins?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the big guys. Usually a few of us show up. Just for fun, nothing formal. But it’s a good way for the kids to dip their toes in without it being overwhelming. Especially for parents who are still learning the ropes.”

You blinked. “That… actually sounds amazing. Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

“Marketing’s not our strong suit,” he said with a crooked smile. “I think the sign-ups start late summer. July-ish.”

You imagined your daughter, pink helmet and jersey, oversized gloves bouncing at her sides, skating across the ice next to Penguins players like it was a totally normal Tuesday. “Okay, yeah. That’s... wow. I’ll definitely think about that.”

He smiled again, and it hit you that he was genuinely pleased you seemed interested. “You should. It’s fun. And your daughter sounds like the kind of kid who’d love it.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It actually does sound like something she’d love. I mean, if there’s juice boxes involved, I’m sold.”

He grinned. “I’ll make sure they have the pink ones.”

“You better,” you said. “But yeah. She would lose her mind.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, lightly bumping your elbow with his.

“Just the apparel today?” The cashier asked.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at Sid. “Apparently I need to go home and take measurements. Like an adult.”

Sid turned to the cashier with a grin. “She’s doing her homework. Proud of her.”

You swatted his arm lightly, but he just laughed and leaned casually against the edge of the counter.

As the man scanned the Crosby jersey—Sid gave a soft, smug hmm at the sound—as if he hadn’t practically forced you to grab it.

The cashier handed you a long receipt and bagged up your stuff, folding the jerseys carefully. You thanked them, then turned back to Sid one last time, tucking your phone back into your coat pocket.

“Well. I should let you get back to your godfatherly duties. And I’ve got to go buy protein-rich snacks for a child who thinks hockey is a personality trait now.”

He laughed. “You’ve got a good one on your hands.”

“I do,” you said, feeling your chest warm a little. “Thanks again, by the way. For the help. Seriously. You saved me from panic-buying a full adult-size goalie kit.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, then added, “Hey—if you end up signing her up for Little Penguins, I’ll probably be there. Come say hi.”

Your hand tightened slightly on the bag handles. “Yeah. I just might.”

He gave you a little nod, “Keep me posted. If she joins the Little Pens, I wanna know.”

“I will,” you said, turning toward the door. “If she scores her first goal, I’ll even make her point to the sky and say it’s for you.”

Sid smiled, shifting the goalie mask to his other hand. “Hey, if she ends up falling in love with the game, I’d say this was a good use of a Saturday.”

You nodded.

You watched him for a second—just a second—then shook your head to yourself with a soft laugh and headed out into the parking lot, the automatic doors sliding shut behind you with a whoosh.

You had groceries to buy. You had gear to organize. You had a daughter to tell about “this thing called Little Penguins.”

A Few Months Later…

The rink was loud with the echo of blades scraping over ice, muffled thumps from little bodies falling down, and the hum of excited chatter from proud parents in the stands. The bleachers were fuller than you expected them to be this early on a Saturday morning—coffee cups cradled like precious gems, toddlers bundled in puffer coats and fleece hats, a chorus of “that’s my baby!” and “get up, you got it!” rippling through the space like music.

You sat midway up the stands, leaned forward with your elbows on your knees and your hands clasped under your chin, barely blinking as you tracked your little girl zooming across the ice in her baby pink skates—the ones you’d debated splurging on, only to be guilted into by her lip-quivering pout and an impassioned speech about how “pink skates make you faster.”

Apparently, she wasn’t wrong.

She was a blur of movement and energy, her tiny helmet bouncing slightly with every stride. Her white jersey was too big on her, practically swallowing her whole, with “Crosby” emblazoned across the back—his number 87 stitched proudly under it. Pink tape spiraled down the length of her stick, the edges fraying just a little from the constant use. It was a vision, the kind that made your chest squeeze so tightly it felt like your heart might burst from sheer joy.

You were smiling like an idiot as she collided softly with another kid, both of them toppling over like penguin-shaped dominoes.

A dad sitting nearby chuckled, following your line of sight. “Yours in the pink skates?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Yep. That’s my maniac.”

“She’s got good instincts. Keeps her head up, even when she’s down,” he said with a grin, nudging his own daughter, who was munching Goldfish crackers next to him.

“She’s obsessed,” you said with a little laugh, eyes never leaving the ice. “This morning she woke me up at 6:10—on the dot—in full gear. Elbow pads over her pajamas. Helmet on backwards.”

The dad laughed. “They don’t just fall in love. They jump in head first.”

“Tell me about it. I think I have about twelve hours of footage just from driveway practices,” you said, tapping your phone like proof.

Down on the ice, your daughter had popped back up, brushing the snow off of herself with those padded gloves that made her hands look like marshmallows. She took a wobbly step forward, then another. A coach—tall, in full gear himself—skated past and gave her an encouraging tap on the helmet. She giggled and tried to chase him, only to crash into the boards.

You winced a little, but she scrambled back up, laughing. Unfazed. Just like always.

“Did you grow up around hockey?” the dad asked, sipping from his thermos.

You shook your head. “No, not even a little. This whole world is new to me. First time I walked into a gear shop, I almost cried. It was like IKEA, but colder and meaner.”

“Ah. One of those,” he said knowingly. “So how’d she get into it?”

You smiled a little to yourself, watching her now attempt to scoop a puck with the toe of her stick like she was playing field hockey.

“It started with street hockey,” you said softly. “Some neighborhood kids were playing, and she just... joined in. She didn’t even ask. Just ran over and jumped into the game like she was born for it.”

“I know the type,” he said with a grin. “Future captain.”

You smiled at that—because part of you believed it. Knew it, even.

“Yeah,” you said. “Future something.”

A cheer erupted from the crowd as one of the kids—somehow—managed to score on one of the adult coaches in net. The coach fell dramatically backward, arms spread wide like he’d been defeated in battle. 

It was cold and it smelled like coffee and the unmistakable sweetness of childhood. The coaches were endlessly patient, calling out encouragement and clapping for every kid, no matter how awkward or uncoordinated they were. One coach—Sid, you realized—was crouched low near the boards now, tying the laces of a tiny skater who looked like she was upset or tired.

You watched him a moment, that same calm energy radiating off him that he’d had in the shop months ago. No helmet, just a cap pulled low over his hair. Still recognizable, though—especially to the row of moms sitting a little too upright on the lower bleachers, their giggles loud enough to rise above the noise of the rink.

You’d never said anything to your daughter about who he was. You liked keeping it simple. To her, he was just Coach. Of course, she knows him. But here he's just a nice guy who high-fived her when she got her skates on the right feet and always knew when she needed an extra push on the back.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you checked it quickly. A message from your best friend:

“How’s my niece doing?? Any goals?? Any falls??”

You snapped a quick picture—her mid-laugh, head thrown back—and sent it back with a caption:

“Living her best life.”

You tucked your phone away and leaned forward again, watching as your daughter bent her knees the way they’d shown her, arms stiff out in front, tongue sticking out in concentration. She was taking it all in—every second of it. From the cool air on her cheeks to the slap of the puck to the roar of imaginary crowds in her head.

There was something sacred in watching your kid find the thing they loved. Like watching a door open inside them you didn’t even know was there. Every spill, every grin, every wild, uncoordinated movement across the ice—each one carved that love deeper into her bones.

You clapped and cheered when she completed a clumsy turn, just barely staying upright. She turned toward your seat in the stands and grinned, giving you two very exaggerated thumbs up. Then she fell on her ass again.

You laughed, hand to your heart.

The mom next to you leaned over. “First season?”

“Yeah,” you said. “First everything.”

“Well, you’re in for it now,” she said, sipping from her thermos with a knowing smile. “There’s no going back once they get a taste of the ice.”

You looked down at your daughter—scraping her way back to her feet, cheeks flushed, still smiling—and you knew it was true.

There was no going back.

And you didn’t want to.

After nearly three hours of watching your daughter, it was over. The hallway just outside the locker room was chaos in a very specific, beautiful way—kids peeling off helmets and elbow pads, trailing behind coaches or sprinting toward waiting parents, little voices bouncing off the walls, squealing about scoring, or falling, or “that time Coach tripped on his own skate.” Everyone was coach apparently.

You’d waited in the designated spot outside until one of the assistants—some fresh-faced guy in a Penguins jacket—gave the okay for parents to head in.

“Y’all can head in now,” he said, stepping aside and trying not to get knocked over by a tornado of five-year-olds dragging their gear bags behind them.

Inside, the locker room was warm and bright, lined with benches and low cubbies that were already stuffed with half-shed gloves, little skates, jackets, and about seven different water bottles. The buzz of post-practice chatter filled the air instantly, like someone had turned the volume knob all the way up.

You barely had time to take it in before a flash of pink barreled toward you.

“MOMMMYYYYY!”

There she was. Wild curls matted from the helmet, cheeks flushed with effort, teeth bared in a wide grin as she ran, half-hopping in her skates, arms wide.

You bent down just in time to catch her.

“There you are, Speed Racer,” you grinned, crouching down and opening your arms as she barrelled into you. Her gear clunked against your chest—chest protector and all—but you didn’t care. You hugged her like you hadn’t just been watching her be wild on the ice.

“I FELL SIX TIMES!” she squealed, voice muffled against your shirt.

You ran a hand over her head, feeling the heat radiating from her scalp. “You fell six times and you still have that big ol’ smile on your face? Must’ve been a good time.”

“It was the funnest ever,” she said seriously, stepping back and immediately beginning to unfasten her chest protector with a kind of frenzied determination. “And guess what! Owen and me were on the same team, and I touched the puck with my stick! Like for real this time! I didn’t miss!”

You helped peel the Velcro from her shoulders, gently tugging the damp, slightly stinky gear off while she babbled on.

“Toootally touched it. Owen saw. Right, Owen?!”

A little boy with dark hair and dark eyes, Owen, turned toward you, a toothy grin spread across his face. His front teeth were at war—one was missing, the other wobbly and hanging on for dear life.

“Hi,” he said confidently.

“Hi, Owen,” you greeted, giving him a warm smile. “I hear you two had fun today.”

“We’re on the same team,” he said proudly, pointing to his white practice jersey. “White team’s faster than the black one.”

Your daughter nodded vigorously. “We’re the fastest. Way faster.”

“I believe it,” you nodded solemnly, ruffling her sweat-damp curls as you zipped the top layer of her jacket. “You guys looked awesome out there.”

“They were, weren’t they?” a voice chimed in to your right. Owen’s mom, dressed in a puffer vest over a Penguins hoodie, smiled as she peeled her son’s gloves off one by one. “Owen hasn’t stopped talking about it since he got off the ice.”

You smiled back, instantly comforted by the friendliness in her tone. “Mine either. I’m pretty sure she’s still skating in her head.”

“She’s adorable,” the mom said. “Pink skates and pink tape? That’s iconic.”

“She had to be pink,” you said, laughing softly. “Apparently, pink makes you faster.”

Owen's mom grinned. “Hey, she might be onto something.”

You all shared a laugh as the room buzzed louder—parents helping their kids wriggle out of gear, skate guards being snapped on, water bottles getting passed around. Owen sat down next to your daughter on the bench, pulling a juice box out of his small backpack. “We made up a game,” he told you while trying to stab the straw through the plastic film.

Your girl nodded. “You pretend the puck is a bumblebee and you gotta squash it with your stick before it stings someone.”

“That sounds very advanced,” you said seriously.

“We’re gonna play it next time too,” she added. “Owen said he’s really good at squashing bees.”

Owen nodded matter-of-factly, still struggling with the straw.

Owen’s mom bent down to help him, chuckling as she did. “He’s been trying to squash bees with sticks since he was three. I’m just glad he’s finally doing it on the ice and not in our backyard.”

You grinned and reached into your own bag to grab your daughter’s snack. She immediately tore into the applesauce pouch like she’d been starved for days, then leaned against your side, still warm from all her movement.

“They looked so cute skating next to each other,” Owen’s mom added with a soft smile. “I was telling my husband—it almost looked like a little date out there.”

You laughed at that. “I think they’ve bonded over their mutual chaos.”

She leaned in a little and lowered her voice. “He told me in the tunnel that he thinks your daughter’s hair is ‘like gold spaghetti.’”

You choked on your sip of coffee, covering your mouth. “Gold spaghetti?”

She nodded, snickering. “Crush territory. I’m calling it.”

You smiled, heart melting a little, and pulled your phone out from your coat pocket. “Alright, if they’re officially best friends-slash-future-spouses, we need a picture.”

Both kids were now on their snacks, Owen with his juice box and your girl halfway through a granola bar, crumbs smeared around her mouth. You lined them up on the bench—gear still half-on, cheeks still flushed—and snapped a picture.

It was absurdly cute.

“Alright, say cheese,” you said. “Or… say Penguins!”

“PENGUINS!” they both shouted.

Click.

You took a few more, some with funny faces, some with your daughter attempting to put her arm around Owen’s shoulders and nearly knocking his juice out of his hand. You were pretty sure your camera roll had hit triple digits by now, but you didn’t care.

Eventually, your daughter leaned into you again, resting her sticky hand on your leg. “Mama,” she said quietly. “I’m thirsty.”

You glanced down. “Didn’t you bring your water bottle?”

She blinked up at you sheepishly. “I left it on the bench. Where I sit. I think.”

“Oh no,” you said, sighing gently. “You silly goose.”

“I forgot!” she insisted, holding her hands up like that’d fix it. “Thirst to death mama.”

You reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Alright, okay. I’ll go grab it. Can you hang here for a sec?”

She nodded. “I’ll stay with Owen.”

You turned toward his mom. “Mind keeping an eye on her real quick? I’ll be back in like a minute.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “Take your time. These two are thick as thieves already.”

You smiled and stood, patting your daughter’s helmet-less head. “Be good,” you said.

“Always,” she grinned, already halfway through a whispered joke with Owen that involved a fart noise and something about the Zamboni.

You made your way out of the locker room, weaving around kids and parents and piles of equipment. The hallway was quieter. You passed by a few of the coaching staff and volunteers still lingering around, one of them wheeling a cart of extra equipment back toward storage.

You shifted your weight awkwardly near the tunnel toward the bench, one arm wrapped around yourself for warmth. You weren’t totally sure if you were allowed to just stroll out there in regular shoes. Like—was that frowned upon? A total rookie parent move?

Your eyes scanned the hallway for someone official-looking. After a few seconds, a man in a staff jacket with a clipboard walked past. You stepped forward quickly.

“Hi! Sorry—excuse me?”

He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“Um, I was wondering—my daughter left her water bottle out there on the bench,” you explained, nodding toward the rink. “It’s pink and glittery—shocking, I know—and it has a little flower keychain on the handle. Would it be possible for someone to grab it for me? I don’t wanna like... destroy the sanctity of the bench in my street shoes.”

The guy smiled, already turning to wave someone down. “Yeah, no problem. Hang tight. I’ll send one of the volunteers out.”

“Thank you, seriously.”

You leaned back against the wall, tugging your sweater sleeves down over your hands as you watched the lingering players on the ice, most of them part of the older age group now, finishing their drills. Some were still skating slow laps while a couple of the younger assistant coaches stood near the blue line laughing about something. You weren’t really paying attention—your mind was still back in the locker room with your daughter’s flushed cheeks and dramatics about “thirsting to death.”

Then you heard it.

“Called it. I thought that was your daughter out there.”

The voice, familiar in a way that shouldn’t have made your stomach do what it just did, made your head turn to the right.

Sidney.

You blinked once. Then again.

He was walking toward you casually, jersey still on but his skates had been swapped out for black Adidas slides and socks. His hair was damp, curls starting to appear at the ends, and he looked warm—flushed in the cheeks, a little sweaty, and way too comfortable for how good he looked.

You exhaled in something that bordered on a scoff. “What gave it away?”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall next to you, arms crossed as his eyes swept over the rink like he was still mentally coaching. “Let’s see... pink skates, pink laces, pink tape on the stick… Don’t think I forgot, Y/N.”

You grinned. “Wow, real detective work there.”

He smirked, slow and knowing, and turned to look at you instead. “Also? She’s got your eyes. It was game over after that.”

You looked away briefly, caught off guard by the way he said it—not teasing, not in passing. Just simple. Honest. The words made your chest tighten a little, in that soft, fluttery kind of way.

“She had the best time,” you said, your voice softening. “She’s been buzzing since we walked in this morning. Like... shaking with excitement.”

He smiled again, this time a little wider. “That’s what we want. Fun first.”

“She even made a friend,” you added. “Owen. They’re practically a duo now. He’s five. Missing a front tooth. Very committed to calling the puck ‘zoomy.’”

He chuckled under his breath, glancing down like he was picturing it. “Owen’s a good kid. He’s one of my favorites.”

“Wow. Already playing favorites?”

Sid shrugged. “Perks of being Coach Sidney. I can pretend I don’t, but come on—kid called me ‘Sir Puck’ once. I’m only human.”

You snorted.

There was a small lull between you, just a beat or two where you stood side-by-side, both facing the ice as the zamboni started circling again. His arm brushed yours once when he shifted his stance, just barely. The warmth of him so close made your skin feel hyper-aware, like it was begging for more contact.

“She, uh...” you started, glancing at him. “She left her water bottle on the bench. Swears she’s going to ‘thirst to death’ if I don’t bring it back.”

Sid raised an eyebrow. “Thirst to death? That serious, huh?”

You nodded solemnly. “She’s dramatic. I don’t know where she gets it from.”

“I’m shocked,” he deadpanned.

You shot him a side-eye, lips twitching. “Anyway, I asked one of the staff to grab it, but I think they forgot about me. Been standing here like a total newbie.”

“You want me to grab it?”

You blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

He was already pushing off the wall, waving a hand dismissively. “Yeah. I’ll be back in a sec. Pink glitter, right? With a flower keychain?”

“Yeah,” you said, still a little surprised. “That’s the one. Can’t miss it.”

He gave you a quick smirk. “Got it. I’m trained in the art of spotting glitter.”

You laughed, watching as he jogged down the short corridor, and stepped onto the bench in his slides like it was nothing. You bit your lip, just a little, arms crossed again as you watched him scan the bench, crouch, and retrieve the bottle from where it had rolled a few inches under one of the seats.

He came jogging back a minute later, bottle in hand, holding it up like a trophy.

“Coach of the Year,” he said with a grin, handing it over.

You took it gratefully. “Seriously. If there was a trophy, you’d be winning it.”

“You’re gonna make her think I’m her favorite now,” he said, mock-conspiratorial.

“She already called you ‘the guy with the funny whistle,’” you said, twisting the cap to check the water level. “So you’re basically a celebrity.”

“She’s not wrong,” he said, leaning back against the wall again. “It’s a very specific whistle. I’ve trained myself.”

You looked at him—really looked—and shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re such a dork.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, tone low, amused. “But you’re smiling.”

There was a small pause after that—comfortable, but charged. A beat where neither of you spoke, but you could feel the static in the air, the unspoken familiarity that had somehow built over a single strange meeting. The gear shop.

“I’m guessing those notes I made you take all those months ago at the gear shop came in handy, huh?”

You groaned dramatically, rolling your eyes but smiling anyway. “Don’t remind me. I think I have PTSD from that trip. But yeah—God, they helped so much. I never would’ve figured out which stick flex to get her without your help. Or those elbow pads that didn’t slide down every two seconds.”

“You were so overwhelmed,” he teased. “Like I was speaking another language.”

“Because you were,” you fired back. “Half of it was just acronyms. I still don’t know what CCM stands for.”

“Honestly?” he leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially, “I don’t think anyone does. We just pretend.”

You laughed again, head tipping back. His eyes lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, like he was cataloguing every shift in your expression, every laugh line he could coax out of you.

“How’d the goalie mask go?” you asked, shifting gears, “for your godson?”

“Great,” he said, and you noticed how his whole face softened when he talked about the kid. “He loved it. Said it made him look like a Transformer. His words, not mine.”

“That’s basically the highest praise possible.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “He even slept with it beside his bed the first night. His mom texted me a picture.”

“That’s adorable.”

He glanced toward the rink doors, then back at you. “So… did you have fun?”

You lifted a shoulder, smiling again. “Oh yeah. Nothing more fun than watching my kid wipe out every five minutes while I try to pretend I’m not dying inside.”

His head tilted, a laugh bubbling up from him. “You looked like you were holding it together okay.”

“I was faking it,” you said. “But thanks.”

“Pretty well, I’d say.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the hallway leading to the locker room. “Only ‘cause you saved me from a water bottle emergency.”

“I’ll see you around?” he asked, but there was something tentative in the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to hope.

You slowly turned to face him once again. “Yeah. You will.”

He smiled, something softer than before—less teasing, more sincere.

And then his voice came again. A little more certain. A little bolder.

“Actually—hold on.”

You stopped.

He was standing straighter now, hands in his pockets, one foot shifting over the other like even he wasn’t sure he was really doing this until the words were already coming out of his mouth.

“Would you wanna get a coffee sometime?” he asked. “Or... whatever. Something not surrounded by five-year-olds and hockey tape.”

You stared at him for a second, surprised—though you weren’t sure why. Maybe because he said it so... sincerely. Not flirty. Not presumptuous. Just... hopeful.

You found yourself smiling again.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice low. “I’d like that.”

—

[sadandmoresadder]

HELP JIHAD AL HAMAIDA FROM GAZA - Donate to a family from Gaza - recieve some art in return!

" The word "genocide" has not become a word that is circulated through your pages and writings. It is a much more difficult word. Genocide is to be burned in front of the world. You cannot even offer help. Genocide is to die while you are still alive. Genocide means not providing enough food for months and years. Genocide is to live in a tent that barely covers part of your body. Genocide means to be injured, dying slowly and screaming from pain. My life has become dark. We are barely able to catch air. Until when?! All of these are words that I live in great detail. Now, after all this suffering that you can imagine, I have hope. I deserve this opportunity to save myself from the death that is eating away at my body and the body of my family. My soul has become fragile. Your donation is not just money, but it is hope. It is the light by which my family and I live. Donate so that we can live. Come on, publish my story. Fight for me. Fight so that we can start a new beginning and a life with some happiness. I really miss seeing my face laugh. Our face has become very pale. I hope that you will make me happy with your support, love, and donation. " - Jihad, ( @jihedalhamaide )

DOCUMENTED BY @gazavetters (#349) ON THE LIST.

Here is his Instagram account (you can see posts from before October 7th)

HERE IS THE FUNDRAISER - €6,470/€50,000

Jihad's father is ill, and cannot work, his little sister is injured, and his little brother is suffering from psychological problems, due to the immense trauma. Here is an image taken before the genocide;

" These photos are from before October 7th. These photos can be repeated again. We can fight to restore these laughs. We can restore the dreams, ambitions, and life of my family. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine that you can bring that back just by sharing my story and donating for me? My love is priceless, and my family's life has no specific price, but this was imposed by society in these painful circumstances. I will not explain to you how many people I lost. I will not tell you that my house has become a ruin. I will not tell you that the stone factory was destroyed. I will not tell you that we suffer from the cold. I will not tell you that I tremble with fear every night. I will not tell you how difficult it is to provide some food. I will not tell you how many diseases I have contracted. This is all just some of the suffering that has become just an image that you see, but you do not know how painful it is to live it. I am in front of you, screaming with all my energy. At this moment, I am screaming to you with all my energy. Donate, spread the word, fight for me. I need a lot of strength from you to live again. This stupid program is deleting my accounts, so I am tired of this matter. Please help me before it is too late. "

Please, help fight for him. Just by donating a small amount or even sharing if you cannot donate, that will go a long way.

I do commisions in exchange for proof of donations! - Send me PROOF that you donated to this fundraiser and you may recieve;

$5 - a sketch

$10 - a drawing

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$20+ - small painting

$30+ - large painting

PLEASE READ MY PINNED POST - for more information on fundraisers/comms

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 37.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I'm very sorry that this took so long to write. A lot of things are happening irl that need my attention, and my sleep has been prioritized because of how little I actually sleep. And i have a massive headache today, so that's why there is no story summary ;-; I'm sorry yall Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 34 / chapter 35 / chapter 36

Knock, Knock, Knock

In the sleeping quarters of the Wakandan Citadel, Steve Rogers had been drawing in his temporary quarters when the knocks came at his door. The second he opened the door, Bucky came in with a frown, pushing past Steve and turning.

"We really need to talk."

Steve's eyebrows shot up slightly, but not at Bucky's words. It was (Y/n), who was looking small, cheeks wet and eyes puffy from crying. She was following closely after Bucky, looking nervous and distant as she glanced around the room, and Steve glanced at Bucky with a look of confusion before shutting the door.

Wordlessly, (Y/n) sat down where Steve had been drawing, her eyes drawn to his notebook, and though Steve didn't mind, his ears still turned a little red from the self-consciousness that tickled at his mind.

"What's going on?"

Bucky looked over at (Y/n) before looking at Steve with a stressed look on his face.

"I'm really doubting having Raynor here. I know she just wants to help, but I don't think her methods are going to be helpful. She's too pushy."

Steve immediately sighed, his shoulders falling slightly, and he sat down on his bed as Bucky paced slightly, Steve watching him closely. Steve mulled over his words for a moment before he settled on asking.

"Alright, why do you think that?"

Bucky stopped pacing, looking at Steve with a frown and talking quietly despite being aware that (Y/n)'s enhanced hearing was going to pick up his words either way.

"Raynor sent her into a panic attack. It was so bad, (Y/n) practically launched me across the room with a single punch. One."

"She hit you?"

Steve glanced at (Y/n), watching the way her fingers ghosted over his artwork; her eyes staring sadly at the page as her ears pricked to listen. Bucky immediately said, raising a hand to gesture at Steve.

"She didn't do it intentionally. She had a flashback, and I fucked up."

At the sound of (Y/n) sniffling, Steve glanced at her, his shoulders falling slightly.

"I-I didn't mean to...I just...I..."

Her voice trailed off, and Bucky sat down next to her, the woman looking up at him with the saddest look he had ever seen her wear. Steve watched quietly as Bucky comforted her softly, his voice just above a whisper as he spoke.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad. If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing for touching you without warning."

(Y/n) then shook her head as she looked down at Steve's artwork again, a doubtful look within her eyes as she murmured.

"I don't belong here...I...I should've...went back."

Her words made Steve and Bucky's blood run cold, and Steve finally sat down across from (Y/n), who refused to look the man in the eyes as he spoke.

"You were scared and had a trauma response. That's not a crime...but what would be a crime is to go back where they would make you feel the way that you did in the moment over and over again."

(Y/n) was quiet, blinking silent tears out of her eyes, and she whispered brokenly.

"I remember them...I remember all of them...all the people I...I had to hurt..."

Blood on her hands, the taste of flesh in her mouth, the sound of a man screaming as she tore his throat out with her bare hands.

"I don't...want to do that to anyone again...but...I don't know how to complete this mission...I...I don't know how to proceed."

She sniffled and gently thumbed the artwork again, and Steve shared a look with Bucky. They weren't sure what to say at first, silently communicating with each other before Bucky sighed.

"I remember them all too."

(Y/n) glanced up at him, staying quiet for a moment as his words struck a chord in her, and Bucky continued, looking down at his hands as he messed with his vibranium fingers.

"I dream about them, think about them...sometimes, I'll even hear them too...see them...feel them."

Bucky then glanced up at (Y/n), stating earnestly.

"But we owe it to them...to make amends for what we've done. To try, even if it's hard. We might not know how to complete this mission, but as long as we do, that's what matters."

"But what if I fail? What if I never...make things right?"

Steve then gently spoke up, his voice gentle as he looked at (Y/n) the way a brother would their younger sibling.

"You can, and you're going to. Everyone here believes in you and wants to help you achieve that. It's not going to be easy, but even if it's hard, we're going to make it."

(Y/n) as quiet for a moment before she asked quietly.

"Do I even deserve it?"

Steve sighed slightly before he offered carefully.

"I think that's a matter of opinion, not fact. And if you ask me or Bucky? I think the answer will always be yes."

(Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed a bit before she looked down at her hands, whispering shakily as tears filled her eyes.

"I remember...a target...HYDRA effectuates no witnesses...but...the witness that was with my target...they were just a child."

Her breathing became shallow as she stared down at Steve's artbook, her sketched eyes looking back at her.

"He begged me not to kill her...used her as his shield, but if she had lived and told someone...HYDRA would be at risk. So...I wrapped my hands around her skull, and I squeezed and squeezed until her head cracked and her blood gushed around my hands...they tried to erase me...but no matter how much they tried, I couldn't stop seeing her."

(Y/n) then looked up at Steve, her face contorting into a serious expression as the tears fell down her cheeks.

"Can you still say yes now?"

The room was silent; so quiet that if a pin had dropped, it would sound like an explosion. (Y/n) was still looking Steve in the eyes, but her lips were quivering; hands trembling, and she had to look away. She didn't understand why she felt so angry, but there was a part of her that was furious.

Her fists were clenched, the fear and confusion coursing through her veins like an intrusion, and (Y/n) clenched her jaw as her heart began to pound within her chest. It was quiet for another moment, the only sound of that of the blood rushing through her ears, and suddenly, Steve spoke firmly.

"I can't forgive what HYDRA made you do, but I can forgive you."

Her eyes flicked to his for a second before her lip trembled. The tears hit her like a freight train; the emotions that were trying to spill through finally breaking through the wall, and she began to cry quietly. Her fists clenched again, and Bucky shared a look with Steve before he gradually placed his hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n) didn't flinch. Instead, she allowed Bucky to comfort her through his touch; the warmth of his hand contrasting greatly with the cold that was permeating through her flesh and bones. Steve felt horrible for making her cry, but Steve couldn't lie. It wasn't in his nature to be anything but honest.

But honesty always came with a price.

Bucky spoke softly, his tone twinged with sadness and regret that haunted his words like an unforgiving ghost.

"We can't change what we've done...we can't take back our actions...but we have to take responsibility and be accountable."

(Y/n) glanced down at her lap then, her face blanking slightly, and although both Steve and Bucky became confused by the way she seemed to completely shut down, they were both patient; simply sitting with her in silence as she slowly processed both of their words collectively.

Sighing, Bucky then sat back and took his hand off of (Y/n)'s shoulder, glancing at Steve, and Steve slowly gestured to the door with a nod of his head. Standing up, both men stepped out of Steve's temporary sleeping quarters to talk quietly. Steve's shoulders were tensed, his blonde brows furrowed, and he placed his hands on his hips as he turned to Bucky.

"Bucky, I really think you should let Dr. Raynor take over on this."

Bucky sighed heavily, staring at the door that was separating the men from (Y/n), and Bucky said quietly.

"I don't know, Steve."

Steve shook his head, his eyes gentle but his words firm.

"Listen, I know that you care about her, Bucky, but it's starting to get dangerous. We're too close to this-to her. If we push too hard, we're going to push her away."

"So, what, you want me to just not care?"

Steve gave Bucky an annoyed look, retorting.

"That's now what I am saying, and you know it."

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head as he quipped.

"Sounds a lot like you just said that."

Steve sighed, giving the man a moment to relax before he stated.

"Bucky, I know that this means a lot to you. I'm not saying to walk away, but I am telling you to be careful. You can't pull (Y/n) out of therapy just because you might not like Raynor's methods."

As much as Bucky didn't want to agree, as protective as he was becoming, Bucky knew that Steve was right. He wasn't properly equipped for this; to be helping like this, and he sure as hell wasn't in a position to give advice on how to feel. The only thing that he could do was be there for her.

But Bucky didn't know how to do that without being, well, him.

Steve then clasped Bucky on the shoulder, breaking the man out of his thoughts as Steve encouraged him softly.

"Be there for her, but let Raynor do her job, Bucky. Your job right now is to just be there, alright? She trusts you more than anybody else right now, and that is a really big deal."

Bucky slowly nodded before he glanced at the door again and murmured.

"Alright."

When the men went back into Steve's temporary sleeping quarters, (Y/n) was staring out the window, her eyes distant, and Bucky gently sat down next to her with a sigh. (Y/n) glanced at him through the corner of her eye, and Bucky asked her gently.

"(Y/n), do you want to try again with Raynor? I know it was difficult earlier, and you don't have to if you don't want to, but I think...maybe trying again would be good."

"What if I hurt you...or Raynor?"

Her voice was soft, anxious and small, and Bucky shook his head comfortingly.

"You don't have to worry about that."

He didn't add anything else to his words, but there was no need to. (Y/n) could pick up on the weight of his words; of the promises he was silently offering, and (Y/n) nodded after a moment. Bucky smiled slightly, and he glanced back at Steve, who nodded to him encouragingly. Bucky turned back to (Y/n) when she asked him softly.

"Why did this happen to me?"

Bucky wasn't expecting the question, and he pursed his lips after a moment of thinking. Glancing down at the table, Bucky wasn't exactly sure how to answer.

"Bad things happen to good people for no good reason...it's just the way that life is."

(Y/n) bit her lip then, saying softly.

"I want it to stop hurting."

Bucky was quiet, mitigating his thoughts before he settled and agreed gently.

"I know. Me too. We're going to get there though, okay? One day, things won't seem as heavy or confusing...and you won't feel so lost."

(Y/n) stared at him for a moment, her (e/c) eyes seeming to glow within the sunlight that was filtering through the window, and Bucky's heartbeat began to quicken for a second. His jaw slackened just the slightest, and (Y/n) turned away from him then, her facial expression almost sad.

"I don't...know what is real and what isn't. All the things that I remember...from before HYDRA...I can't make sense of them."

In her mind, (Y/n) knew that the memories had to mean something, but how could she connect to those memories when the main part of her mind was certain these things had never happened? (Y/n)'s existence came about when she was introduced as a Winter Soldier. That's who she had always been...so how was it possible that she had lived a life before it?

These were the thoughts that were starting to get to her; this unknowing and confusion and uncertainty of what is real and what wasn't. It was leaving her mind jumbled, panicking her every time she started to remember because what if it wasn't real? What if these memories were just things that her scrambled mind were putting together?

What if they were implanted memories?

What if they were a part of her programming?

What if they were never hers to begin with?

The woman took a deep and shaky breath, and she finally nodded, whispering softly.

"I would...like to try again."

Bucky nodded before he stood, informing (Y/n).

"I'll go get Raynor then. In the mean time, why don't you get something to eat with Steve?"

(Y/n)'s eyes flicked over to the named man, Steve's kind eyes glancing to her, and he smiled softly as he teased slightly.

"I hear lunch is supposed to be pretty good today."

(Y/n) nodded slowly and stood, glancing back down at the sketchbook, and she asked Steve slowly.

"Did you do that?"

Steve's ears reddened slightly, and he grabbed the sketchbook with a shy gait to his movements.

"Yes. I like to draw when I have the time."

(Y/n) was surprised by the notion, and she bit her lip before the curiosity ate at her enough for her to ask softly.

"Can I...see more?"

Steve was stupefied before he shrugged, Bucky smirking at Steve's shy demeanor as the man agreed.

"Sure, I don't mind."

(Y/n) grabbed the purple crochet bag, murmuring.

"I can...show you the journal too."

Steve's eyes lit up, and he nodded.

"I would enjoy that. Come on, let's get something to eat before you meet with Raynor. A full stomach is always best."

-

STORY NOTES:

TRANSLATIONS:

None

TAGLIST: @softpia @thebl00dwyrm @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos

[sinisterexaggerator]

OK, my main issues with the Bane arc are as follows, while some can be explained away with headcanons or critical thinking skills, lol. Still. They bother me because it left US to do the work and did not properly elaborate on the how or why, or the who these people are even?!

Bane takes his style from a mentor who we don’t see his relationship with him at all yet are supposed to believe he cared about him within his five minutes or less of screentime. Cared enough to take up his hat and his mantle. I get he was left in charge of the gang, but they didn’t show that either, yet his guys come to pick him up once the transport arrives?? Then it’s straight to the Police Station? I have no doubt Bane would look up to someone who gave him a roof over his head when he was homeless and was starving, but I just wish we had seen more. Why he cared so much about his passing.

He ditched his friend right off the bat for a guy he just met. I mean, I guess it makes sense he could do that for his love of credits, and his fear of the cops, but that was the first betrayal, and it was Bane betraying Niro and not the other way around.

Arin was cool enough in her own right but the very first scene we see her she is already holding her stomach like she preggo. She was worried from the outset about telling Bane she’s knocked up, and that’s all she was there for—to serve as a plot device between two men.

The fact she leaves Bane for his best friend turned enemy after they meet one time. Did you even love Bane? And of all the people to marry, why Niro? Is it because of closeness to Bane you chose him? Is it because you didn’t want your child to grow up a bastard and fatherless? Smells like teen pregnancy and a shit situation for a girl caught between a rock and a hard place.

Thug / cop / good guy / bad guy trope with a love interest caught in the middle so cliché and overdone and did not like, tbh.

Why was Bane so delulu about Arin wanting to see him after being in prison for so many years and no one heard anything about her or seen her? Yeah, we can say he didn’t get messages in prison, but really?? No one told him anything??

Niro says she died a few years ago—did she die while “giving birth?” Did passing that huge ass egg kill her?

WHY DID THEY HAVE TO KILL HER OFF SCREEN?

Colby. I cannot get behind the name Colby, I am sorry. I see people’s reasonings for their acceptance of it and just no, not for me.

Why was he already called Cad? Why no backstory as to why he renamed himself Cad Bane? Shouldn’t there have been a lead up to that? It’s literally just a nickname he goes by? How unoriginal. I expected more.

They did not show how he got so good with blasters. Did Lazlo teach him offscreen somewhere? I suppose we’re supposed to guess or use inference here, but not all viewers are that smart HAHA.

Where did he get the accent from all of a sudden? Did he steal that from Lazlo too? Kid Bane didn’t talk that way but all of a sudden young adult Bane does.

The whole “you took everything from me” bit is still kind of a weird thing to say. I know fandom is explaining it in different ways. I just have to assume he means his freedom, his girl, his right to vengeance, his right to choose in terms of Arin stopping him from another duel and that it was stolen out from under him. But that’s not Niro’s fault??

They never explained “why” Arin couldn’t tell Bane. Was it because she was afraid of what he would say? Again we have to assume here. Of course the man would be conflicted, and he’s a known hothead.

Why did they say he got off on a technicality?? Are murderers not given life sentences in Star Wars?? Why not a prison break scene—much more fitting. Lazy writing, imo. But. They only had so much time I guess.

What the fuck was the point of making him a dad?? Are they going to revisit this in the future? Is he going to have—god forbid—a redemption arc?? Is he going to have to face-off against his own kid, and maybe show just how much more of a bastard he is ( hope so )?

This story in and of itself did not convince me of why he is the way that he is. If anything it showed he does care about people, like Arin, and even briefly his “son” before he is turned away. So how does that explain how he is so ruthless, coldblooded, a baby kidnapper, etc? Of course I guess that is up for us to decide, and decide we will. I can only imagine it erodes his psyche overtime, what with regret and all, and that lingering knowledge of fuck I have a kid out there—unless yeah, no big deal. Didn’t actually give a fuck about his girlfriend beyond her being some kind of prize to be won, and he just … writes him off. We can INFER it is for the best; he thinks he would be terrible as a dad; he knows he couldn’t raise the boy for the lifestyle he chose .. but again. Why. Just why. This wasn’t needed.

WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN GIVEN THE BOBA VS. BANE ARC. IT WAS RIGHT THERE.

AND IF HE CAN'T EVEN TAKE HIS OWN KID UNDER HIS WING, WHY WOULD HE TAKE UP JANGO'S?? Because he owed him a favor?? So he didn't owe Arin anything then?? HmMMmMM

[xylatox]

Higher Than Heaven || csb

Told myself the first thing I'll do on this good Sunday was read Lexi's fic so hear I am hehe, Im so excited (❁´◡`❁)

Beomgyu may be your childhood friend, but habits hold on tight with him. It’s clear from the three years he’s worked at your animal shelter. Your parents always said he has good intentions, although he’s brash in decision-making. "The kid just asks for forgiveness more than permission most of the time," your dad would joke, and Beomgyu wouldn’t disagree.- something about this line warms my heart so much oh my god, I love Beomgyu so much hes so cute :(

It's customary on New Years to feel the ache of their absence so strongly. Your thoughts of them are as vivid as the pain of their loss. It seems to haunt you more with every year that passes. - and Lexi does it again with the beautiful explanation of loss

Five years of grief made the pain manageable, but on nights like tonight, it doesn’t feel like you’ve made much progress.- I felt this :((

Your animals greet you at your door with perky barks and whooshing tails. Mina and Minho, your two tabby cats, seem to be delighted that you’re back, but save the ecstatic greetings for their canine siblings. Key, your senior chihuahua, does what he can energy-wise compared to Bori, your labrador mix. - oh to have pets oh my god, and the fact that mc also has a hedgehog?? shes so cute

I love the comedic nature of how mc and soobin are first introduced to each other, like girl what is an umbrella going to do.

His soft palm meets yours and heats your skin, and you have to cut the parting short to not feel any more flustered. - screaming oh my god ALSO THE LOVE NICKNAME BYE.

I love that the dream gives us some kind of information of why Soobin is present along with his identity as an angel. - He showed you all you needed to know last night through your dreams, a miraculous loophole to the restrictions placed upon him. - like this is really cool I cant lie

He truly is an angel, you realize, and not just in the literal sense.- i giggled

Not Soobin coming to her because of her NYE wish 😭i would die

“I can find a date without your help. Beomgyu already took up that role a long time ago. He’s been pestering me about going out with his friend Heeseung for months. So there.” You stick your tongue out at him and continue sweeping.-HEESEUNG MENTION MY BABY AHHHH

“No, you don’t have to apologize. This is what I get for taking a smoke break when I have cupcakes to make, right?” The baker chuckles and releases you. Your heart thumps at a rapid tempo when he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Mingyu. Sorry I’m built like a mountain.” -OH MY GOD GYU😭So many of my favs are here. I feel sick for Soobin :( poor baby

Soobin’s tender smile makes you blush, and it stirs up all the feelings you’ve suppressed when you’re not in his presence. Mingyu’s a welcome distraction from it all. His looks and personality are undeniably attractive, but you always circle back to the angel in your midst. - oh my god

He’s definitely stewing. The animals must be saying to each other, conspiring about what will occur when their mother finally gets home. - oh this is a cute line

When you brush his mouth with your own, every being in the universe, heavenly or not, ceases to exist in your mind. It’s only you and Soobin in your own world. You want to kick yourself for taking so long to seize this moment, this kiss, with him. For all of the reasons Soobin supplies as to why it’s wrong for the two of you to be together, this could not feel more right. - oh good Lord, girl youre a poet

You crawl back into bed, naked and alone, tears streaming down your face. The only time you rise is to let the animals eat and use the bathroom. For the rest of the day, you remain in bed like a phantom. Half out of your body, half inside of it to feel every ounce of pain. Each shred of sadness reminds you that you still exist, and the man—angel—that you love is gone. - baby noooo :(((

You kiss his lips, all the I love you’s not enough to encapsulate every feeling and gift Soobin’s given you since he came into your life. You both may be on Earth, one old and one new human soul linked as one, but you know this is what it means to be higher than even the immensity of heaven. - oh my god, this was the most immaculate end oh my god

Lexi this was so good!!! Im sososo glad its the first thing I read for the day today :(((

HIGHER THAN HEAVEN | 최수빈

⟢ PAIRING: choi soobin x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 10.3K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, angst, smut ⟢ TAGS: guardian angel!soobin, human!reader, mutual pining, sexual tension, dirty talking, nipple play, chest worship, fingering, unprotected sex ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Soobin, your devoted guardian angel, has one singular purpose in his ethereal existence: to bring your heart's deepest desires to life. Unbeknownst to him, his mere presence fulfills that desire. Yet, the lingering question remains— how can he effectively transform your most intimate dreams into reality? LINK TO PLAYLIST! ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: First fic of 2025! I’d like to thank @lovetaroandtaemin, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, @ylangelegy, @gyubakeries, and @xomakara for beta-reading this fic for me, I know it was a quick journey and I appreciate every one of you who followed the story from the beginning to the end 🤍.

The time fills as plastic shot glasses and empty solo cups discarded into trash bags. Some stragglers of the party lay on the couch or floor, but you pass by them with ease. You sigh before Beomgyu stops you with a sharp tug. "Dude, you don't have to help me. You're supposed to be one of my guests!"

"I'm just avoiding the inevitable tomorrow. And if you come into the shelter late because you procrastinated cleaning your own apartment, I may just kill you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, boss.” He rolls his eyes and unfurls the empty bag you had between your hands moments before. You giggle in earnest.

“If I get a single text, Gyu–”

“Why don’t you enjoy the early morning hours of New Year's and get out of here?" He shoves you towards the door of his apartment with an "I love you” to follow you out, determined to do what you swear he won't without your help.

Beomgyu may be your childhood friend, but habits hold on tight with him. It’s clear from the three years he’s worked at your animal shelter. Your parents always said he has good intentions, although he’s brash in decision-making. "The kid just asks for forgiveness more than permission most of the time," your dad would joke, and Beomgyu wouldn’t disagree.

Your parents’ words replay in your head on the walk home. You hear every piece of parental advice with each step on the cobblestones, the clack or your heels accompanying every word. It's customary on New Years to feel the ache of their absence so strongly. Your thoughts of them are as vivid as the pain of their loss. It seems to haunt you more with every year that passes.

One day, you had been tagging new intakes and cleaning food bowls like normal. The next you were receiving the call that your parents had been in a fatal car accident. Every space they inhabited, including the shelter, felt colder, quieter, a little less like home. Even your own house twenty minutes from your job barely felt like your own.

Five years of grief made the pain manageable, but on nights like tonight, it doesn’t feel like you’ve made much progress..

The cold of January accompanies the repetitive emotional and mental cycle you're on. The weather bites with a hard set of teeth, almost more brutal than the traces of sadness you feel in your heart.

You don’t realize amid the somber trek home how close the surrounding shadows are, one of a stranger within an arm’s distance.

Your animals greet you at your door with perky barks and whooshing tails. Mina and Minho, your two tabby cats, seem to be delighted that you’re back, but save the ecstatic greetings for their canine siblings. Key, your senior chihuahua, does what he can energy-wise compared to Bori, your labrador mix.

“Bobo, please,” you beg as she jumps up on you when you kneel at her eye-level. It’s all a mess of slobbering tongue and eager pants with her. Once she’s done, you rub Key between the ears to give him some affection.

Even your hedgehog, Rio, taps against the glass of his enclosure to say hello to you. It’s almost like every pair of animal eyes asks you how the party went and why you left them alone for so long.

You can’t supply them with an answer, because you notice the person-shaped figure at your kitchen counter, silent and clouded in darkness. The sight makes you release a decibel-breaking scream.

You grab an umbrella from the iron wrack near your door and charge to the kitchen, expecting Key and Bori to follow you and bark aggressively at the intruder. They don’t, but they do pad behind you in curiosity at your strange actions.

They barely react at all when you turn on the light in the small kitchen. The new illumination reveals the black-haired stranger dressed in white. He says nothing, but holds a smile of mirth on his face at your line of defense. He's neither scrawny nor muscular, but towers over you to a surreal degree. 

You think you can take him if you have the element of surprise, but with the alcohol still buzzing through your veins, you may lack complete hand-eye coordination. It’s anyone’s guess.

“What do you want? If you’re looking for money, you got the wrong house, buddy.” You say with a steady voice, aiming the sharpest point of the umbrella in his direction.

He smiles wide, pearly teeth and a set of dimples almost blinding you. “I’m Soobin.”

His lack of an answer and warm smile throw you off. It’s definitely not the reaction anyone expects from a burglar. Maybe the guy's intoxication is even greater than yours, enabling him to enter someone's home without permission. No matter the reasons, you don’t release your hold on the umbrella. You stare him down hard despite your shaking hands.

“Well…Soobin…I don’t know what you want, but you’re not gonna find it here.”

“I’m in the exact place I need to be.” He says your name with the same level of warmth that remains in his smile, but your blood runs cold at the fact he is aware of who you are. Was he stalking you? Had he stopped by the animal shelter while you were too busy to make a mental note of him? “Put down the umbrella and we–”

“Get the fuck out of my house, you creep!” You raise the umbrella as high as you can before it falls on his head, shoulders, or any location on his body that will stun him. He knows it’s coming, though.

Soobin somehow materializes right in front of you before you can step forward, taking your wrists gently in one hand to stop you. “There’s no need for that. I’m not here to harm you.”

You struggle in his hold, trying your hardest to release yourself from his grip with all of your might. Then, you freeze, unsure of how both his speed and his lack of alarm to your furry animals makes any logical sense.

Soobin senses your lack of effort to go through with your attack and lets go of you, taking a small breath of air. “Will you drop the umbrella?”

“Once you tell me what you are,” you whisper. “My dogs would have ripped off your ankles by now, but they didn’t. Why?”

Soobin chuckles, but you feel anything but humorous. “The why to that question is a bit hard to explain. But I can tell you why I’m here.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly bashful. “Let’s just say I have a mission to complete.”

Soobin sits at one end of the couch, hands in his lap, while you sit on the other. Your dogs lay at the edge of the couch, snoring peacefully now that the chaos is over. Your knees sit tight against your chest, still guarding yourself from him or any potential advances he may make.

You may not think he wants to kill or rob you anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re immediately trusting of the stranger. One that is no doubt breathtaking, but still hiding his intentions.

You size him up, still unsure how or why the guy is familiar with you when you’ve never seen him before. He can barely provide you with an adequate answer for the questions that pop into your head.

Where are you from? How do you know me? Have we ever met before?

He chuckles at each one, continuing on with the same reflexive response. “Proprietary information.”

You roll your eyes. “Every time you say that, you sound like some kind of spy.” You move closer to his spot on the couch, looking at him with more intensity than before. 

The analysis makes him laugh even more, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m not an alien, if that was your second guess.”

“That’s not what I was thinking!”

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “You look like you’re about to cut me open with a scalpel.”

Your lips transform into a firm line. “Should I want to, Soobin? Maybe you’re saying you’re not an alien to throw me off.”

“Trust me, I am not an extraterrestrial. Not cool enough.”

You can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous situation you find yourself in, matching the smile on Soobin’s face with your own. An hour ago, you were about to kill him in self-defense for what you assumed was a classic break-in scenario. Now, you’re laughing with your would-be victim. This has to be the most peculiar first day of the year you’ve ever had.

He claps his hands softly on his white denim jeans. “We should call it a night. You’re probably tired. I can explain more tomorrow, if you’d like.”

You look around your house, unsure where Soobin is planning to stay for the next few hours. The one-bed-and-bath cottage is anything but roomy, most of your space taken up by work supplies or your animals’ stuff.

He senses your trepidation and grins. “Don’t worry, I can come back in the morning.”

You suck in a breath. Most of you feels relief, but there’s a small inkling of sadness that pervades your emotions. You barely know Soobin, but his presence provides a warmth that your home has been missing.

It has to be the last traces of alcohol and the simmering grief still in your system.

“Okay. I have work in the morning, but–”

“I’ll be here before you have to leave,” Soobin cuts you off. He holds his hand out in a goodbye, and you take it. His soft palm meets yours and heats your skin, and you have to cut the parting short to not feel any more flustered.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.” He leaves you with one more grin before he exits, confusing you further. 

The touch of his fingertips on you follows you into sleep, his skin the last coherent sensation you have before it all goes black.

There is a murky quality to the dream you find yourself in. You’re surrounded by grey, the color’s opacity fading only partly as the details become clearer.

The room around you looks more like a cavern than a traditional room. It’s made of stone, cavelike and primitive. The entrance to the area is too vast for a normal door. It’s almost as if you could step out and fall into nothing but clouds. The world outside is a mixture of inky blacks and dark blues, signifying nighttime outside the four rocky walls.

You look back to the inside of the space. It holds a desk covered with paperwork and photographs. You’re alone, standing in the center of it all, but too far away from the papers on the table to see any information.

Before you can step closer, Soobin enters with a blonde man hot on his heels. They both walk right through you, seemingly not noticing your presence at all as they continue their discussion. 

They emit their own light somehow, the room nowhere near as dark as when you were alone inside of it.

“If you fail at this, Yeonjun will demote you and have no qualms about doing it.” The blonde man ruffles his hair in frustration, and inches closer to Soobin. They clearly have a close relationship, from the concern on the stranger’s face to the hand that he rests on Soobin's shoulder. “You’ve worked too hard to lose everything, Soobin.”

“I know, Hyuka,” Soobin says in a somber tone, sorting through the papers on his desk. “But she needs me now more than ever. And I know I can help. And if I succeed, I can actually—“

“I get it. We’re just not supposed to get involved unless we’re certain about it. You know this.”

Soobin sighs. “You didn’t see her, Kai. I have to.”

The man named Kai exhales a deep breath and walks away, his pleas seeming to hit a brick wall. The last thing he says, “I hope you know what you’re risking,” barely makes it to your ears. All you notice before Kai’s departure is the unfurling of wings from his back, the white and gray feathers spouting from the tendons just below his shoulders.

You scream when he drops from the entrance, his wings carrying him away. You don’t care if the sound alerts either of the two men, not after witnessing such an unrealistic moment.

You scream again when you hear the unfurling of Soobin’s wings, the sound almost whipping you onto your back from the gust his wings emit. They’re dark grey, larger than Kai’s are. They create such long-casting shadows that you have no question now what Soobin is or where he comes from.

The word replays in your mind as the surrounding scene dematerializes and you wake up with a rapid heartbeat: an angel.

Soobin waits at your door in the same white button-up and jeans he had on the night prior. You welcome him inside, and he looks more ethereal somehow in daylight. 

The dream hits you again with its full force, the image of his grey wings flashing across your memory.

“So, you’re an angel,” You say, filling the space between you both with a new tension. The anxiety only permeates from you; Soobin exudes an air of calm instead, despite your accusation.

He almost ticks his head down in a nod as he responds with the words, “Proprietary information.”

You nod your head and gulp hard. Somehow, the aura around you and the subtext in his expression tells you what you know to be true.

He showed you all you needed to know last night through your dreams, a miraculous loophole to the restrictions placed upon him.

When you’re finally ready to go to work, the morning chores around the house finished before Soobin even made it to your doorstep, you look over at the man in front of you again with trepidation. The white attire may lead to a multitude of questions that you and Soobin cannot answer.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Soobin asks, confused.

You laugh and shake your head, any residual tension from your realization broken. “You look a bit too…uniform for the shelter.”

“Oh! Well…” He blushes, unsure how to respond.

An idea pops into your head when his words come up short. “I may have some old stuff that’ll fit you.”

“Why is the rando wearing your dad’s windbreaker?” Beomgyu asks while cleaning Jin, the newest adoptee at the shelter. His eyes peer over at Soobin filling some food bowls with kibble. Soobin’s presence fills the space the same way it did in your house.

He wears your dad’s long-sleeve shirt, windbreaker, and khaki pants well. Despite his freakishly tall height, the clothes don’t look small on him, and you’re relieved he’s able to fit in like any normal guy with the change in wardrobe.

You scoff, continuing to fill out the documents for Jin’s tag and vaccinations without looking up at your friend. “Soobin’s new in town and lost everything on the plane ride here. He just needed to borrow some stuff until his luggage gets delivered.”

Beomgyu nods, still concerned. He goes back to scrubbing Jin’s coat with the anti-tick shampoo, and you leave his spot at the cleaning station to stand beside Soobin.

“You do this every day? These bags are heavy, even for me.” Soobin grunts and clips the bag closed.

“I usually make Gyu or another volunteer do it. But you saved me the trouble of asking.” You smirk and take two of the bowls in your hands. “Want to help me feed the dogs?”

Soobin’s eyes light up, and he nods. You wonder as you walk to the cages if he’s ever interacted with animals before he left his home in the skies.

Since you were a kid, the shelter has always been a part of your daily regimen. Once college was out of the way, you had a stable job waiting for you to practice your veterinary degree on. While some could only handle so many cat scratches, dog poops, and absurd origin stories, it made every day worth it in your eyes. And the fact that you had a history with tending to furry friends with your parents only made it more worthwhile to continue doing.

The second you open the cages to let the dogs eat, you recognize how natural Soobin is at the job. He talks to them in a childlike voice and rubs their bellies as they munch on kibble and necessary medicines you give in between feeding. Even the dogs with the rougher backgrounds take to Soobin like a bee to honey, the warmth he naturally exudes relaxing them.

He truly is an angel, you realize, and not just in the literal sense.

You lock up the shelter for the day with a lot less weight on your shoulders thanks to Soobin. “I might as well give you the keys to this place. It suits you well,” you joke.

Soobin tucks his hands into his windbreaker, smiling hard. “It just came easy, I guess. Animals aren’t like people. They don’t have to hide behind words. It’s all about energy.”

You look at him as you walk away from the building together, your face softened from his words. “My mom always used to say stuff like that. To her, animals were the bestest friends you could ever ask for. She’d say it’s like they see into your soul.”

Soobin grins. “She seems lovely.”

You swallow hard, balling your hands into fists inside your jacket. It’s not anger that permeates your body now, not the way it used to. All that exists is the reality that their words are simply memories. “She was. My dad too. That place was their second home.” You wave your arm in the direction of the shelter. The building diminishes from view as you round the corner to head home. “And mine, too.”

“Did you envision this being your life?” Soobin asks, the question taking you by surprise. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay!” You laugh. “I mean—I love working with the animals every day, and I have great friends. It just can be very routine sometimes, like there’s this gap that I can’t fill.” You hold back the more intimate details of your desires to Soobin, still guarded and uncertain of being so vulnerable so soon.

He steps closer, the walk becoming more intimate with his shoulder almost brushing yours. “You’ve been alone for quite a while. It’s understandable to want to share your life with someone.”

You blush hard, a mixture of the January cold and his correct assumptions building a steady heat on your cheeks. “That’s what most people want, I guess.”

Eyes widening, you realize now why Soobin may be discussing these things with you. Could his super secret mission, which he discussed the night you met, relate to right now?

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, stopping on the stone street. Soobin only gets a few paces farther than you before he stops.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks, his eyebrows drawn up and his mouth in a small O that you would normally giggle at.

Now, you have no time for humor.

“Did you come here because of the stupid wish I made on New Year’s Eve?”

“Taehyun, if you give me another shot, I will throw up!” You exclaim in a fit of giggles, three drinks already in your system over the last hour and a half. His girlfriend, Kazuha, stands by your side as she downs the shot in her hand, her mouth puckering as she swallows it down. “Zu, I thought you were the DD tonight!”

“Fuck it, I’ll call an Uber.” She winks and chases the shot with a sip of beer. Beomgyu wades through the throng of people in his living room to join all of you in the kitchen.

“Taking shots without me? That’s a party foul.”

“Whatever, man. It’s not like we can’t make more.” Taehyun passes him one filled with tequila to catch up, and Beomgyu downs it in the next second. By the time the buzz of the drinks hits your head, Jungwon barrels into the kitchen with his own girlfriend Yeri to tell you all that the ball is dropping.

Everyone crowds around the television to watch the remaining minute of the year play out. The strangers around you scream out the last seconds, others speak in a drunken lilt.

You turn to your friends, somehow the only person without someone attached to their hip. Beomgyu is holding a random girl's shoulder, while your other friends stand closely together in their respective couples, watching the countdown..

“Four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” Beomgyu says the words into his date’s neck before kissing her roughly on the lips. Your other friends have their own celebratory make-out sessions. You feel like an intruder as they all enjoy the moment in their respective couples.

You’ve never been a grouch about your single status, not once. But it felt like a part of you was missing out with little of a choice in the matter. Whether by the confines of chance or love simply not being meant for you for the past twenty-seven years, you can only be comfortable for so long before the pain of solitude drains you dry.

Was it so awful to want to find someone to share funny videos with? To talk to about days at the shelter when a cute animal comes in and needs a loving home? When days are heavy on your heart and you need the one you love the most to lift you up and make it all evaporate with a simple “I love you”? To make every struggle and hardship, no matter how big or small, worth it?

And so, with only a drunken mind and heart to listen to your deepest whims, you wish for what seems the most out of reach as your eyes line with tears: a soulmate to bridge the gap between your loneliness and true fulfillment.

When the reality of why Soobin’s here hits you, you can’t help but release one of the loudest laughs you’ve ever emitted before.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” you say with exasperated breaths, all the air in your lungs saved mostly for your laughter. “You came all the way from up there to play matchmaker?”

Soobin chuckles to himself, the sounds that leave his lips a lot quieter than yours. “You make it sound so childish.”

“Can you blame me?” You ask. “I don’t need help in that department!”

Soobin gives you a knowing look, hitting you somewhere deep in the chest. “Then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“Okay, don’t speak in riddles to me!”

“I’m just stating facts, love.”

You roll your eyes, and Soobin laughs again. “So you’re magically going to find me the perfect partner after only knowing me for 48 hours?”

“I’ve known you for much longer than that.” He steps even closer to you, your fingers brushing his as he stands a few inches from you. “But again, it’s—“

“Proprietary information, I get it,” you whisper. You cough into your fist and glide past him, the moment broken. “Either way, I am just fine with or without a boyfriend, Soobin.”

He follows behind without a word, but you sense his smile without looking at him. Jerk.

Soobin has helped many people in his immortal life. It’s an existence he couldn’t fill in just one book. He’d have to go back centuries to the very moment he started his work as a guardian. His life began long before that, but his true merits came when he started helping those who needed supernatural guidance.

He’s seen from his eagle’s eye view many heartbreaks, losses, successes, and love stories, but nothing as encapsulating as the story of your life.

You were a vision to see the first time you held an animal in your hands, hands tepid but heart full from the creature giving all of its affection to you for you to reciprocate wholeheartedly. He was in awe of you when you stepped across the stage with your degree, eager to put all the knowledge you gained about medicine to a good use. And his ever-still heart ached with yours the second you got that phone call in November five years ago, wanting nothing more than to catch you before your knees hit the tile below.

You’re the one assignment he’s kept too close an eye on, the others in his caseload not holding his focus so strongly. He succumbed to forbidden desires, wishes he knew were unattainable.

But the second he felt your heart break on the one night he knew he could seize the chance to step over the border between Heaven and Earth, he chose the only option that felt right: he had to leave home and heal what needed to be mended inside of you a long time ago.

He watches you help the teenage girl adopting her first pet with immense adoration. 

You check off the supplies needed for Jin and all the vaccines the dog will need moving forward with clinical focus. It’s admirable how dedicated you are to your work, not caring if it went beyond the bounds of a traditional work-life balance.

And when you wave the teenager and her parents out the door and turn to him with a signature eye-roll, he can’t stop the way his skin heats. Your gaze in his direction screams: How long are you going to keep pestering me?

Forever, he says to himself with a hell of a lot of hope.

When you’re both alone in the shelter, one hour after you’re closed for the day, you sweep the floors in a huff. “I am telling you I do not need you to play matchmaker for me.”

“You keep saying that and yet I’m still here, love,” Soobin tuts, flipping through the magazine on top of your desk. He sits at the chair opposite from the receptionist counter so casually, feet crossed and casual despite his heart yearning to explain everything to you.

I’m here because I can’t take any more of your pain. Because someone deserves to know how special you are. Because I—

“I can find a date without your help. Beomgyu already took up that role a long time ago. He’s been pestering me about going out with his friend Heeseung for months. So there.” You stick your tongue out at him and continue sweeping.

Soobin chuckles to himself and flips to another page of the magazine, but he can’t deny how his focus remains on you, the center of his attention, for longer than he expected.

“Lee Heeseung, twenty-two. Works at the ramen shop downtown. Entirely incompatible with you. Just for your information.”

You stop sweeping and aim an accusatory eye at him. “And that’s not proprietary information how?”

“I’m not looking out for him. And that only took a couple of Google searches to figure out, love.”

By the time you lock up the store, Soobin is in the habit of checking the door behind you to make sure you didn’t miss the back door or forget to close the play-gate on the way out. Two weeks of observing your routine up close has given him incredible intel, and not just into your schedule.

“Let’s walk past downtown,” Soobin suggests, taking your hand and walking through a new pattern of alleyways and cobblestone paths. 

You’re unsure why this route that adds another ten minutes to your walk is worth the trouble, but you take his advice, anyway. He’s your angel for a reason, after all.

“Soobin, unless you suddenly got a hankering for human food, we really should—“

You knock into someone’s shoulders hard; the impact sends you to the gravel. Soobin vanishes from view, his name on your tongue the second you recognize that you’re on the ground.

A pair of hands that aren’t Soobin’s, more calloused and robust, lift you up off the ground.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing so close to the alleyway.”

A beautiful pair of brown eyes gaze at yours, and it stops you dead in your tracks. The stranger’s brown hair falls over his face in a mess of free curls, some of them tinged with sweat. He wears a baking apron around his waist; flour and, you presume, icing cover his shirt.

You look at the building next to you, the pastel pink sign reading “Gyu’s Baked Goods” beaming over your head. And you turn back to the man in question, the baker himself as his hands keep you sturdy on your scraped feet.

“It’s totally fine. I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, I wasn’t looking anyway and I—“

“No, you don’t have to apologize. This is what I get for taking a smoke break when I have cupcakes to make, right?” The baker chuckles and releases you. Your heart thumps at a rapid tempo when he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Mingyu. Sorry I’m built like a mountain.”

You chuckle and take his hand, the handshake gentle for the size of his palm. It reminds you of a sturdy fireplace, strong but tender. “Pleased to meet you. Apologies for having the build of a leaf.”

Soobin looks on with a knot in his stomach from an opposite alleyway. The process has begun, and he cannot halt its progress. No matter if he wants to be the one in the human male’s place.

Soobin watches on as Mingyu stands with you by the kennels, acid simmering on his tongue from watching the two of you in such a chummy position.

He clutches the novel in his hands with intense pressure, on the edge of ripping pages between his fingers. For the past week and a half, you and Mingyu have spent time together as new acquaintances, giving Sobbing time to read mortal literature.

He should be happy for you; his initial plan to find someone who fits your life and wishes so well is going perfectly. Yet why does he wish he could rewind time and take it back?

To your pleasure and Soobin’s secret dismay, Mingyu’s surprise gift of homemade mini animal treats made the day an amazing experience for all three of you.

You pay no mind to Soobin’s sudden and off-putting sulking as you show Mingyu around the animal shelter, your new friend interested in your job as much as you’re intrigued by him.

Beomgyu saunters up to Soobin with a bag of kibble in his hands, clicking his tongue. “It’s tough, isn’t it, man?”

Soobin huffs and looks at the younger man, the aura around your friend similar to his back home. If only Kai could see him now, grumbling and pouting like a kicked puppy. 

“What is?”

“Seeing the girl you like with someone else. I mean, she’s pretty great so I get it.”

Soobin rolls his eyes and goes back to the novel in his hands to distract himself. His jaw ticks when he hears your laughter. The sound creates such a beautiful symphony to his ears, but it’s not reserved for him at the moment, and it makes his stomach turn. “You’re wrong.”

“Okay, dude. I get it. None of my business.” Beomgyu lifts the bag over his shoulder and starts walking, but looks back at Soobin with a smirk. “But maybe it might be mutual if you gave it a shot.”

Soobin scoffs at the kid, and then at himself for the split second he entertains the idiot’s idea. Soobin can pine all he wants, but he knows the boundaries. A multitude of reasons prevent this line from ever being crossed.

He may have incredibly powerful feelings for you, but they’re hidden away and unable to reach the light of day. Not just because he has a strategy for you and Mingyu, but he is not an acceptable suitor because he doesn’t belong here, simply put. Earth is only a temporary stay on his list. And when he goes back and reports to Yeonjun of his success, who knows what will happen?

All he knows is that your paths will cross only once in his and your lifetime, and never again.

Soobin almost remains stuck in his misery until you walk up to him with an orange icing-colored dog bone treat in your hands. You hold it out to him with a shy smile. “For you.”

He smirks, taking the snack from you and rotating it between his fingers. “Isn’t this for the dogs, love?”

And the signature eye roll comes, your bottom lip between your teeth as you do it. “They’re organic. Anyone can eat them.” You look back at him directly, suddenly concerned. “You can eat, right?”

He chuckles. Nodding his head, he looks back at the snack. “Just not sure if I’ll like it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Just try it, please?”

Reluctantly, he bites down. Sweet potatoes and carrots, harmoniously blended, flood his mouth. The icing and pinch of cinnamon provides the perfect level of sweetness to round it all out, and Soobin groans. Even the dog treats the guy makes are perfect.

“Okay, it’s pretty great,” Soobin admits, taking another bite. “Even if they’re meant for dogs.”

You laugh and take a tiny corner for yourself. “At least you can say you’ve eaten a dog bone.”

Soobin’s tender smile makes you blush, and it stirs up all the feelings you’ve suppressed when you’re not in his presence. Mingyu’s a welcome distraction from it all. His looks and personality are undeniably attractive, but you always circle back to the angel in your midst.

Who can blame you? He’s ethereal, his magnetism undeniable. But that warmth he’s had from the first day you met is why you can only stay away for so long. He’s a part of your world now, and you can’t imagine that changing in the foreseeable future.

He’s made his place on Earth with you, and you dread the day he has to go back to where he belongs.

The end of January brings the last time for branches to stay vacant of leaves. You notice the small sprouts of leaves amidst the brown limbs as you and Soobin walk back to your house. You bite back a smile, and Soobin comments on it.

It’s like he clenches your heart between his fingers as he says it. “You always hide your excitement like nobody should be watching. Like it’s wrong to be happy about the little things.”

You blush while strolling beside him. “It’s not that I’m hiding it. Maybe I just don’t think anyone will get why I’m happy about certain things.”

Soobin bumps you with his shoulder, a close-mouthed smile on his lips. “Try me.”

You exhale a breath to get your bearings. “Okay, so everyone is always excited about the start of the new year. But then it’s like the excitement dies down and we just go on our merry way until the next holiday comes up. It’s not in the days for me. It’s the environment that always makes me feel the shift, you know?

“Like with animals, almost. The energy is unique, and I feel it when I see the colors and feel the temperature fluctuate.” You shake your head and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “That may sound stupid, but—“

Soobin stops you on the open sidewalk, taking your hand in his. He looks into your eyes earnestly, wanting you to take his words to heart before he says them. “Nothing you’ve ever said to me is stupid, love. Every thought you have is beautiful because it’s yours.”

Like the town greenery, something shifts inside of you then. Even on the rest of the walk home and the talk over dinner about the day at the shelter, you sense an unfamiliar emotion swirling in the air between you and Soobin. You can’t name it, but it reminds you of the first blooms of spring, brimming with promise.

The first week of February comes in a tidal wave. Many people flood the animal shelter looking for the perfect furry friend to complete their family on the cusp of Valentine’s Day.

All you can hope for is that a majority of them, or at least fifty percent, don’t come back to the shelter after the holiday is over to return the animals looking for forever homes. 

That was the one thing that bugged you the most about this job: biting your tongue at the obvious lack of responsibility people put into owning pets.

It holds more weight than anyone knows, bringing another being in your home to tend to like a child. The only difference is that many of them have histories that deserve more care than normal, and some don’t want to put in the right amount of effort.

You sit on these thoughts as Soobin holds the newest cat to the shelter in his hands. “Have you thought of a name for Mr. Cat yet?” Soobin inspects the spot near the cat’s tail. “Or Missus?”

You giggle and grab the clipboard with the cat’s information on it. “He’s a he, Soob. You can come up with a name.”

He ponders the choices, before his smile grows and he presses his nose to the cat’s. “How about Hyuka?” He rubs the back of the cat’s ears tenderly.

You grin at Soobin and brush your fingers over Hyuka’s fur. “I think it’s a perfect fit.”

Soobin looks over at you with bright eyes, his expression transforming into one that feels like the one you held that day so long ago when he called your thoughts beautiful. A question forms on his tongue, but it flits away the second Mingyu walks through the double doors of the animal shelter with a bouquet of daisies.

At least the jerk knows your favorite flowers, Soobin thinks to himself as he walks with Hyuka back to his block in the back room.

You smile at Mingyu and thank him for the flowers, immediately pressing your nose to them to inhale their smell. “They’re amazing, thank you.”

“My buddy Wonwoo is a florist, so don’t thank me too much. I got a discount even though I should’ve paid full price.”

“Can’t beat a couple bucks off.” You set the bundle down on your desk and cross your arms over the countertop. “I take it you’re not just here to deliver flowers?”

Mingyu chuckles and presses a hand to his neck, his toned biceps stretching out his shirt. “Actually, I was going to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s.”

You stumble on your explanation, discussing the closure of the shelter for the holiday. “Well,” Mingyu starts, “I was thinking you could come by for dinner. And I promise it won’t just be me making you taste test cupcakes again.”

You laugh, but the sound falls flat. You had always been the one pining, yearning for the boy you liked to like you back. Being on the other side of the coin was not exactly ideal. “Mingyu, you know I appreciate you and I am flattered, but…”

Soobin.

You’re unsure how to continue, but Mingyu holds a hand up in understanding. “I get it. How about I make you a meal, anyway? Consider it a friend treating a friend for all of her hard work.”

You blush and nod. “I’d like that very much.”

You’re washing dried-up wet food from the cat bowls when Soobin walks up to you, his face red. By the time Mingyu left, you expected Soobin to come back to your side so you could wash the dishes together. You did it yourself, seeing as he took forever to come back. Soobin asks with a tone of authority, “What the hell are you thinking?”

You poke your cheek with your tongue, contemplating. “I’m thinking Hyuka’s chances of getting adopted before Valentine’s is about—“

“You know that wasn’t what I meant, love.” He says the pet name with annoyance as he drops one bowl into the sink next to you. His tone catches you off guard, not expecting to see Soobin angry for the first time like this.

“You asked me what I was thinking, and I’m telling you.”

“Why did you say no to the date?” Soobin asks, his eyes blazing with fury. Something without a name sits below though, you can tell.

“I, technically, didn’t say no. It’s just more friendly than romantic.”

“Do you expect me to find you another soulmate like this?” Soobin drops another dirty plate in the sink for you to clean up. You don’t know if the question is exactly for you or for himself.

The tension sits thickly in the air, the running tap the only sound for a good minute or two. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you respond, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

Your cheekiness makes Soobin chuckle deeply. You missed his laugh, you realize, not hearing the sound in a while. Not since before Mingyu came around. “What am I gonna do with you, love?”

You shrug and go back to washing the bowls, hiding your smile behind soap suds and dishwater.

Soobin’s leg shakes as he sits on your couch, watching the clock on the spot above your door. 10:49 PM. He’s been waiting for hours to welcome you home from your “friendly” date with Mingyu. Admittedly, he’s been waiting since the second you left, the night of Valentine’s Day on the forefront of his brain since he heard the meathead ask you to have dinner.

Minho and Key keep him company, the older animals in your horde understanding and patient while Soobin mopes around. The angel feels as impatient as Bori can be when she has to wait for dinner.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Soobin says to Key, the chihuahua’s overbite hanging almost like a taunt. “I’m not stewing.”

He’s definitely stewing. The animals must be saying to each other, conspiring about what will occur when their mother finally gets home.

And on the cusp of eleven, you walk into the house and unbuckle your heels. You watch Soobin on the couch, his hands fidgeting on his lap. “Have you been sitting there for three hours?” You ask in a cute tone that drives Soobin nuts.

“No, I made the animals dinner.” You set your bag on the iron wrack where your coats lie, and throw your shoes in some corner of the living room before Soobin continues with, “So, how was the date?”

You stride to the mirror, beginning to unclasp the flashy studs in your ears. “It was fine. Nothing special. Just two friends having dinner.”

“That’s all it was? No candles at the table, no romantic music, nothing?”

“Why are you so concerned, Soobin? I went out, I had fun, now I’m home.” Soobin’s not prepared to hear your voice so clipped and direct. Your frustration is usually a mask of humor or concern. Not genuine anger, like right now. You don’t look at him directly, continuing to remove your jewelry as your ire grows.

You try to de-escalate the argument by retreating to the kitchen, but he only follows you there. And moving back into the living doesn’t help either. “Stop following me, Soobin!”

“Stop running away,” he barks back.

“I will when you stop making a big deal out of this.”

“It is a big deal,” he says with a scoff. “And am I not allowed to worry about you and who you’re with?” He asks with a bite that matches your irritation.

“Why are you so concerned if Mingyu’s the person you wanted to set me up with in the first place?”

“Don’t ask me that question,” he whispers. His jaw tightens and his hands clam up, but you don’t give in. If he wants to finish the discussion, then you’ll continue to press him for an answer.

“Why? What kind of ‘proprietary information’ relates to how you feel about this? What does me going out with Mingyu and you being a complete ass about it have anything to do with top-secret intel?”

“I love you, alright?!” He yells, standing stock still as his veins pulse in his head and neck. His hands go to the messy strands of his hair, almost like he feels himself going crazy at his own confession. “I did not mean to, and it’s awful. I can’t give you the life you deserve. Someone like Mingyu or any other human man would be lucky to have you, yet I can barely stomach the thought of someone else getting to touch you in all the ways I wish I could. And it’s driving me insane.”

The confession knocks something loose inside of you, remaining inhibitions be damned if it means now that the feelings Soobin harbors mirror your own without a doubt. 

You step closer to him, the tension almost too much to bear any longer. You press your hands to his neck, and bring him closer until your lips are a mere inch apart. “Nothing and nobody’s stopping you, Soobin.”

He takes a deep breath to hold himself back,  grounding himself so he doesn’t do something that will upend both of your worlds. “You don’t know that, love.”

You chuckle softly. “Maybe not, but I do know that I love you too.”

When you brush his mouth with your own, every being in the universe, heavenly or not, ceases to exist in your mind. It’s only you and Soobin in your own world. You want to kick yourself for taking so long to seize this moment, this kiss, with him. For all of the reasons Soobin supplies as to why it’s wrong for the two of you to be together, this could not feel more right.

Soobin only gives himself a second of separation from you to catch his breath before he dives back in for one, two, three more kisses. He moans eagerly into your mouth. He tugs on the fabric of your dress to occupy his hands, his body hungry for any contact he can get.

Heavens do be damned, if it means he can keep you between his arms and against his lips. 

Your back hits the bed as Soobin attaches his lips to your neck. The dogs scratch at the locked door of your bedroom, but you know they’ll give up after another minute of waiting for a result that will never come. You have other priorities to tend to.

Soobin’s lips and teeth mark you up as he travels along your skin with his mouth. He removes your dress and his shirt so your skin is in closer contact, the feeling of his every present warmth lighting you from the inside out. Your undergarments are still in the way, but you know they’ll be discarded soon.

“You do not know how many days I wished for this,” he mumbles into the spot between your breasts, his kisses setting you on fire to the point you can barely tell where he’s going next. He unclasps the clips holding your bra together, your top half now bare for his eyes to witness.

He marvels at the fullness of your chest before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He licks at the skin as he suckles. The action pulls a moan from your lips, your body thrusting up at nothing but open air.

“You can touch me in other ways, Soobin,” you gasp, taking his hand in yours and intertwining your fingers.

He blushes a deep crimson, releasing your nipple from his lips. “I don’t know how,” he admits.

You take his hand to guide lower to the top of your underwear, urging him to slip his hand inside. He does so, immediately finding the wetness of your folds against his fingertips. “You can move them around—just like that.” 

He takes your advice and expertly finds your clit to take between his thumb and index finger. Your hips buck up into his touch, and he smirks against your lips. He asks, “Is this what you like?”

“Yes, please.” He takes your underwear off to freely glide his fingers in and out of you, three of the digits simultaneously filling you but leaving you aching for more. “Please, Soobin, please,” you beg.

“What do you want, my love? Don’t hold back.”

“I want you inside of me,” you confess. He listens to your request without question. Unbuckling his pants, his cock springs free to make your eyes linger to the bottom half of his body. You don’t guess for long what it feels like, as he immediately sinks into you to make your eyelids flutter.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, pressing your hands to his lower back, pushing him in deeper until he’s filling you to the hilt.

“You feel amazing.” Soobin says the words against your lips as he thrusts for the first time. He pulls completely before slipping back in, groaning the entire way.

While you appreciate the slow movement of his body against yours, not too eager to rush the experience, you cling to him with eager fingers, hoping the message will come across. “Soobin, go faster.”

You’ve only ever been with two other men in your life, two lackluster experiences in college you wished to forget. All the time between now was just a waiting game, you only willing to go the distance when you felt it was with the right person. And it seems like all the failures in your history have led you to this perfect blip in time.

Like Soobin can read your mind, he slows down just enough so he can whisper to you, “It’s always been you. It’s only ever been you.”

You can’t help the tear that forms in your eye, but it’s quickly kissed away with Soobin’s lips on your cheek and, subsequently, your mouth.

“I’m gonna come, Soobin. Please don’t stop.” His hips work faster, his thumb pressing down and rubbing your clit harder, and you can barely feel your body before it lights up in every area.

Your toes curl, your mouth slacks, and your soul explodes as the pleasure overtakes you. You feel empty yet so full from the endorphins released from your orgasm.

Soobin continues to move his hips against yours. His pace stutters, signaling his own release. He captures his lips with yours as he spills inside of you, your body his to claim completely. Nobody has ever had you in this way—emotionally, mentally, physically.

When you tell Soobin “I love you,” you mean it in every facet of reality, your soul intimately linked with his otherworldly one.

“I love you too, my love.” He smiles like a bashful child, taking you into his arms and pulling you closer as the night continues on outside. When you again, bodies intertwined between your sheets, all that you wish for now is for the moment to last forever.

And when you fall asleep that night in his arms a few hours later, you pray to every god you can name that it never ends.

The expectation of waking up to the warmth of Soobin’s arms and kisses dies when you feel his empty side of the bed. You search the entire house , your dogs padding behind you as you search every corner for him. 

To your terror and slowly breaking heart, he remains to be seen. Soobin is gone like he was never there to begin with, your house flooding with a chill that hits you to the core.

You crawl back into bed, naked and alone, tears streaming down your face. The only time you rise is to let the animals eat and use the bathroom. For the rest of the day, you remain in bed like a phantom. Half out of your body, half inside of it to feel every ounce of pain. Each shred of sadness reminds you that you still exist, and the man—angel—that you love is gone.

Yeonjun has his head in his hand when another pair of associates throw Soobin in front of his desk. Soobin put up an intense fight in the resulting scuffle to bring him back to the office above Earth, but he doesn’t regret it. The only thing he regrets is not leaving you with some sort of explanation, even something as little as a minute to tell you he loves you.

“When I approved your descent, I expected you to help your assignment. Not sleep with her.” Yeonjun sighs and reads over the paperwork at his desk. “The guys above me are gonna love this.”

“Jun, please.” Soobin falls down on his scraped knees and raises his hands in a prayer. “Let me just tell her—”

“What else is there to explain? You’ve clearly done enough.”

“I’m begging you—”

“You think I’m going to let you spend another second with her and make me look like an idiot? No.” He slams his hand on the desk. “If you’re lucky, Soobin, all the archangels will do is send you to the second circle of Hell. I’m surprised they’re not reprimanding me as your superior. You broke our greatest oath.”

Do not consort with humans, Soobin reminds himself as tears stream down his face. “I love her, Yeonjun. And you know she loves me. Didn’t I do my job? I found her a soulmate, just like she wished for.”

Yeonjun shakes his head with a sad smirk. “Don’t think you can get around our rules this time, Soobin. I just called you here to tell you the council will see you in the morning. Be grateful they’re giving you a chance to explain yourself.”

The angels that brought Soobin in drag him away to the lower cells of the building. As he’s pushed and pulled through dark hallways, Soobin has barely enough time to come up with a plan to fix what he’s ruined. Barely.

Your dream is almost the same as the one you envisioned months ago, the dark cavern welcoming you like an old friend. The fog of your transition from sleep to dreaming still pervades your senses. You barely have time to make out the details before Soobin has you wrapped in his arms, holding you so tightly that you feel the air knocked out of your lungs. “Thank God it worked.”

You sob immediately when you recognize Soobin’s voice and his arms around you. It’s like a magnet the way you gravitate to one another, not worrying if the dream will last a second or into eternity. You can barely remember the pain of being without him now that he’s in front of you.

You call his name as he kisses the crown of your hair. He backs you into the desk at the far end of the room, lifting you up by the legs to sit on its marble top. He trails his lips down until they meet your own, and he says so tenderly, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up.”

Breaking into a fit of sad laughter, you run your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m just happy you’re here with me now.” You kiss him again and again, until your lips feel bruised and sore.

Soobin sheds a tear and looks back into the night outside of his office door. “I don’t have long. They’ll bring me back to my cell soon. But I wanted to tell you I love you. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“W-Why are you being punished? You did what you were s-supposed to,” you stutter, a mournful knot building in your throat.

“I fell in love with a human when I shouldn’t have,” he answers, another tear welling in his eye. “But it was worth every rule I broke. How could I regret finding my best friend?” Soobin smiles despite the pain that you two share. 

You hiccup into his neck. “When will I see you again?”

“I-I don't know. But I’ll fix this,” he assures you, a steadfast determination in his expression.

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” you cry, heart ripping deeper at the seams with each word. 

“I don’t, but for now, know that I love you. I love you more than my existence allows.” He kisses you one more time as the edges of your dream blur. “It’s only for now, I promise.”

When you wake tangled in the comforter on your bed, the morning sky bleeding through your window, you begin the torture of waiting for the person you love most in the world to come back to you.

TWO MONTHS LATER

For the past seven Fridays since Soobin left, you’ve stayed in and waited for the phone to ring or the doorbell to sound, any way to signify that he hasn’t broken his promise. You don’t bother going into work, trying to find any excuse to stay in the house.

Beomgyu tries to get you out, go on dates, avoid the aching hole in your chest, but he doesn’t understand. None of your friends do. They think he’s left without an explanation like another random asshole would, but they don’t understand how wrong they are.

They’ll never understand you’re waiting for the one who took your heart between his hands and still holds it to this day, even if you can’t see him for now.

For now. The words play in your mind on a loop, the sound of Soobin’s voice as vivid as the day he said them between kisses in your dream. It’s only for now, I promise.

This Friday, you take his words to heart and decide to go out. You walk Key and Bori, the morning sun turning into an afternoon sky clear of clouds. The warmer weather signals winter is giving way to spring, although you can still feel the chill in your bones.

When you bring the dogs back home, you’re still too restless to stay inside, too many memories in the house haunting you with Soobin’s presence.

You walk around the town streets, the memories of those you love the most filling your heart with a solemn nostalgia that edges out the parts of you that are still miserable. You and Beomgyu learning to ride bikes around the animal shelter. Your parents treating you to your first scoop of mint chocolate ice cream after you won gold at your spelling contest. The kiss you shared with Soobin in your living room, and all the kisses that followed.

Each one contains longing for the past, yet offers some hope for making fresh memories in the same spots. And even locations you haven’t discovered yet.

By the second trip around the blocks you know too well, nighttime rears its head. The city lights mark the street names and numbers with a yellow glow, the heavens above pitch black.

Your legs are sluggish, ankles sore from continuing through the world around you without stopping for rest, but no physical excursion compared to the mental expedition you’ve been on today, a microcosm for all of your tangled emotions for the past two months.

 You almost give into the demands of your body when you hear the faintest sound of your name behind you. Turning on shaking limbs, you see the perfect contours and edges of the man you love in crystal clarity. His shoulders heave as his face remains wet with tears, his body on the verge of convulsing from the travel back to you.

Although every muscle strains and screams inside of you, you run towards him with all of your might and crash into his arms. The water on your cheeks mixes with his when your skin touches. He kisses each tear before he reaches your lips, his mouth tasting of salt and peppermint.

“I’m here. I’m here, my love.” He strokes your hair with his hand and runs the other across your back.

“I didn’t get to say I love you too, last time I saw you,” you say, the words tumbling over one another as you try getting them about. You’re crying and mumbling and it all feels incoherent, but you know every sound you emit is true.

Soobin chuckles, and you’re reminded how beautiful the sound of his laughter is. “You never had to say it back, my love. I already knew.”

Your heartbeat is erratic, but it doesn’t distract you from the fact Soobin’s heart seems to beat as well. A strong, even-tempered rhythm, one you’ve never heard before. You look him deep in the eyes, needing to hear the words on his lips. “Are you—“

His voice is still hoarse and tattered, but his smile is like the salve to all of your wounds. “I told you I would come back to you.”

You whimper, another tear escaping from your eyes. “You gave up everything for me? Your immortality, your friends, your—”

He presses a finger to your lips before running it over your cheek, his expression soft. “I completed my mission. And my everything is right here with me.”

You kiss his lips, all the I love you’s not enough to encapsulate every feeling and gift Soobin’s given you since he came into your life. You both may be on Earth, one old and one new human soul linked as one, but you know this is what it means to be higher than even the immensity of heaven.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @biteyoubiteme @jjunbug

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Life on Your Line (Ch. 10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

HEAVY Warning(s) for the REST OF THE STORY: Frequent Discussion of Suicide/Suicide Attempts, Suicidal Thoughts, and Self-Harm/Self-Destruction Behavior — The reader is going through a rough time starting now. There will be no graphic descriptions of Suicide/Suicidal Attempts or Self-Harm unless I put a warning otherwise. Please read the rest of the story with caution.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 7.3k

CHAPTER 10: April 2014 - November 2023

April 19, 2014. 9:01 AM

I miss James, but what else is new?

It’s been two weeks since I woke up and I can’t help but wonder where he is. I keep hearing his voice when I close my eyes — the way it shook when I had to leave him that day. We were both so afraid, but I've never been more certain to walk away.

I hope he’s doing okay now.

I keep forgetting that I don’t have my locket anymore. I’d reach for it and touch my skin instead. Every time, I feel a little sad to not have it, but also happy that it’s with the man I love most.

Maybe it was something I needed to let go of for a bit. Besides, when I see him next, I’m sure he’ll try to give it back to me.

When I go to bed, I imagine him next to me. For once, we’d be lying down together, looking at each other. It wouldn’t be him holding me or me holding him because one of us was dying. We’d just go to sleep together.

Did I mention James gives great hugs?

I know I did, but it’s true. For someone who’s been trained to kill for so many decades, he sure knows how to embrace someone.

I want that someone to always be me.

I’m leaving DC soon. I should have the moment I woke up, but I couldn’t help but wonder if James was still around. Maybe he was waiting for me to come back, even though I never told him it would take a month for it to happen. But I’d like to think he’d wait as long as he could for me. I walked through crowds to see if I could spot him.

I haven’t yet.

Yet.

I’ll keep waiting for him to come back to me — or when I go to him. Hopefully, the next time we meet, it won’t be because I have to die.

I just want one day where I don’t have to worry about that.  

I miss him so much, and I wonder if he misses me.

I know he misses me too.

<><><>

April 25, 2014. 9:03 PM

I moved back to Brooklyn yesterday. I haven’t lived here in 65 years, but I figured it was time I came back home.

I knew Brooklyn changed a lot — I watched it evolve through the screen — but seeing it in person is nerve-wracking. My history is still here, but it’s like someone spilled coffee onto the pages, making it antique and forever stained by a mistake.

Everything is so much busier. I remember those days when I could walk down the streets alone, but now there isn’t a chance to do that. The apartment I found is mostly away from the noise, thankfully. There are a lot of cracks and it smells like dust — it needs a lot of work.

For the first time in decades, I decided to give it a lot of work.

Maybe I don’t have to treat every one of my places like a temporary shelter anymore. For once, I could treat it like a home, decorated with paintings and bright curtains and maybe a plant. Something I could protect while I wait for James.

Brooklyn is huge. I don’t imagine I’d have to move anytime soon. Even if I have to, maybe I can bring home with me.

I also got a bookstore. I saw online that this old man was giving up his — a bookstore that sells new and used books at a discounted price — so I quickly snatched it up. He was grateful that someone else was passionate enough to take over, saying that people need books to survive. That stories shouldn’t be thrown away.

He’s not wrong. 

The store could use a lot of new updates and changes, but it still feels cozy. It won’t be long until I can get this place up and running to its fullest again.

I thought I was going to start today, but instead...I visited my baby.

I haven’t been to her grave since I left Brooklyn. And I cried. Fuck, I cried so much. I don’t remember what it feels like to hold her or the sound of her giggle. I missed her when I lost her, but I miss her even more now that her name in stone is all I have.

I brought all of my journals with me. All of my stories that share who I was and who I am. Who I try to be, and who I lost and loved. I hid them all by her grave.

My baby girl can keep my stories safe. She was always good at sharing stories.

<><><>

August 4, 2014. 10:38 PM

There’s still no news of James. Seems like he disappeared without a trace. That’s good — it means he’s hidden, but it also means I have no idea where he is.

God, I miss him. I miss him so much.

I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. When I walk by certain people who look like him — items that remind me of him — I have to stop and think. Does he do the same? Does he look at roses and think about me? Or jewelry and hold onto my locket?

Does he stop and look behind himself, hoping to see me? Because I do.

I used to think this curse meant I’d never belong to anyone — that I couldn’t have anything permanent — that I was always meant to lose, whether it’d be losing my life, my joy, or myself. When I tried to hold onto something, it’d slip away. Hope for the better, and it’d be the opposite.

I tried to pretend I didn’t want anything. Bu t…I want James.

I want to live with him. I want us.

A life where we don’t have to scramble — where I can just grab his hand and know I can do it again the next day.

Is it foolish to hope after everything I went through? Of course, it is. But maybe, after more than 100 years of being a vessel of this curse, I deserve something other than survival.

I deserve James, and I can’t wait to see him again.

<><><>

May 28, 2015. 5:23 PM

I think about James every day.

Not in a hurtful way, like during those days when he was under HYDRA’s control and I begged for him to escape. I think about him now over simple things.

I walked by an elderly couple sitting outside a cafe, feeding each other pastries and laughing. I started to think about that kind of life with James. I’d love to have breakfast with him with coffee, maybe with juice as well. Learn if he’s a savory or sweet guy. I’d like to think he’s a sweet guy.  

I want to know how much he has figured himself out so far. If he prefers dogs or cats — if he hums while he cooks, if he even cooks — if he leaves dishes in the sink instead of washing them right away. There’s so much about James I don’t know, but that makes me love him even more. I don’t want us to hide anymore.

I’d love to run with him, not because there’s a threat.

I’d love to hold hands with him, not because one of us is dying.

I’d love to hug him, not because we have to say goodbye, but because we’re happy to say hello.

That's what I want, James, and I hope you want the same.

<><><>

June 23rd, 2016. 11:30 PM

The news lies.

We already knew that, but this time they’re really lying. I refuse to believe that James bombed the United Nations — that he killed the King of Wakanda.

There was a photo of his face from the security footage, but I know that’s not him. I don’t care what anyone says — I know what he looks like and that’s not him. We’ve stared into each other’s faces enough for me to know that he’s been framed.

But they’re calling him a terrorist. A murderer and a threat to the nation, but that’s not who he is.

James, I know you. You didn’t do this.

I lived long enough to know that the world lies all the time — make you believe you can have something good, only to take it away. You’re a good person, James, and the world is trying to take that narrative from you. I wish I could find you and tell you you’re not who they say you are.

You’re not a monster, James.

You’re mine.

<><><>

December 25th, 2016. 9:14 PM

I cried today.

I decided to walk around the city because I knew the streets were going to be emptier than usual. No stores were open for the holidays and everyone was inside, celebrating and spending time together. It’s not the first time I walked around during this time of year because, I mean, I don’t have anyone at home waiting for me.

But then I came across this family — a lovely couple with their baby in their stroller.

I started to cry because I suddenly imagined myself and James as that couple, with my daughter as the baby.

She would’ve loved James. Definitely would’ve called him Bucky because she’d think that nickname is silly. I wonder if James wants kids — if he’d be the kind of parent kids dream of having.

I don’t think I am. If I was, then my baby wouldn’t have died so young.

James is still missing. He disappeared with Steve a few days after he was framed. And yes — he was framed by some asshole named Zemo or whatever. Even then, they still labeled James and Steve as fugitives — traitors to the nation. They cleared James for the bombing, but still want him to answer for his crimes as a brainwashed assassin.

Fuck them. It must be so easy, huh? To let others take the fall and point fingers at them. People don’t understand what it’s like to lose control of everything.

Fuck those entitled assholes.

I’m just grateful that Steve is with James — the Falcon and Black Widow too. It sucks to see them on the run, but they’re protecting James. Someone other than me is finally looking out for him.

I do wish that Steve came to find me though — that James told him about me and brought me along with them. 

I don’t need much. I just want to hug James and tell him that I’m here.

I miss him so much that it hurts. I hope he doesn’t miss me as much — he doesn’t deserve any more pain.

I hope you’re having a better holiday than me, James. I look forward to the day when we can celebrate together.

<><><>

January 18th, 2017. 3:12 PM

I almost lost James 13 years ago today.

I still feel sick when I think about it. How he bled so much from his stomach while that HYDRA agent laughed at us.

But what horrified me more was that when I thought about that day, I realized that right now, I want to be sent to him.

I’m so selfish. I can’t believe I wished something was happening so that I could see him. That’s fucked up. Asking for the worst to happen to him so that I could be his little savior.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I love him and miss him. I really, really miss him. It's been almost 3 years since I last saw him. I know that means he’s safe (or at least just alive), but I can’t handle not knowing where he is now. Did he get caught? Is he trapped somewhere? Does he need my help?

I wish I could get sent to him without either one of us having to die.

Or, if we have to, I’d get to hold him before death comes for me again.

God. I’m really in love with this man, huh?

<><><>

June 3, 2018. 1:58 AM

Fuck you. Actually fuck you. Do you think this is funny? It’s so fucking funny, huh?

Kill half of the universe but leave me alive.

Fuck you.

I can’t believe you didn’t let me save anyone this time. You put me near Times Square when everyone started to vanish, letting chaos wreck us. I kept waiting for you to tell me to save someone — for my heart to get pulled — but all I did was watch people disappear while others get injured by moving cars and falling helicopters.

You didn’t even let me save a child. I watched a fucking child die again while I survived.

Just let me die. Let me see my family. I just want to hold my daughter again. I’m so tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Taking on so many different fake names and pretending that I wasn’t buried next to my baby in 1904.

Let me go. Let me fucking go. What more do you want from me? Why can’t you give me the satisfaction of death? After more than a century of this bullshit, you could at least let me die.

Instead, you made me fucking watch a child die. The boy didn’t even vanish — he fucking died from an accident.

Then I watched the news and fucking hell — you erased half of the population in the universe? The whole fucking universe? All of them are gone, but I’m still here.

I didn’t ask for this damn life. I never wanted this curse, but you thought I was the perfect person for it. What is it about me that you found so fitting? Because all I see in the mirror is a pathetic human being.

You gave me nothing but pain and empty years, when all I want is my family. I want to hold my daughter again, but you won’t let me go to do that.

Genuinely, fuck you.

<><><>

December 17, 2018. 1:01 PM

They announced that they’re almost done with the memorial in Greenwich Village — the one for all of the heroes who were snapped after they fought for us. It’s supposed to be open to the public next month.

I know James is fine, but I have to check.

Even though James went into hiding again, there's a part of me that knows he was involved in the fight. There’s another part of me — the part I hate — that is nervous that he’s gone because he hasn’t shown up. I haven’t seen him at all on the news. A few of them have popped up to talk to the press — mainly Steve and Natasha Romanoff. But I’m just hanging onto the idea that James doesn’t want to talk to the public. Why would he after everything they called him?

I’m 100% certain that he’s okay. After everything I did for him, he has to be alive. I know he’s fine, but I still have to check for the sake of my mind.

<><><>

January 29, 2019. 1:13 PM

I can’t do thi

<><><>

February 20, 2019. 6:19 PM.

I tried to end it all.

I know I can’t die, but I couldn’t help it. I just want it to end. Everything hurts and I want it to stop. I tried to stop it, but I keep on coming back. My body is on the verge of failing, but it keeps holding on. I tried to leave and I just come back the next day.

Stop. STOP

STOP

Why won’t you let me die? I have nothing left now — it’s the perfect time to let me go. I had something until you took him away. Why the fuck would you do that? Of all people who deserved to live life just a little bit, you fucking killed him.

You could’ve at least let him live. I didn’t mind being here anymore because I had something to protect. But you didn’t send me to him when he needed me. I told him — I told him that I’d be there when he needed me.

You fucking piece of shit. You made me a sacrifice, but a liar too? James died probably thinking I’d come save him, but I didn’t.

Did I do the same thing to him that you do to me? Give him hope, only for it to rip it away at the last second? I’ve been in love with this man for decades and you take him away from me. Do you like to see me suffer?

Let me die. LET ME FUCKING DIE

I gave you everything and you took away my everything. The one person who still cared about me — who didn’t let me face you alone — gone. GONE

I SHOULDN’T BE HERE I should be dead and he should be alive. It should’ve been ME. Why wasn't it me? Why do you have to hurt me? What did I do to you that made you want to hurt me like this? How fucking dare you take the love of my life? How dare you do this when I finally allowed myself to dream and hope and think about the life I’ve wanted for so long? You piece of shit. Fuck you. FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I HATE YOU

I want to see my family. Let me hold my baby again. Let me hold James. I want to see everyone. I want to be with them.

I want to die. I don’t want to be here. Everything hurts. It fucking hurts let me GO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU

LET ME GO

<><><>

March 18, 2019. 10:28 PM.

I give up. You win.

You won’t let me leave. I tried too many times. In every imaginable way, I tried.

I lost count of how many times I died and woke up. Felt death at my fingertips, but watched it walk away while I couldn’t move my body.

Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. I can’t even dream anymore.

I’m constantly drowning, unable to swim to the surface no matter how close it is. I don’t know if the surface I’m looking for is life or death, but I just want to breathe again. But you make me let go of my breath, and throw me back into the water. You’re making me drown.

I tried to stop the pain, but you just gave me more. I’ve died in so many ways but this is the worst I’ve ever felt. Who knew physical pain hurts less than losing the love of your life?

The pain won’t stop. I tried to make it stop.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.

I never mattered, anyway.

I spent my whole life running away from my feelings. I fought against them because I knew they’d hurt me. When I finally took the chance — finally allowed myself to imagine a beautiful life for myself — it killed me.

You’re right. I don’t deserve love. I don’t deserve hope or happiness or joy or

I don’t know. I don’t deserve anything. If I did, I would’ve gotten what I wanted decades ago.

I wanted someone to love me back and I let myself believe that with James. Believe that when he and I finally meet again, we could be happy together. Walk through the city during the holidays, our hands together while we shiver from the cold.

But his body is gone and I’m the only one shivering.

I don’t want to shiver. I want to be still. Dead.

I’ll never see James again. Soon, I’ll forget what he sounds like, how he feels, how he moves, just like everyone else. I don’t remember how Henry sounded when he laughed. How my parents smiled. How Minnie hugged me. How my baby girl ran around. 

I don’t even remember the day my baby girl took her first steps. All of those memories. Gone.

James will become a faded memory too. I don’t want to forget him, but it’ll happen.

I begged you to make me a memory, but you won’t listen. Of course you won’t — you never did what I asked.

I don’t care anymore.

You win. I’ll do my job and save someone else. Hope you’re happy.

<><><>

May 28, 2019. 8:20 PM

It’s a wonder how I’ve been able to keep my bookstore open during this time. 

I thought that my store would’ve closed after the Snap, but I think people just need some form of normalcy in their lives. That’s the whole point of stories, anyway — to go into a different world and forget about the one you’re actually in for a moment. But I don’t know how I managed to even stay active. I’ve been more fatigued lately — I think the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on in the past few months made me tired. But still, here I am, running a bookstore in Brooklyn.

Talk about the past, huh?

Something unexpected happened today, though.

I was working, tidying up the store when a young lady walked in. It was that teenager from 2014. Mandy. And she looked at me like she knew me.

Because she did.

She told me she remembered me. Other than James, I never had anyone come up to me and say they recognized me. Of course, I always try to avoid getting recognized by people I saved, but I also think you make it easier for me.

So for her to say she knew me? What the fuck.

She said she just graduated from college. She got a degree in English and is looking to be a writer. I tried to pretend I didn’t know her, but she refused to leave me alone. She said that you can never forget the face of the person who saved your life.

That’s a lie. No one but James had ever recognized me.

I tried to say she got the wrong person, but man, she’s persistent. She reminded me a little bit of Minnie, who was bubbly but also stubborn, but in a good way. She kept saying I’m the reason she’s still alive.

That hit me harder than I thought it would. More than a century of dying had gone by, and no one — except for James — was ever appreciative of my sacrifice. I felt this kindness from her — gratefulness — that I don’t deserve. So I still tried to lie, saying that if I died, how could I still be right here?

She said if we can live in a world where an alien erased half of the universe, then we can live in a world where people can come back from the dead.

Can’t argue with that.

Then she said she wanted to work for me. She was looking for a job while continuing to write for herself, so working at a bookstore would be perfect for her, right? I mean, I have been more fatigued lately, so it’d be nice to have extra help.

But I was hesitant.

I didn’t want to let anyone into my life again. Why would I after everything I went through? I said no, but she asked again. When I went to say no again, I couldn’t. She looked at me like a hero, even though I’m not one. But most of all, she looked at me like a person.

Not a ghost. Not a memory. A real fucking person.

I really wanted to say no. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone of my curse.

But I think losing the one person who did know…it hurt me more than I realized. Even if James didn’t know who I truly was, it was nice to be seen.

God, it was so nice.

I told Mandy to come back tomorrow.

<><><>

September 10, 2019. 5:29 AM

Something’s wrong. 

Something is seriously wrong.

I saved a woman on August 10 and I can’t move my arm.

I can’t move my fucking arm.

I was in Queens when the car crash happened. I went there to go to the Museum of the Moving Image. I just wanted to give myself something nice to do. A little…bit of fun, I guess. But then I felt the pull and pushed this woman out of the way, and I got hit instead. My arm was pinned underneath the car as I died.

I can’t even have a good day anymore.

I woke up an hour ago and I’m still horrified, because my body hurts more than it usually would and I can’t move my arm. 

This never happened before. I’ve died in ways that made it difficult for me to move around when I wake up, but never this much and I’ve never been paralyzed before. I’ve been trying to shake it awake but it won’t wake up.

It took all of my strength for me to go to the bathroom and figure out why this is happening, and when I examined my heavy arm in the mirror, I found a scar.

A scar.

It’s on the back of my forearm and it doesn’t look great. It starts at my wrist and goes to my elbow. I never had any proof of my deaths on my body before. Never had a scar when I woke up, or felt this exhausted, or lost all feelings in a limb.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Am I dying? Or are you punishing me for some reason? What did I do?

I don’t know if I’m going to feel my arm again. Fuck, I hope this isn’t permanent. I don’t need proof of my death. I already know I died.

I died a long time ago.

<><><>

May 30, 2020. 6:59 AM

I can’t speak.

I can’t fucking speak. Fuck, I’m so scared right now.

I was stabbed in the neck on April 30 and now I can’t speak.

The last time I died, my arm was numb, but after a day, I was able to move it again. If it’s the same now, I should be able to talk tomorrow or maybe by tonight. But holy shit — my body hurts so much too. I only got stabbed, but the rest of my body is still screaming as if it also got harmed. It’s almost painful to move around — like when your foot falls asleep and it’s difficult to shift your muscles around.

When I looked in the mirror, I found another scar. It’s on the right side of my neck, exactly where I was stabbed. I have to cover it up somehow, whether it’s with my hair or wearing a scarf, because it’s not gonna go away.

The scar on my arm never went away.

I think I know why you’re punishing me. 

It’s because I tried to leave, isn’t it? For trying to die when I’m people’s chances to keep on living. 

Or maybe I did it to myself — I pushed my body too much in such a short period of time that it’s now just…failing. 

The pain I feel now is just as bad to how I felt when I failed to save someone. Did you increase the amount of pain I feel? Stop me from screaming when all I want is release?

I feel so trapped and I can’t even ask anyone for help. No one knows how to help me — fuck, I don’t know how to help myself.

Mandy wanted to figure it out, but I said not to. If we tried again, I’d just feel hopeful that there would be an answer.

I can’t feel hope again.

<><><>

December 19, 2020. 8:10 AM

I think I actually ruined my body when I tried to kill myself.

I saved a man on November 19 and I feel like my stomach is empty. I was shot in the guts and now it feels like I’m on an empty stomach. It’s not hunger — it just feels hollow there and it hurts.

There’s a bullet scar next to my belly button.

I’m not supposed to have these. All of these scars — they shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t even be here.

My body is becoming a weak, fragile mess and I hate it. This is all I have and you have to hurt it too. I know I tried to push my body to the limit, but it’s you who won’t let me go past it. Let me cross the finish line and hug my loved ones again.

You’re making me feel the weight of my actions. I feel like I’m constantly getting pulled underwater, unable to move to the surface. I’m just sinking to the endless bottom.

I’d drown, but even then you wouldn’t let me go.

I just want it to be over, but you just had to remind me how empty I feel.

Literally.

<><><>

July 27, 2021. 4:03 PM

I’m so fucking scared.

I failed to save a woman today.

I failed.

I don’t want to be punished. If saving someone still means I’d feel pained, I don’t know how much agony I’ll feel tomorrow for failing. I’m so scared.

Please. Just end it if you’re just going to make me go through hell.

Please.

<><><>

July 29, 2021. 10:28 PM

Mandy stopped by yesterday and today and took care of me.

I was on the verge of death but was unable to pass.

I managed to text Mandy that I was still around. I didn’t expect her to show up and make sure I was eating and resting well. I scared her — she didn’t expect me to not be able to move a muscle.

I didn’t know that would happen either.

Breathing also hurt. It was like my lungs didn’t want to work, and I was forcing them to. The pain overall was just as bad as when I first tried to kill myself… 

I don’t even know how much it’d hurt now if I tried to end it again.

Mandy took care of me when I didn’t ask. Helped me sit up and literally fed me. I felt so pathetic, but she said not to worry about it.

For someone who’s so energetic and bold, she was very gentle. Somehow, she also made me laugh too.

She’s also really smart — we finally have each other’s locations now on our phones because she said when I disappear, there’s a chance my phone could also vanish, so she’d know if I’m gone or not. She said she’d have a better time knowing if she needs to run my store or not then.

I told her she could just close my store while I’m gone, but she said everyone needs a good book available for them at all times. Stories can help people, she said.

She’s so sweet. I don’t deserve her kindness, but she just offers it to me.

Maybe it’s good that someone knows about my curse.

<><><>

January 3, 2023. 4:10 PM.

I feel terrible. 

I hurt Mandy yesterday.

I wasn’t expecting her to visit me. She went to DC to celebrate the holidays with her family. She told me I should join her, but I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else into my life — tell people about myself because everything I’d say would be a lie.

Spending the holidays alone isn’t new, but it was so much harder this time. I made the mistake of walking around again — I saw a young couple laughing in the park. I started to imagine me and him like that, and I ended up running back home. But when I came back, my apartment felt emptier, more lonely. Even my TV couldn’t make me feel like I wasn’t alone.

I was just so alone. I wanted to be held again, but he’s not here.

Mandy stopped by last night without letting me know first. She brought snacks and said she wanted to watch a movie with me — spend some time with me. Again, I don’t deserve that, but I still let her in because how could I refuse her?

I was setting up some bowls for the snacks when she went to the bathroom, and then she suddenly ran up to me. I was so confused — she grabbed onto me and was looking for something with big eyes.

I didn’t realize I left the blades by my bathroom sink.

I made Mandy cry.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I swear.

She was checking for wounds. Looked at my wrists and arms and found nothing. I told her I wasn’t going to do it. 

She didn’t believe me. She didn’t fucking believe me.

I started to cry. I just broke down and said I wasn’t lying. I’m not a liar. With her, I’m not. I’ve been lying my whole life, but I swear I would never lie to her. I really wasn’t going to do it. I thought about it, but I chose not to do it because even that wouldn’t get rid of the pain.

I told Mandy about James.

For the first time in my life, I told someone else about the man I loved.

I told her about the first time I saved him. Then the war. Then about when he was the Winter Soldier and that day in DC.

I told her everything. I promise I’m not a liar with her.

I told her I love him. He’s gone, but I still love him. I’ve been trying to move on, but I fucking miss him so much. But he’s never coming back. I’m never going to see him again.

Mandy let me hug her and I just cried. I’ve been alive for over a century and she’s just a baby in her 20s, and yet I was sobbing in her arms. I felt so weak and pathetic, but I couldn’t hide it anymore.

I miss James. Fuck, I miss him so much. Sometimes I just want to forget about him so it’s easier to go about my life.

I finally let myself feel happy to be in love and you fucking took him away from me. Is it funny? To watch me suffer so much after everything I’ve done for you? I hope you’re laughing.

When I was more or less done crying, Mandy made me a cup of tea. Then we just sat on the couch. We didn’t watch any movies or eat any snacks — she just let me breathe. It was nice.

Then Mandy made me promise her that I would never try to end my life. I told her that it didn’t matter. I’d still come back. But she still made me promise her I wouldn’t try in the first place.

I said yes, and she ordered us some Chinese food. It was delicious.

I wonder if my daughter would’ve been like her. Caring, smart, energetic.

Lively.

Mandy’s not my daughter, I know that. No one will ever replace my baby, but I can’t help but wonder.

I like to think she’d be like her.

<><><>

October 18, 2023. 10:19 PM

I think you enjoy watching chaos unfold. This isn’t a realization I made recently — I started to suspect it when you cursed me. But I just had to say it.

Yesterday, the Avengers brought back all of those people we lost. I didn’t think it was possible, but I guess we do live in a world where people can come back from the dead.

The people who came back were appalled. Shocked and horrified to see that 5 years went by. It’s scary, isn’t it? Waking up to find out you died — that people mourned for you and said goodbye. But it must be nice to not wake up in pain.

The streets became so overwhelming that I had to close my store so that no one came in. It became too loud too fast. Everything was moving while I’m stuck in place.

I sent Mandy home, told her to go to DC and find her friends and family who disappeared. I sat in the back of my store alone for the whole day. It was easier to feel nothing there.

I guess there’s more people for me to save now. More opportunities for me to wake up in searing pain. To wake up after saving someone whose life is apparently more valuable than mine.

Like James.

God. James is back too.

I 

I thought I’d be happy, but I don’t know how to feel about that.

<><><>

November 3, 2023. 1:15 AM

Mandy asked me about James the other day.

I’ve been thinking about him a lot, but that’s not a surprise. But she asked me if I would go look for him now that he was back. I didn’t respond right away, and she knew something was off.

She said I should, and was just more confused when I didn’t say anything. She asked if I still wanted him.

Of course I do, but do I deserve him anymore?

For so many years, I have thought about James — dreamed of him. And over time, I thought about what he did and didn’t know. Even though I saved him so many times, I realized that he doesn’t even know the full extent of my curse.

Who I get to save — that was never my choice.

Would James be disappointed if he found out? That while I chose to save him every time, I never chose to get sent to him. You sent me to him. I know I went for him myself in DC, but all the other times, it was you.

If James and I were to meet now, would he be disappointed? That I’m just a regular person who was entrusted with a curse without a say. No power other than to perish. Not special.

Not worthy of someone like James.

I let myself believe that I deserve someone like him. Let myself be happy and say I love him. I love him so much. 

James. My James.

You have no idea how much I love you.

I love you so much that I let myself imagine a life with you. Where I could sit next to you with my head on your shoulder, maybe an arm wrapped around your waist. Maybe you have your head on mine while we did something cliche — watch the sunset or some bullshit like that — because our lives have been so unusual that cliches feel like a luxury. I imagine a life where I don’t have to die and you don’t have to survive.

We could just live.

But I’m not allowed to have that.

I went back to my journals and reread my entry about saving you for the first time. Visited all of my stories about saving you. Of those days where I wondered if you even like coffee, or what kind of pet you would have. I'd love to know if you like sweet or savory.

I'd also like to know what your favorite color is, and favorite tunes, and if you’re a morning person or night owl. If you like to read or watch movies or both. If you like to go out or stay home on a lazy day.

I reread the entry from the 40s where I said I would love to sit down and have coffee with you and tell you all about my life.

I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore.

I knew losing you would be hard, but it killed me more than I thought it would. Death wasn’t enough to get rid of that pain. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to lose you.

I wanted to die when you died.

I did die when you died. My heart stopped with yours.

Losing you was horrible, and that was when I didn’t even know much about you. If I learn about all of these things now, I don’t know if I can handle losing you again. I already couldn’t handle it — I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself somehow if I know more about you.

I’ll still save you. James, I promise I’ll give everything to save you. I know you’ll need me — not because you’re a soldier, but you’re someone who always goes out of their way to protect someone else. You’ll always be in danger, so I’ll be your shield.

I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hurt anymore.

I’m hurting all the time, but this? Having hope for us — letting myself act upon my love for you — that will be taken away.

The world isn’t fair to me, but I can make it be fair to you.

Hey world? Fuck you. Really, fuck you.

Killing James was cruel, but killing him THEN bringing him back to me is the cruelest thing you could’ve done.

James is not the monster. 

You are, and you made me one too.

I’m the kind of monster that would scare children. Zombies who come back from the dead — ghosts who haunt the innocent. I’m sure I’ve haunted James. I mean, when he died, it killed me.

So did it kill him when he watched me die too?

He doesn’t have to watch anymore. He won’t know who I am. He’ll only get glimpses of me, just like before. I’ll continue to save him and love him from a distance like I always have, but he’ll never get to know me. 

I will never tell him my real name. He'll never know anything about me. I’ll just be his sacrifice, as well as everyone else’s. Nothing more, like how it’s supposed to be. I’ll just be the ghost story they tried to make him be.

Rose is dead. She’s been dead for a really long time. I know that. 

After all, I buried her myself.

You closed your journal, and continued to sit on the grass in silence. Your pen dropped to the ground as your shoulders sagged, your eyes glazed over as you stared at a tombstone that was barely lit by your phone flashlight. The air was cold and still, just like you.

You sat there for a long time. The clouds moved over you, blocking the moonlight every now and then while the distant city slightly echoed into the cemetery. 

To anyone, the night would’ve felt peaceful.

But you never knew what peace was.

Quietly, you reached for the metal container, opening it before dropping your last journal into it with the rest of your writings.

No more stories. No more histories.

No more you.

You placed the container next to the tombstone and buried it under the numerous, white rocks you sprinkled around it—an attempt to make the gravesite a bit prettier. Then you picked up a bouquet of flowers and set it on top. You didn’t move again. Silent and still, you did nothing.

Because nothing could be done anymore.

Slowly, you grabbed your jacket and got to your feet. You pulled the sleeves over your arms, hiding the numerous scars that trailed around your skin. You took one last look at the rock hiding your memories before sighing.

Then you glanced at the name on the tombstone, and your hands curled into fists as your eyes quickly watered. Your breath hitched and you turned away, storming off before you made a poor decision of any kind. You vanished from the cemetery, leaving behind the old tombstone that held a name.

A name that saved others, but not the person it belonged to.

A name that brought James peace, even when you couldn't.

A name that had stayed dear to your heart after all these years.

Rose.

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys 

Thanks for reading :)

[yandere-sins]

The Octopodes' Tale - Prologue

Yan-Poll #40 #MerMay 2025 Special Prev. Part

My, my! I was surprised to hear you were going to look after my 'pet'! Who would have thought that your next journey would lead you to us?

I, for one, am happy it did.

What, surprised? Well, I never said witches don't need help from humans. We just prefer not to, surely, you understand that, right? We are mostly independent, after all. It's our job to give you guidance, not the other way around. You didn't need my help much last time, but maybe this time you will? Let me know if you are unsure where to go, and I'll be willing to help you... for a smile fee. After all, you'll take care of my beloved mate for me, won't you? We are in a little predicament, so surely you won't abandon us, right?

I could tell you so much about my beloved. My Leo is the most pure-hearted, sweetest male in all of the ocean! He likes to dance for me and put up displays of color, catch me food while I work, and hug me for hours sometimes until I put him back in his place. So make sure to feed him his food directly by hand—that's how he likes it! I know his tongue can be sharp, but I promise he'd never bite off a finger. I would know; I trained him, after all. Oh! If you scratch his back, he will give you little hickies! It's the most adorable thing! I love him so much!

Of course, I'd prefer it if you'd return him to me... it's been so lonely without him. He can be quite a needy leech if he likes you, but he's the sweetest little male I have ever met. We spent so many years in harmonic togetherness, his absence has been truly sorrowful. Now that I can't reach him, I don't even know if he's keeping his tentacles at bay. Hopefully, no one has taken off his restraints; make sure to check that! As you know, we octopuses die easily upon mating, so you must always keep that in check. For you, he's just a test subject.

But he's my whole life.

If something were to happen to him, I wouldn't know what I would do. We are meant for each other, you understand? So whatever you do, try to keep him alive, alright? You don't often find a well-trained pet like him, so he can be quite valuable! And I need him like you need air to breathe.

Maybe you should think about returning him to me instead of doing your silly little experiments. We could both benefit from it. I may have what the facility wants you to find, and you have what I want. What do you say?

However you decide, I hope you know what you're doing. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, right?

But I trust you, I know you'll make the right choice. You are a smart human, aren't you?

I can't wait for you.

And with that: welcome back to MerMay!!

Yes, my favorite month of the year, and well, I have two very interesting specimen for you this time, although it depends on your choices if you're meeting them both (which I truly hope!) or suffer at the hands of the facility like all the others. At least, you won't be alone (;

It'll be almost the same game as last time!

At the end of each chapter, you'll get to make a choice which can either progress the story or lead to a bad end. Mind you, there are no secret routes or choice combinations you need to make. One path goes forward, the others are more or less literally "game overs". So, choose wisely! However, as she has some personal agenda, this particular sea witch from above will help you reach the end of the story if you make a wrong choice, and sometimes, bad ends are still interesting and full of information! I wouldn't blame you for choosing them :D

At this point of time, I have not plotted the story to its fullest, so... length may vary. But I plan to just go as far as I possibly can to make a fulfilling story (:

One thing is different: Polls will only be three days (and I will post as soon as I have a new part). I want to make the most use of yan-polls, stories, and this month, so with the new option to shorten the length, I decided to reduce it to three days instead of seven. Hope everyone gets to vote even with the shortened timespan!

Warnings ahead:

This story revolves around heavy sexual themes (Non-/Dub-Con, Talking about Pregnancy, Mating, Breeding, Eggs/Ovipositor, Tentacles, Dom/Sub Themes, etc.) and violent themes (Possible Major and Minor Character Death, Blood, Biting, Murder, Fighting, Licking (yes that is an actual violent act this time), Guns & Shooting, etc.). Also: both love interests are yandere, meaning the following themes are included: Possessive/Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Overall Crazyness, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Mental Breakdowns, etc. And the very last point: The mermaids are monsters, as such beware of Tentacles, Beaks, Sharp Teeth, Teethed Tongues, Animalistic Behaviors, Claws, Monster Anatomy, Monster Behavior, Toxin, and also Witchcraft.

Please always read the warnings on each individual post and stay away if they are not your cup of tea!

If you have questions, please feel free to ask. I appreciate comments, asks, and responses always ♥

I will have fun, and I hope you guys will, too! ♥

Happy MerMay and Happy Choosing! ♥

[lis5664]

Margo x Sergei Mini Fic: "Whatever It Takes"

... Well, I seem to have stayed up late writing this possibly rather devastating little thing. Um, sorry I guess?

Set during a version of 3x10 in which Margo never got the call letting her know that Sergei and his family made it out safely, and she had to make her decision to defect without knowing.

As he entered the elevator in the lobby of JSC, Sergei felt as though his heart was pounding out of his chest with anticipation. He hoped he was making the right decision, coming to see her unexpectedly like this, but as soon as he was on the ground in Houston, the pull towards Margo was irresistible. Once he was granted permission to make this visit to JSC, no other choice had been possible. He simply had to be here as quickly as he could.

He had wanted to let her know as soon as he and his family were safely out of the Soviet Union. He had hoped to be able to call her when they reached the base in Germany, to tell her the good news, tell her he couldn’t begin to thank her enough, tell her they would see each other again very soon. For some reason that was not explained to him, he had not been permitted to make such a call.

Sergei had hated the thought that Margo might worry for him a day or an hour longer than she needed to. And at the same time, the idea that she would be worried for him – that she cared for him – warmed his heart.

The memory of her at their last parting had scarcely left his mind. It had all happened so suddenly; a shock to both of them. Allowed a brief time to say his goodbye, then, he had gone to her office with some hope, but little expectation. He knew her well enough to know how unlikely she would be to let him close to her, the shock making it all the less likely.

He had longed for nothing more than to hold her tightly, even if only for a moment, and tell her how much he loved her. This he had longed to do for so many years. And as he expected, this Margo had not allowed, either part of it. And yet, while she made the impossible promise that they would see each other again, he had been able to read in her eyes that she knew what he felt for her. Even, he now almost dared to believe, that she felt the same. And as he’d walked away from her office then, he could almost swear that he had heard her let out a muffled sob.

And now, against all the odds, here he was again. He could not wait to tell her that she had been right, after all. Somehow, she had made the impossible happen, for him and his family. She had told him she would do whatever it took; he should never have doubted this. He was here, safe, in the United States to stay – they all were – and he was going to see Margo again in just a few moments.

Sergei exited the elevator and started down the hallway toward Margo’s office. And there she was, heading down the hallway towards him, a look on her face of determination that was familiar to him, tinged with something – was it resignation? – that was unfamiliar.

She saw him then. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face growing pale.

Sergei hurried toward her.

“Margo. I’m sorry to surprise you like this. I wanted to call to tell you as soon as we were out, but I was not allowed. It is done, Margo. My family and I, we are all out, we are safe. We landed here just a little while ago.”

Margo continued to simply stare at him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so much at a loss for words.

Then, visibly collecting herself for a moment, Margo looked up and down the hallway, and moved to open a door near them. She gestured for Sergei to follow her into an empty conference room and shut the door behind them.

They stood very close to each other now. At last, she spoke.

“You’re here.”

“I am, Margo. I am here. And I can stay. Thank you so much for—”

Sergei cut off, utterly shocked, as Margo let out an anguished sob and half collapsed, half threw herself, into his arms. She clung to him. He had never seen her overwhelmed, overcome like this. Never even close.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly. He stroked her back, her hair, wanting nothing but to comfort her, however he could. His mind could scarcely process the fact that Margo Madison, the strongest, bravest woman he had ever known, was weeping in his arms. He made his voice soft, barely more than a murmur.

“Margo, I’m here. It’s all right. It’s over. I’m safe now.”

Perhaps it was the wrong moment to say it, perhaps it was a mistake. But he could not help himself.

“I love you, Margo. I love you so much.”

At that, she only sobbed harder.

Growing more and more concerned, Sergei continued trying to reassure her.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Margo, but I’m here. I am here and I don’t have to leave. I don’t have to leave ever again.”

At last, she pulled back from him a little, looking up at him through her tears.

“You don’t, Sergei, but I do. I have to leave. I was on my way to meet my contact now, and – I don’t – I can’t –”

This didn’t make any sense. What contact? What did she mean? He asked her.

“They know. The FBI, they know about the engine design. It’s either this or prison and I can’t see any other choice I have.”

She rested her head on his shoulder again, tears still flowing, but quiet for a moment. Sergei still didn’t understand. What or prison? What was she planning to do? Not understanding, he nonetheless made her a promise, meaning every word. She had done whatever it took for him. He would do the same for her.

“We will find another way, Margo. We will solve it, whatever it takes. I’m here and I will help you. You don’t have to go anywhere. Not without me.”

He kissed the top of her head.

At that moment, the explosion tore through the building. The world went dark around them.

[x-i-l-verify]

Welp, I was tagged, I might as well give this my best attempt. Full disclaimer, all I know about the Links are from LU. I have never played any of the games, haven’t read any of the manga (though @kuraiacoris thoughtfully sent me 2 that are on my reading list), literally everything I know is from fanworks and the wikis and the occasional video essay. I don’t have any nostalgia for this franchise whatsoever. I am coming at this from the perspective of a LU fan first and foremost. Additional disclaimer is that I love all 9 of these characters v much, they are all blorbo material and I’m squishing all their cheeks, there’s not a one I actively dislike or think is uninteresting. I just think some are more interesting than others. XD

Also, fair warning, rankings 4-8 really depend on my mood and the day, I sat here literally for like 30 mins trying to rank them and going back and forth. >.<

1. Four – Four stuck out to me almost immediately upon looking through the LU concept sketches and eventually the comic just because of his design. It’s very striking and unique, and I love how small and tiny he is. We don’t have enough short kings in fiction imho. I love his hairstyle, too. But it was his personality that really intrigued me. He’s observant and clever, dramatic and very expressive, and so quietly caring. His love language is 100% acts of service, and it’s clear he loves doing things for people and making sure they’re taken care of. It’s no wonder he’s the Hero of the Minish, of quiet, simple, everyday kindnesses. I also find his placement in the timeline fascinating, like what do you mean he’s the second hero ever right after Sky, who never wielded the Triforce or Master Sword but still secured the peace and prosperity for Hyrule for years and years to come? *pokes fandom* Hey, hey fandom, where are all my fics where Four is absolutely awestruck by Sky and they have a relationship like Time and his successors or Downfall Duo, huh? Huh??? Fandom, you are slacking. >:[ I also am not quite sure why so many people seem to have such a hard time writing him or getting a handle on his character. He’s a complex little guy, sure, but not that complex, surely?

2. Warriors – I wasn’t sure what to make of him at first, but a dip into the fandom convinced me of what I was missing out on but also that the poor guy was incredibly maligned in some fanwork, made the villain in fic just because he sometimes clashed with fandom darlings Wild or Legend, and that made me determined to support him. And tbh I think the group really needs someone like him as one of its pillars. He’s one of the only Links who has a lot of experience working as a team, and it’s clear he cares a lot about the others and really tries to keep them safe. Yeah, sometimes he can get frustrated with some of the more independent or hairbrained of the lot, but coming from his background, that behavior gets you dead. It totally makes sense why he’d react that way. Add to that, I love his banter with Twilight and Legend in particular, and his semi-canon relationship with Time and Wind from the War of Eras makes me go 👀 👀 👀 👀 Speaking of the War of Eras, if you think about that conflict for more than about 10 seconds, the more horrifying it becomes. That man has baggage and no mistake. And it’s fun to unpack that baggage. B)

3. Time – Time duked it out with Warriors for my #2 spot for awhile before Warriors got a leg up on him, but make no mistake, I really do like Time a lot. I have a big soft spot for team dads, especially reluctant team dads who are like “Shit, I’m the adult in the room, oh no.” XD It’s really interesting to see the Link from OOT and MM in this in-between stage of his life, to see one of the Links all grown up as an adult who’s married and has a happy, peaceful life. Love his relationship with Malon, and the way he tries his best to look after the younger heroes while still encouraging independence is adorable. Plus, he’s clearly still a dramatic gremlin, and I think him being all cryptic with his past exploits is hilarious. XD He’s a cool guy, and I’m glad Jojo went this direction with his character.

4. Sky – Sky kinda fades into the background when he doesn’t have the spotlight directly on him so far, but I watched a cutscene compilation of Skyward Sword and instantly fell in love. <3 I adore how expressive and mellow he is, but also how fast he can turn on a dime and absolutely destroy any threat to his loved ones. He’s also just a huge little shit, and I love that such a sweet face hides such a gremlin. XD Sass king, this one. Also the prospective angst of his place in the timeline as the first Hero and founder of the royal line of Hyrule is choice. I love him. He’s great. If you don’t love him, please go watch some cutscenes of Skyward Sword.

5. Twilight – So now we’re getting into “oh boy, I have no idea how to rank these guys” territory, so take this ranking with a grain of salt. Twilight could be lower on any given day, but right now, he’s at 5 because I really enjoy big brother characters and LU!Twilight’s design is immaculate. I love the Twili markings so freaking much. But also, he’s just a unit, a brick, a fine, helpful young man. <3 You can tell he’s such a people person and has a lot of experience corralling people younger than him. XD His relationship with Time is very interesting, and while I do like his relationship with Wild, too, imho it's really been done to death in fanworks. I’m desperate to see him interact with other characters, which is why I’m so pumped that Jojo paired him with Sky. They will be such besties by the end of the dungeon, mark my words.

6. Wind – I am somewhat sheepish that Wind is this far down in my ranking, especially since I have a friend that blorbos him really hard, but it is what it is. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I do like him! He’s a cute kid, and a good kid, helpful and sweet and impish as all Links are. I’m not a huge fan of the super foul-mouthed pirate that fanon tends to make him, as that has little basis in canon, either from the games or LU. Wind is a Good Boy. A big brother that’s now the youngest of nine, and there’s a lot you can do with that dynamic. He’s used to caring for others, not being cared for himself, so giving him eight overprotective older brothers is a fun twist. His dynamic with Time is intriguing, and I’m crossing my fingers and praying very hard that the common theory of him being Four’s descendant is true.

7. Hyrule – I was rather underwhelmed with Hyrule at first in the comic, since he’s so quiet and takes such a backseat to the rest of the characters, but now that he’s gotten more of a chance to shine, he’s grown on me a lot. He may be quiet, but he’s no pushover, and he’s so sweet and kind and optimistic in spite of how run down his own era is. His abilities are so unlike the other Links’, too, and he’s just really mysterious, which is intriguing.

8. Legend – Legend took by far the longest to grow on me during my first read of LU, where I found him annoying and unpleasant (I’m not usually a fan of tsunderes), but despite his placement on this list, he really has grown on me a lot. Despite his abrasive exterior, he really does love very deeply, and he’s been badly hurt in the past, so his abrasiveness makes sense. I think some people take that too extremes, though, especially in fanworks, where he can sometimes be pretty insufferable. Also, fanon Downfall Duo is out, canon Downfall Duo is in. Also Legend+Warriors is the best Legend dynamic ur arguments are invalid.

9. Wild – Yeah, sorry. I know BOTW/TOTK is super popular and all, and Wild is a very fun character to play with, I’m just kinda tired of him getting shoved front and center in everything. Twilight occasionally gets a pass because I have a weakness for his character archetype, but Wild does not have that luxury. I might also be a bit biased because of the mess his games (TOTK specifically) make of the timeline, which directly affects LU canon, since Jojo has to work with what she’s got. But also his recklessness makes me want to drub him over the head with a stick occasionally. Yes, it's funny, but also boi you are taking years off your brothers’ lifespans, stoppit.

Reiterating that all Links are good Links, though. Just throwing that out there.

Tagging @scarlettediscord and @silverne-nonsense, though of course no pressure

Gonna try and start a tag game, so let's go!

We've all got our favorite Links, but I wanna know how ALL the LU Links rank for you.

I'll start! And just to note, I've only played Sky, Wild, and Twilight's games so far.

1. Sky- My favorite Link, though his game is my second favorite

2. Wild- Second favorite Link, but his games are my favorite

3. Warriors- Haven't played his games, but @crazylittlejester has made him one of my top three

4. Time- Gives big Dad vibes, he's just trying to keep his children out of trouble

5. Twilight- Absolutely the big brother

6. Legend- Not as bitter as I often see him portrayed. He's just a (older) kid whose been through a lot

7. Hyrule- Played his games a LONG time ago, never made it past the first dungeon. I don't really have much to say about him though

8. Wind- Cute kid, I like him but don't have much to day about him either

9. Four- I unfortunately don't know anything about him beyond LU, sorry Four!

Tagging:

@skyloftian-nutcase @crazylittlejester @skyward-floored @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons and anyone else is welcome to join as well!

[theysayalltheworldsastage]

@cherrycolacowboy okay so more on my earlier headcannon. and also just to add i am normally not a modern au girly but i do really love this au a LOT. anyways. for anyone not following, this is a headcannon i have about a the A HELPING HAND AU

Soda has ADHD and Dyslexia. Does he know this? Maybe. Do most people in his life know this? Yes. But if you know the Curtis house, you know they don’t have the money for that.  It hurts though. It hurts the people who love him to see him hide behind a mask. To know what’s going on in his mind (they don’t know half of it) and not be able to do anything about it. 

Sure, Paul had heard this hurt from Darry before. But he never expected this. He didn’t except for his chest to ache so much. 

Paul has become used to Soda following him around the house, talking about everything on his mind. He’s used to the kid never sitting still, and having trouble reading. He’s used to the range of emotions he has. But also the smile always on his face. And the jokes he makes out of everything. Even the times he shouldn’t have to feel like the mood needs to be lightened. 

To an extent, Paul has learned how to deal with this. How to not outwardly express his exasperation and exhaustion because he knows it’s nothing Soda can be at fault for. Chet and Soda have a lot of differences, but also a lot of things that Paul can tell are in common. Maybe Chet’s more quiet, but he has to always be moving. Doing something. Maybe it’s fidgeting with something in his hands, or walking in a circle around the coffee table twenty times. 

Paul has also learned that when Sodapop Curtis gets quiet, it isn’t right. When Soda stops trying, and when he doesn’t even attempt wearing a smile on his face, or to focus on something other than his mind, it feels wrong. 

So one night in spring, Soda had been slowly spiraling. He was getting quieter, and he was going between staying in bed all day and walking to the park, near the tracks, around the neighborhood. He was either still or constantly stirring. 

Yes, Chet noticed this. Started holding him extra close. Darry made sure Paul was keeping an extra close eye on him. Pony realized the signs. But he was never quite sure how to comfort Soda the way he had comforted him all these past years. 

Ponyboy and Sodapop had always been like little brothers to Paul. To an extent. But lately they have been his brothers. They were a family now. The gang had been spending more time at Paul’s house too. So he didn’t miss the way that Steve was hanging around a little bit more. Or how on the days that Paul couldn’t get Soda out of bed, Ace would drag him to the park to sit and get some fresh air. He was real grateful for them. But a hopeless feeling started to claw at his chest. It felt the way that Darry had described it to him many times before. 

Eventually Ace couldn’t pull him out of bed. Steve started to get angry. Twobit looked concerned. Pony really did try, but to no avail. Darry would spend hours sitting besides Sodas bed, but couldn’t get him to say a word. Dally and Johnny had even tried what they could. Nothing. 

One night, everyone was at their own places. Most nights someone was staying over.  But not tonight. Ponyboy was sleeping in his own room. There was soft rain you could hear throughout the house. Paul was walking into the kitchen when he saw Soda. The kid was just sitting on one of the wood chairs, staring. It was hard for Paul to tell if there was a lot of something, or a lot of nothing behind those eyes. 

“Soda?” The kid turned to Paul. And he started crying. He looked at Paul with the same sadness that the older felt inside his heart. Maybe sadness wasn’t the word. Maybe it was worse. It definitely was. The younger just shook his head real slowly. And as tears were still falling down his cheeks he spoke. 

“I don’t know Paul. I’m so tired of this. My mind isn’t normal.It’s not, I’m not fucking normal. Something is messed up but I don’t know what. I can’t read and. I can’t shut up and I dont know something isn’t right, Paul. Something isn’t right. What I feel isn’t normal. And no one understands. I mean, I don’t really understand, but no one understands. I’m okay sometimes but my head? Sometimes it just snaps. I don’t. Paul something isn’t right. I can’t read and, Paul I need help.” 

Soda was now sitting on the porch outside watching the rain fall and he wasn’t really breathing right but Paul was sitting right by him with an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder and even though Paul didn’t say anything he knew he was there and that’s all he could ask for because his breathing evened out a little bit more and he started talking again because Sodapop Curtis just can’t shut the fuck up can he?

“And i’m just so messed up. I get angry. And I get angry when I’m not supposed to and I laugh when i’m not supposed to and why does hearing people chew make me fucking angry? That’s not normal, Paul. I had to drop out of school because I can’t read and I’m just so fucking stupid I can’t read or do math and all the words just go everywhere and that’s not normal, Paul. I need help I need fucking help but I don’t know something isn’t right and my heart hurts and I just. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be like this Paul. It’s not fair. It isn’t fair what did I do to be like this? It’s so stupid. I’m just so fucking. It’s not fucking fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking” 

And not he had his face in the older boys shoulders and he was hiccuping and he was crying because Sodapop Curtis is a real fucking mess isn’t he? 

And maybe Paul wasn’t the best with words. Not like Soda. Soda could find words and a way with those words for every thing. Paul is sure he could find a word for the feeling that he felt right now. Because he sure as hell didn’t know how to explain it. But it was horrible. And it wasn’t something good. He couldn’t imagine was Soda was feeling right now! But he knew that whatever Soda was, he wasn’t stupid. And curse whoever made the kid think that. Curse the world for giving Soda those thoughts. Because truth be told, he might be the least deserving people of a mind that feeds him those words. Sodapop Curtis is the light and joy of this world. No one would get by without him. So yeah, maybe Paul wasn’t good with words, but he was good at being there. So that’s what he did. He sat with Soda. He didn’t hush him, he just let him cry with the rain. Paul cried with the rain too. Because this was his brother. And he would die for him. Paul Holden would fucking die for Sodapop Curtis. Because they were brothers. And that’s what brothers do. 

It was a learning process. For both of them. Soda asked for help a bit more from here on out. Because letting those words out helped ease his mind just a bit. And Paul worked to get someone for Soda to talk to. Get him some medicine. (Though this is another story. Soda refused to take medicine for a long time. He was scared that it would change his mind. And he wouldn’t be him anymore.) 

But this wasn’t the end. Things didn’t only go up. Because he had more breakdowns. Some of them were slow. Some of them were filled with anger, others with sorrow. In fact, the next one after this was scary for everyone. There weren’t any signs. He just snapped. He. Just. Snapped. 

But one thing didn’t change through it all. Paul was there to protect him. And for that came a feeling that Soda wasn’t quite sure how to express in words. 

not perfectly written. am i the biggest fan of this writing? nope. but i like the concept. so this is what we’re working with rn lol. in fact, not edited at all. will i go back and rewrite later? maybe! was going to go back through and add italics to some words to emphasize some things but i’m not feeling up to that super much at the moment. but yes. it’s something

[klysanderelias]

Yeah I feel like the great sin of this problem is that you're no longer playing the game, you're playing FOR x. I can't count how many times I've been in campaign and heard people saying some variation of 'but it'll be so COOL when we get to' or 'all of this will make sense when' and it isn't, and it doesn't. Like, sorry, I stopped having fun six months ago, and this has all been pulling teeth for me, and I no longer care about any of these characters or events.

ESPECIALLY for long campaigns, I'm far more likely to hate the feeling that I'm being led by the nose for some future payoff than I am to be excited when the payoff comes.

And especially when it comes to backstory, the idea of 'we'll get to it' is such a malicious one. I'm in two separate games that are in the year+ length territory with players who adamantly refuse to talk about or pursue any backstory stuff because they have a carefully plotted out idea of how it's supposed to go, and of course that hasn't come up in game yet. And of course, y'know, if that character dies all that planning and backstory dies with them, so they can't die, they're protected by plot armor.

I just hate playing in games with people who are so focused on some future perfect RolePlaying Moment tm that they're unable to play the game now. We have to hit this Super Cool Cinematic Moment for the Finale and that means that the next three months are just miserable painful railroading so that all the pieces line up, and the moment isn't even good. It's a cool idea, but it sucks to play, and I'm so uninvested in what's happening that it wouldn't be fun regardless.

Like, you watch people sit there and wait for story beats that haven't come and aren't going to because they're not even laying the groundwork for it, just expecting it to drop into their laps, and then they blame the GM!

(or alternately, the GM denies every idea you put forward and keeps saying 'you can't do that yet' or 'you can't go there yet' and then six months later he wonders why everyone sounds so uninterested when he says we're almost at the big moment)

While I rail against the idea of GM prep being like "preparing a nice story for your players that their characters can be slotted into and also as a GM it's your duty to integrate the characters' backstories into your prep or else you're a bad GM" because it often results in linear narratives with very little room for player agency but also it's an unhealthy dynamic to expect a GM to weave together a coherent narrative out of the ideas provided by multiple people who might have completely different ideas about what the game should even look like. But there's also more to the practical angle than "it's hard to prep:"

If a player whose character is deeply integrated into the narrative of the campaign suddenly needs to leave the campaign you've left yourself with a narrative void and unlike in Hollywood you can't just go recasting that shit. No one's gonna buy into this new Goblin Steve, his new player can't even do his voice properly.

By prepping games like this you're really setting your whole campaign up for failure in most cases. How about: the story isn't something the players write for homework before the campaign, right? The NPCs that matter are not authored connections your players gave you as assigned reading before the game even started. The story is whatever happens during sessions and the connections that matter are those that characters build during play.

There is of course some nuance to this but like: we see so much talk about GMs being expected to integrate player character backstories into their prep (and then their players not being engaged anyway because they felt the GM did it "wrong") and about how GMs are burning out and it's a thankless job and like. Could there perhaps be a solution?

[lsunstreakerl]

having unadulterated brainrot on fmf rn so please pardon these ramblings of a design-obsessed madman 🫣🫣

so many mentions of cloaks..... they're such good character design traits because they're very plot relevant and great motifs for the characters snsjsk they define the respective nations and personalities of our two mains sooozz

(ignore my attempt at kingdomifying the mv logo for house of verstappen purposes)

House of verhoeven, warmer of the two right so linen and thin cotton is the way to go for them for most of the year. single drape cloaks because air flow and they can afford it, i wanted to make their cloak designs particularly well draped to showcase how they have or at least for a while have had more relaxed circumstances compared to the north side while also have it be a single long drape of cloak to show that they're on edge. nothing they can afford to fuss over, but they have time. from a worldbuilding pov, their winters r still warmer compared to the north side, it's still a cotton and linen blend but a fuller coverage drape. + thicker undershirt !

House of verstappen, far far colder. i thought they'd prbly have the tradition of layering rather than draping. a motif for how they r far more focused on practicality and diligence than whimsy, they don't have time. verhoeven had clasps that twisted and turned the fabric, verstappen has clasps that click together as fast as possible, practical. a sense of paranoia, it's enhanced by the cold cold cold. fur-lined over cloaks, they end at the waist unlike the knee/ankle length of verhoeven, due to the main fight style of the northern people being reliant on speed. a cloak at the bottom of their feet would be a hindrance. the under-cloak serves as a way to cut the cold on the bottom half of the body cus the thicker cloak can't, it's still early to move around in so cotton.

the verhoeven colours go from a summery blue to a muted one in the winter, due to there being more resources during the summer and people can work more without risk of disease. the verstappen colours stay the same year round. dark under cloak bc darker = warmer and orange cloak for patriotism. flow vs stagnancy.

i also thought it'd be interesting to point out how the verstappen under-cloaks have raised collars, and then a final guard with the thick fur that obscures the figure in terms of silhouettes. the verhoeven ones are relaxed around the neck and loosely hangs off the figure.

these were done wayyy too late at night so not ideal looking but the point is to showcase how the sharper angular face of a young max is guarded by the fur and high collars. the verhoeven cloak hangs off his back. relaxed.

anyway yeahh it's like 3 am and i have an exam tmrw and im sososo happy for max kells and their baby lily !! but i needed to Yao about character designnn mwah hopefully this makes some sort of coherent sense and I'm srry if i overstepped any boundaries xx

HI WOW YES!! first off— never apologize for art!!! never apologize for creating and for sharing because I LOVE when you guys do that <3 when you decide that my silly little words are worth your actual time and effort to go and create things!! art, pottery, music playlists— all of that is so incredible and it absolutely blows my mind every single time. always share it with me because I love seeing it and all of you are so talented 😭🫶

secondly— yap begets yap, so. buckle in. cloak realness!! you get it!!! they're so... I use them narratively a lot, because A) they are cool, and B) they're good for storytelling. I adore the way you designed them, and your little notes and explanations are so so cool. do you have a design background???

the collar on the house verhoeven cloak is mwah. the buttons on the side, the flowey drapiness of it all— absolutely encapsulates the lighter, warmer climate and attitudes. these are people who aren't as focused on raw survival. they can afford to think about the design and the colors!

I especially like the idea of the shorter cloaks and layering further north. not only is it warmer, but it also offers more protection in a fight! it would be easier for a weapon to get caught in the house verhoeven cloak, and then tangle and pull, compared to house verstappen where it's more likely to just slice through.

they're always alert further north. it's cold year round, and they don't have the time or the want to spend the effort to dye their things— and it would make them stand out more than they'd like. your consideration about the faster fighting style up north was really really impressive. I don't think I state anywhere that they're faster than everyone else, just that they're fast— but they have a style that relies on footwork and reaction speed. they're always moving, and their fighting style lends itself to that, a constant flow of movement so they're not wasting any energy. (because when it's that cold and your resources are scarce, energy is a currency.)

tiny max hiding in the hood under the fur I am so endeared. the skrunkly of all time, honestly. rico having his moment off to the side— real.

anyways that's more yap than you probably wanted but I am genuinely STUNNED about this, so never ever apologize for it ever again thank you mwah. I would actually be v interested in seeing your thoughts on the leathers as well, if you ever felt so inclined.

art is inspiring <3 I just write stuff for the hell of it, but every time someone reads it and feels inspired to create is just amazing. the casual talent so many of you have is a little bit ridiculous and I love you all 🤍

[senlinyu]

Hey I am a big fan of manacled and so excited for alchemised! I was wondering if you'd be able to share some posts for UK trans charities? We're having a hard time over here and obviously jkr is a big reason why. I know you're an ally and I think your voice could be really useful right now. Than you for your amazing writing!

Absolutely, I was so upset when I saw the news. I’m so sorry that you and everyone in the trans community in the UK are being faced with this ruling. 

The news has made me really question and second guess how to continue to exist in fandom, if I can or should. In the past, I’ve tended to think that since I was writing to a pre-established community, no one here was going to be discovering Harry Potter because of me. Especially knowing that JKR had expressed vocal distaste for dramione, and that my fics generally tend to fall into the 95 theses nailed to the door category of ‘fan’ work, I’ve tended to take for granted that my feelings about her are fairly obvious to any fandom regular trying to assess them. 

But now, particularly because of the way that Manacled has completely breached containment, I don’t feel like I can say that about my personal participation any more, which makes me very sad because the thought of stepping away from my communities feels like losing a found family. 

Because I got into Harry Potter by reading fan lexicons and fanfiction for several years before I read the books or saw any of the movies, when I think about Harry Potter my primary association with it isn't JKR, or the cast, or series itself, but the fanfic communities, many of which in my case, have been very queer, and were the first lgbtq spaces that I was able to participate in.

It was the people from those private communities who talked to me as I was sorting through my orientation of being aro/ace and were so patient with me a couple years back when I was trying to unravel whether I was allowed to identify as non-binary while still being fairly femme presenting. So it’s always a bit of a shock to step out of my circles and remember that’s not what most people associate with Harry Potter.

And while I can continue my personal friendships without context of HP, watching communities I’ve been connected to for decades dissolving feels so sad. And I don't know where to begin when it comes to things like LTDI, which I don’t want to abandon, but I also don’t want its continuation to be misconstrued as some kind of endorsement of transphobia.

Sorry… I’m rambling. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a mental hamster wheel ever since I read more details about the ruling, trying to sort through my feelings and what an appropriate reaction is, but also not wanting to come across like the big deal is how it affects me. 

But since this is something I’m very well-known for now, I feel like I need to do and say something to make my feelings clear.

I’ve been donating to Mermaids UK for a couple years now, it’s the charity that I’ve had listed on my fandom FAQ site when people have messaged or emailed wanting to 'pay' for my fics. 

I also made a donation to Not A Phase after seeing Nicola Coughlan post about it.

Since I’m not UK based, I feel a bit hesitant to resoundingly endorse a specific trans charity since I don’t personally know the details of their ground work, so if you have other trans charities whose advocacy and activism you’d recommend, please let me know. *hugs*

[lostcatinthedark]

I really don't think that they care too much about what's happening with another member, now each one of them has to look out for themselves. If they sense something weird that is happening to another member, they'll give him space to figure it out on their own.

This made me think about how apparently the members weren't involved with helping Jimin through his issues during the pandemic. He mentions in the Suchwita episode that when he was drinking a lot the members didn't say anything about it. Then in the first minimoni album exchange video he says that when he was making Face he told the members about how lost he had felt during the pandemic and they said that they already knew but just didn't say anything about it and let him figure things out on his own (they did the same with Namjoon too).

There's also a scene in one of the episodes of the Monuments documentary where after one of the PTD concerts Jungkook goes to Jimin's house and while they're eating Jimin tells Jungkook this story about another friend of his who noticed Jimin was acting differently and said he thought Jimin was depressed even though he pretended like he was fine. I don't know if this was actually the first time Jimin told Jungkook this story or if he already knew it and Jimin was just repeating it for the camera but regardless, the point is that neither Jungkook nor any of the other members were a part of the story. The first person to actually talk to Jimin about how there was clearly something going on with him and offer help was a friend we don't even know the name of. The other members supposedly also realized Jimin was going through something but unlike that friend they chose to not say anything and that's just weird to me. Like, what kind of help is saying nothing and letting your friend struggle alone? Because based on what we know it doesn't seem like that was the best course of action.

Jimin mentioned a few times how for a while he didn't realize there was something wrong with him and he thought he was fine and just having fun with all the drinking (that's what Like Crazy is about). From that story with the unnamed friend it seems like that friend telling Jimin he thought he was depressed might have been what made Jimin finally realize there was something wrong. So it seems like Jimin did need someone to say something but the members decided not to so another friend had to be the one to do it. That's what I mean when I say silence might not have been the best course of action in this situation.

Then there's all of Alone, especially those draft lyrics from his notebook that didn't make it into the final song ("I know that I have no one to trust and that I live alone in this world, so why am I so lonely? I just want to be happy and joyful. I want to run away somewhere"). Doesn't look like he was having a great time being alone with no one to help him.

So if he didn't want to be alone and found having someone to talk to helpful then you gotta wonder why the members seemed to think that not saying anything and letting him figure out his issues by himself was a good idea.

These are the type of things that make me question how well the members friendship actually works outside of the band context, especially when things get more complicated. And it's not just Jimin, other members have said similar things about relying on other people outside of the group during some of their most difficult times.

Honestly, I think armys have a wrong idea about how close the members actually are. They're all close of course, they have to be after so many years of being together 24/7, but after the hiatus they didn't have to be together all the time anymore and we started to see how the members have other people they're just as close, if not closer to than each other. There's also the fact that even if you're close friends with someone that doesn't mean that person is actually good at supporting and helping you with difficult situations. Some friend are mostly good for simple and lighthearted situations. There's some friends you love to hang out and have fun with but wouldn't got to if you needed help with something serious and difficult. And for all armys don't want to admit it, I think that this is the case for a lot of the relationships between the members.

Yeah, first of all the emotional intelligence just lacks in some of them seriously. But it's no surprising to me, because that is genuinely how a lot of men manage their friendships. I still will criticize it though, because I think they could step it up. I hate when armys disguise teasing or straight up bullying as jokes for example. And I'm glad that at least Jimin seems to have a support system outside of the group because he needs it, everyone needs it. Everything seemed fine when they were all together, but when the group stopped they all went their different way. And RM for example admitted that he distanced himself completely from the members. And that is ok! They don't have to be attached to the hip, because they are all different people and maybe some don't even get along that much on a personal level. That doesn't invalidate their bond as BTS, they've been through so much together, that is special. But outside of BTS, they all have people that see them for who they are and who are more compatible with, and can rescue them when they need help, even if they don't ask for it because they understand them.