#everything else: is to learn not to put all this heavy pressure on myself. i try to believe it when i say i'll be fine. ive got time. ive g

[cheryap]

ive gotten well damnginto this song

[detentiontrack]

Oh wow you actually give quite good advice. Got any advice for highschoolers? I just started my freshman year (although probably some advice won’t be terribly applicable since the entire school is 25 people and my class is 4 kids, but it’s worth a shot. Also it might help other people.)

YES! I DO! So I went to a year and a half of high school before moving up to college and I HATED it. Here are some tips that would have made it suck less.

Learn to have a thicker skin. Easier said than done, I KNOW, but if someone says something mean to you, you can't let it bother you forever. Accept that they're just an asshole or are insecure and taking it out on others, and move on. Your worth is not defined by what some 14 year old bitch says about you.

It is not lame to have a good relationship with teachers! Talk to them, hang out with them during lunch, don't care what anyone else thinks.

Pack yourself a lunch every single day. Its healthier and you'll have more time to hang out during lunch.

Get involved! Join clubs, do student government or debate, do cast or crew for the fall musical. I did costumes for my freshman fall musical, and it's how I met one of my best friends who is still my best friend almost 5 years later (if you're reading this, you know who you are. ily <3)

Don't feel pressured to dress a certain way for fashion trends. I was a freshman in 2019/2020 so vsco girl/cottage core/""alt"" (that wasn't even really alternative) were very popular and I basically didn't wear any of my favorite clothes for a while. Just do what makes you happy.

Get a 504 or an IEP (educational/school accommodation plans) if you need one. They're life savers (if anyone wants another post on what was on my 504 for accommodations, lmk!)

Your body is inevitably going to change. Most people gain weight when they're in high school. Despite being a teenager, you are still a CHILD. Your body isn't going to look like an instagram model's. Don't let it get to you.

Always carry around pads or tampons with you. Even if you don't have periods. You never know when you or someone you know will get a surprise period.

Bring deodorant in your backpack every day. You will need it, even if you apply it in the morning.

Don't be that person who puts on heavy perfumes or body sprays in class. Just don't.

Take honors/AP classes if you can! They're honestly not that much more difficult and they look great on your record.

Do every single extra credit assignment!

Use google docs for everything

Take notes in every class, even if you already know the subject and notes aren't required.

Learn to study in high school, even if you don't need to. You WILL need to study in college and it's good to already know your studying style.

Take lots of photos! Even if you are insecure. You don't have to look at them, but someday you'll want to have them. I was deeply insecure in high school and have barely any photos of myself, and I deeply regret that.

You know those posts that are like "life may suck but at least I'm not 15 again"? Those posts are real. High school is NOT AT ALL the best years of your life, despite what everyone may tell you. Things can always get better.

Try not to date much in high school. Statistically, you are not going to marry your freshman year partner. Even if you think they're "the one", don't take it super seriously. You both have a lot of developing to do.

DO NOT EVER IN YOUR LIFE DATE A SENIOR AS A FRESHMAN. YOU ARE NOT MATURE FOR YOUR AGE. IT DOES NOT MAKE YOU COOL. THEY ARE NOT DIFFERENT OR SPECIAL. A 17/18 YEAR OLD HAS ABSOLOUTLEY NO BUSINESS DATING A 14/15 YEAR OLD. DO NOT GO THERE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There is a LOT of pressure to lose your virginity in high school. That is bullshit. It's okay to not have sex until later. It's okay to never have sex. Anyone who tries to pressure you or tell you otherwise, is NOT someone you want in your life. The right sexual partner will respect your boundries and not try to pressure you into anything.

[arkturusz]

@cult-of-the-eye here it is, hope you like it :3

MAG[REDACTED] - Blood in the Machine

Anonymous statement, regarding the statement maker's purchase and use of a strange desktop computer. Original statement given 4th of February 2024, recording by Arcturus Walker, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, Budapest. Put to tape on the 21st of March 2024. Statement begins:

I don't want to go into details as to why I came to make this decision. It was an offer too good to be true, just what a struggling university student needed: a cheap PC with great specs and with only 2 years of usage. I know how some sellers put enticing prices on Facebook Marketplace just to drop the real deal in later messages, but that wasn't the case. The owner got his hands on "something better" and saw no use in keeping this one around so he asked for the bare minimum that would still be a deal to him.

I went to pick up the desktop, it was a city away so I drove there. It was a bit weird how creeping closer to the destination all we had were dirt roads. I live in the suburbs, I know not all city councils pay it enough attention, but these weren't those dusty solid roads. These were muddy, the tracks barely visible and overgrown with grass. No, not grass, something more- vibrant.

The roads branched off a few hundred meters from my destination, only one going in its general direction so I followed it. I reached a house, no buildings in its neighborhood, crop fields on one side, a small forest on the other, the kind that always seems way more moist than the weather would allow it and always has that smell of thick mud and insects. I could only *enjoy* that for a moment before I got hit with something else, something fleshier. It was a stench that burnt into my nostrils. I try not to judge a house by the smell, my parents were chainsmokers and I've always been more ashamed to bring friends home than it seemed they were bothered by the odor. Assuming I just met a butcher, or really just someone that keeps their own livestock I headed inside.

It felt like a hallucination, it really did. I stepped into a corridor, my lungs full of the dull yet powerful stench that covered everything. My brain felt foggy and with a headache that felt like pressure on my skull I continued inside. I was hoping to pick up the computer and get going right away, and I did my best to accomplish just that. I lifted the PC which was rather heavy and hurried back the way I came when something caught my attention. As I was putting my shoes on my brain alerted me of movement. From all around. The walls seemed to have this rhythmic pulse to them. If I wasn't at the doorstep I would've fainted, that's for sure, but I made it out to my car, telling myself it's the headache getting to me.

The drive back was nothing out of the ordinary, but that foul smell just wouldn't leave my nose. I parked, opened my boot and to no surprise the aroma oozed out of the case like a thick invisible fog, bringing back that numbing pressure that I felt earlier. I grabbed all the cleaning chemicals and similar that I could find lying around, giving it a thorough rub on the outside. I pride myself on my expertise in software, but the hardware always confused me and I never bothered to learn it. Thus I did not want to open it up, which proved to be a grave mistake.

For 6 months straight there seemed to have been no problem with the PC. It worked as intended, was just as fast as I expected and the smell was only noticeable if you got up close to sniff the case. Which I didn't. But two days ago I didn't need to either. I woke up to a strange smell. It wasn't as strong or numbing as the one I felt at the house but it certainly wasn't pleasant. We had maintenance that night, we were notified that from 10pm we should be expecting a blackout. I didn't mind, but it seemed that whatever was in my computer did not like it. I decided to give it another round of cleaning once I was done with my cup of coffee. I dressed up and went to pull out the cables on the back, but they were a lot harder to unplug than I remembered. I ripped out the one which was most limiting length-wise and I pulled the rest of the case out from under my desk. As I saw the back of the PC I had to stop myself from throwing up.

Now I'm not afraid of gore, I grew up in a generation (and the subcultures) that made it such a commonplace it's usually unamusing. On screen, at least. But I didn't expect to come face to face with a chunk of skin stretching across where my plugs should have been. The cable I ripped out laid on the floor, a dark red liquid dripping from it, staining my carpet. Same thing could be found on the back of the case. Turns out the cable wasn't just stuck, it was *integrated* into the fleshy mess that shouldn't have been there.

That's when I got a screwdriver and ripped the case open. It seemed like the only logical way to deal with whatever infested my computer and I didn't know what else I could do. The case came away like a sticker, the inside melted to a wall of human-like skin, peeling away it left a residue of perspiration on the plastic.

The flesh monster's skin seemed to have formed a block, covering its insides from all angles, pressing against the vents and pushing out through the outlets. The cord I ripped had left a nasty hole that started to scar up, but I wanted to see what I was up against and I *didn't let it*. I scraped away the scar tissue with the screwdriver and pushed it through the wound, detaching the vein that supplied my cable from the wall of skin. The case still hugging it from the outside cast a shadow that made it hard for me to see in, so I turned on my flashlight, stretching at the hole with my tool, trying to take a peek.

I saw veins running across the surface, the inside was humid and *warm*, at least warmer than room temperature but it wasn't the heat of a working human body. It was starting to cool. In the middle of the case I saw something heavy, a huge knot in the middle of the circulatory system which kept beating in a steady rhythm. It was slow, the pulse was invisible from the outside, yet it kept pushing blood through the opening, trying to close it up, but the scarring slowed down significantly from when I first ripped that cable out. It ran on electricity, it had to have been the case, the inside had a greenish tone from what I could make out, meaning that during the blackout it started rotting. The system that somehow ran like a normal computer for months started to decay, which reminded me of the smell my brain ignored from my initial shock that once again sat heavy in my lungs.

I did not reconnect it but I didn't know what to do with it either. Who would have I called? I scoured the internet to find your institute, and I left my PC to you. Past making this statement I wish not to associate myself with this case any longer.

Statement ends. First thing after reading this statement I went down to artifact storage to ask about this curio. Turns out whoever left it to us delivered it too late, the "heart" was not beating and the thing once stretched against the walls of it's case now sat collapsed and rotten in the organic section, making any other follow-up almost impossible. Looking for the flesh house also yielded no results, meaning I will put this case to rest as-is. What does keep me wondering are the intentions of the seller. Why would an avatar of the Flesh sell a piece of itself to an unsuspecting individual? There was no mention of the *flesh block* attempting to leave its case meaning there was no intention of spreading the system either. Maybe they didn't intend the buyer to possess it for so long, maybe they tried to alert us of their vicinity. But they failed. They left us with a cold trail. *sigh* Recording ends

This is episode one of my series I call MAGREDACTED, here are all the episodes out now:

The Vast The Stranger The Dark

New episodes will be posted over on @archivus !

[crystalsenergy]

Important words for you, Student #1

Regardless of how your year has been so far, whether you are evaluating it as a good year, a bad year, or a reasonable year, I have something to say to you.

Especially if you are a student or experiencing any kind of pressure.

I believe that here in Tumblr we have many pre-university students or university applicants.

When you are a university applicant, the demands are high. Do not understand demands as synonymous with "success,"

such as:

"doing well in school and also doing well in the entrance exam", "getting good grades."

Some say that "so-and-so does well in school because they are demanded"; "so-and-so does well in the entrance exam because they are demanded," when in reality, it's not like that.

The pressure begins from the moment you hear about the exam and know that you will have to study for it like no one else. Right at the beginning of this university application journey, various ridiculous ideas of competition and comparison are implanted in your head.

This has side effects:

a person may feel pressured and incapable; or super potent and excessively competitive. Anything can happen. The idea of competition in the entrance exam is still very ingrained in the minds of young people. Which is terrible.

My main message is for you not to neglect yourself.

Don't get lost in the midst of this university application madness. I'm not telling you to give up. I'm telling and remembering you to take care of yourself, even while studying.

Because it's no use thinking that only reading and doing who-knows-how-many exercises will guarantee your spot. If your physical and mental health is deteriorating, even if you have read and studied all the content, you won't be 100% well to put these learnings into practice. I guarantee you that.

Hmm, I don't know if you, who are reading this and are a student, have already taken your exams, have passed, haven't passed... regardless of that, my message here is focused on congratulating and advising you.

This text has already been published in my language for students in my country to read if they came across it. At the time, it was 2017 or 2018. I had just finished my second semester in law school, and for many, that meant nothing. Oh, I passed. Cool. But for me, it meant A LOT. Really a lot.

I had a tumultuous, busy, and complicated semester, where I was also all over the place, so things didn't go in the best way. In this context, I didn't see myself giving my best because I wasn't getting the best results.

But now that it's over, I think differently. Well, I gave my BEST. Even with a shitty result on some days, in exams: I did my best. My moment was too difficult and now everything is passing, things are improving. I really feel better that the weather is opening up again.

About grades,

my advice is: don't compare yourself.

There will always be someone "ahead," who succeeded before, who did better until now. Okay, but so what? Your performance is within your current pace, and you shouldn't demand too much from yourself.

It's as if life gave you "limits" as a gift.

Each phase, you receive a different limit, which will be according to the phase you are currently in.

And it's no use looking at the neighbor's limit and comparing it with yours.

It's no use trying to exceed your current quota.

Relax, focus on doing what is within your reach at the moment.

I see young people - 17, 18, 19 years old, and so on - worrying about the future in a very heavy way.

I see people going crazy, devising plans for the future and already thinking it will go wrong.

I understand all the pressure that is placed. But it doesn't have to be that way. I don't like to call our parents and society enemies, it's not that. But they are completely mistaken in

thinking that young people have an obligation to follow the life manual to the letter.

I would like to ask you not to see them as enemies but as people who don't exactly know what is best for you.

The best for you at this moment is what your heart wants (Heart, not Ego).

It's putting everything that needs to be put in place.

You have felt enough pressure this year.

[songder-bot]

i probably should just take it slow. i'll be all good, but god, i know-

the one thing that's important, above everything else,

is to learn not to put all this heavy pressure on myself.

i try to believe it when i say,

"if it's meant to happen, it'll happen anyway."

i'll be fine

i've got time

[not-poignant]

Have you ever worked on just one fic at a time (how did you find it?) or have you always worked on multiple fics at once?

If you've done both which way do you prefer and what are the pros/cons for each?

Hi anon!

I have worked on one fic at a time before! When I first started out actually, I wrote pretty much all of From the Darkness We Rise, and most of Into Shadows We Fall without working on anything else.

And I know there's been other times where I've also briefly worked on other stories solo.

What I learned is that I vastly prefer working multiple projects at the same time. It's a very personal preference, some people hate doing things like this, but I love it! For me, I find that if I have writer's block on one story, I generally won't have it for another story (and if I have it for every story, then I'm exhausted, which is different, lol.)

I don't really get writer's block anymore, or perhaps more accurately the tools I use to deal with it just always tend to work now. But I still prefer to work on multiple stories at the same time.

General pros / cons for me are

Working on one story:

PROS

Focusing on just one thing, often very rapid updates (i.e. 2-4 a week) (see cons for the downside of this)

Can basically exist in that world and only that world.

CONS

Sometimes 'writer's block' actually means 'writer's block only for this story.'

Inconsistencies if you crash out on a story and aren't working on anything else.

Missing out on other 'tones.' If you're only working on a grimdark smut story and feel like writing something wholesome you are shit out of luck until you finish your giant 2 year long story.

Take less chances on 'risky' stories. Things like Game Theory and The Nascent Diplomat etc. literally wouldn't exist.

Working on multiple stories:

PROS

No more writer's block! (For me)

Able to switch between lots of different tones, so I can go between dark and smutty, to heavy worldbuilding, to wholesome and consent focused, between different kinds of angst, and different genres.

It's more fun (imho)

A good way to justify writing quieter stories, because you might be getting more comments and feedback somewhere else. As an example, it's a lot easier to commit to Smoke in Autumn on the side even though that's comparatively very quiet, because Underline the Black and A Stain that Won't Dissolve gives me enough dopamine for everything.

I can work on fanfiction and original fiction at the same time. Always a bonus.

For readers who only want one kind of story from me, there's a much higher chance that I might be writing one of those kinds of stories. Very useful given I know a lot of people who actually hate omegaverse lol.

My wordcounts are actually higher because I'm more inspired.

The possibility since starting ADHD meds of actually working on stories to save for *after* current serials which is totally new for me.

CONS

A slight increase in the likelihood of continuity errors due to holding so many worlds in your head on a regular basis.

The 'I don't really want to work on this story even though I have to' feeling.

The internal pressure of 'oh shit am I working on too many stories right now' and feeling quite overwhelmed.

No story is getting 2-3 updates a week most of the time and sometimes I worry that means people will hate it.

-

As you can see anon, for me personally, the pros of writing multiple stories absolutely wins out. These are very specific pros/cons to me, and for someone else, the cons of writing multiple stories might be way too long.

Fun fact: Game Theory would never have been written if I focused on 'one story at a time.' I started writing that towards the end of Into Shadows We Fall, and started putting chapters up for it before I'd finished. I just won't take risks in the same way when I'm only working on one story at a time. I doubt I'd ever have written original fiction on AO3 at all if I'd forced myself to stick to one story at a time!

[rottenpumpkin13]

There is stuff I'd like to write about, and I have a lot of ideas, but I find it hard to, one find the motivation to finish writing stuff after I start and two find the time to actually set aside and do it. Do you have any advice for writing when you have the ideas but not the time or motivation. My writing style also tends to be very detail heavy and I've been told I describe the details very clumsily and my first draft a lot of the time and I don't know how to edit to try and fix that. What is your writing process like?

Writing Advice

Caveat: My writing's not perfect at all, I struggle with writer's block constantly, and I've only just recently gotten my style to a point where I'm happy with it. Take what resonates and I hope something here is helpful ❤️

1) Don't put pressure on yourself to write. Don't force yourself to write. Don't beat yourself up over not writing. I'm a big believer in forcing yourself to write when you don't want to write ≠ good writing.

2) You may feel like you need to get all of these ideas out, but maybe your brain isn't telling you to write. Think of your brain as a petulant toddler with picky eating habits. You so desperately want to feed it some writing, but it's asking for reading. You want to feed it some reading, but it's asking for writing. You want to read and write, but your brain is asking for drawing, or a movie, or sleep.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Feed your brain what it's asking for. If it's not asking for writing at that moment, that's ok! Sometimes it needs the fuel from something else to have the energy to write.

3) Try to find an outlet that makes the words flow from you uncontrollably (like water!). For me it's always music. I can't write in silence, and before I write I always play a game with myself that's like "Ok what's Pumpkin's brain asking for today? Is it classical music? Is it ambience sounds related to the scene I'm writing? Is it pop music? I never know before I try it out, and when I do find it, it's like I've turned on a faucet. It could not be music for you though! You never know, it could very well be YouTube/TikTok videos, reading, or anything else that inspires you.

4) I also struggle with motivation + time thing, and soooooo get where you're coming from *cries* What I found that helps me is taking it one step at a time! think of writing as cooking a recipe. You don't just throw everything into the pot all at once and hope for the best, it's a process. What I do first is I draft my scenes as transcripts.

For example a draft of a scene would look like this:

[scene description, what characters are doing, who's there, the vibe, what the weather feels like, etc etc]

character A: dialogue

character B: dialogue

character A: dialogue

And then I go over it with actual writing a.k.a filling it with the meat. This helps my squirrel brain work things out one step at a time.

5) And this may be the worst writing advice ever, but I'm going to go ahead and say take every bit of writing criticism you receive with a spoonful of salt. Not every piece of advice is useful, so learn how to distinguish good criticism from bad and apply it positively to your craft. Also, writing styles come in varying forms and sizes, as do stories themselves. That's why I believe writing advice is not one-size-fits-all.

You can receive bucket loads of good criticism + advice and apply it to your writing, but at the end of the day, all of it isn't going to get you anywhere if you, yourself, still aren't happy with your own writing. So write for yourself before you write for anyone else ❤️

I hope you took something useful out of this :)

[warlordfelwinter]

chai

~1700 words, ffxiv, directly post endwalker, wol/g'raha though that isn't the focus

i made myself a cup of chai to warm up after class earlier and was thinking about Fiver as i do and well here you go, he's being sad. really just some stream of consciousness from me about Fiver, there's no narrative or plot here

--

It was snowing.

Fiver huffed an overly dramatic sigh, a performance for no one, and then winced at the sharp pain in his chest that reminded him not to do it again. He shifted, adjusting himself against the veritable nest of pillows supporting him, and looked out the nearby glass-paned doors to the heavy grey sky over Old Sharlayan. Small light flakes for the moment, but it was enough to make him frown. He didn’t like the snow. It was offensive enough for being cold but now it just reminded him of Garlemald as well. Things he didn’t want to remember.

Not that he could really keep himself from remembering Zenos at the moment. The ever-present gentle pressure of the dressings on his torso were enough of a reminder. A week, or so, had passed since they had returned from the edge of the universe, from the Endsinger. Fiver wasn’t exactly sure of the days. The first few he’d been mostly unconscious and the rest had blurred together in a haze of frustration and boredom and pain.

Healing magic had saved his life, but there was only so much it could do. As he kept being told. The rest was up to him. And ��rest’ was indeed the watchword. He’d been practically confined to bed. Almost literally the first several days as he’d barely been able to stand much less walk. By now he could walk, though not far before he was out of breath. The various chirurgeons and healers that visited to check on him assured him he was healing remarkably fast and well. He would be back to himself in no time, they said.

No time.

Fiver glared out the doors at the weather. More, larger, flakes had started to fall as he’d been watching.

No time. What did ‘no time’ mean to them, he wondered, because he certainly had a different definition. He should have been back on his feet by now. He was the Warrior of Light. The Champion of Etheirys. He should be stronger than this. He should be better by now. What if something happened? What if someone needed him?

Everything was fine out there, that’s what everyone assured him each time they visited. No new world ending catastrophes. Everything was recovering from the Final Days, so Fiver should recover too. Rest. Relax. Recuperate.

Relax… He didn’t know how to relax. When had he ever had time to learn to relax? He didn’t think it was supposed to feel like this—this anxiety and frustration pent up in him, more and more each day he spent trapped here. And trapped was how he felt, though he’d never voice that to G’raha, his near-constant companion all this time, taking care of him with the patience of a saint.

He didn’t voice much to G’raha, recently, and he knew that was worrying him. It was difficult to put words to how he was feeling, and he knew the answers he’d get. Reassurances that he was doing well, that he needed to rest, that the world would be fine without him for a while, that no one needed the Warrior of Light right now.

Well, what if Fiver wanted to be needed?

It was hard, still, for him to internalize the knowledge that his friends cared about him for more than his usefulness. Their time on the First had shown him that quite dramatically, and most of the time he knew it. But it was times like this, when he was alone with nothing else to do but spiral into his own thoughts, that he started to worry. What if the healers were wrong, what if he never got better? What if his friends left him? What if they already had?

He wanted to be needed, needed to be wanted. It was all he knew. This—being weak, broken, needing more than he could give back—he hated it.

Slowly, he pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms as he hugged himself. He wanted to tap his linkpearl, find out where G’raha had gone, see if someone, anyone, would come keep him company. But he didn’t. Couldn't. Wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be a burden. He was the Warrior of Light, he could spend a few hours alone without completely driving himself mad. Couldn’t he?

He always used to be alone. The vast majority of his life he’d spent in solitude. And then he’d come to Eorzea, and then he’d let people get close, and then he’d made friends. And now it was hard. He didn’t know when, exactly, he’d started to prefer having company. But clearly he had.

Fiver lifted his head just slightly to turn it and rest it on his arms, looking out the windows at the snow again. His ears folded back against his head as he glowered at the white dusting on the balcony rails. He would be angry at the snow, rather than be angry at himself. It was easier to be angry at other things than dissect precisely why he was angry at himself. As such, any number of inanimate objects had earned his ire over the past week. It was a miracle he hadn’t driven G’raha mad yet with how irritating he must be to be around.

Then again G’raha still hadn’t returned from whatever non-specific errand he’d disappeared for. Maybe Fiver had finally driven him off.

He shouldn’t think like that. Out of everyone around him, G’raha had most repeatedly and firmly asserted and demonstrated the depths of his devotion to Fiver. And yet the thoughts came regardless. Would that he could go chase them off by sparring with someone. Instead, he just glared harder at the snow. Maybe if the clouds saw how angry he was at them, they’d leave.

Fiver’s ears pricked at a sound from the other room. He lifted his head, looking toward the door just as G’raha carefully edged around it. His ears and shoulders were dusted with snow, the bag over his shoulder was laden with something, and in his hands he held two steaming mugs. Fiver’s nose twitched at familiar spices.

“Sharlayan seems all the colder after Thavnair,” G’raha said, hurrying over. His eyes betrayed his concern when he saw how Fiver was sitting—curled in on himself—but he smiled and said nothing of it, just holding out one of the mugs.

Fiver took it, settling back against the pillows as he wrapped his hands around the warm stoneware. He held it to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Chai. He’d become very fond of the drink after Nidhana had introduced him to it during the Final Days.

“Fresh from Radz-at-Han,” G’raha said, setting his own mug and bag down while he shrugged off his coat and removed his boots, before sitting down next to Fiver. He shivered lightly, though Fiver wasn’t sure how cold he actually was or if it was just an excuse to snuggle up next to him. Not that he needed an excuse. Fiver leaned against him, taking a sip of his tea.

It was still hot. Fiver had no idea how G’raha had managed that with an aetheryte trip and the walk from the Agora through the falling snow. It warmed him to his core, loosening the knot of anxiety and anger that had formed in his stomach. The aroma and taste of the spices took his mind back to the rare moments of peace during the Final Days—minutes of sleep snatched wherever they could get them, not bothering to wash off the blood and sweat; long nights of conversation and speculation, smiles tinged with bone deep exhaustion and fear; meals shared on the road or at tables with too many chairs crowded around; moments of laughter and joy; hot mugs of chai. Among all the fear and grief, there had been hope.

There had always been hope, hadn’t there? Even when Fiver couldn’t see it. His thoughts trailed back further, no longer led by memories of the tastes and scents of Thavnair, but by some other feeling. He thought about the First. Of the burning agony of the Light as it ate away at his insides. Of his hopelessness and despair, only held in check by a desperate determination not to fail. A fear of being abandoned. But he hadn’t been. Even when he was a heartbeat away from becoming a monster, everyone had stayed by his side. Insisted on it, even.

If they hadn’t left under the threat of him turning into a Lightwarden, they probably wouldn’t leave him for not being fighting fit for a few more weeks.

Fiver looked at G’raha as his thoughts took him back to the First. G’raha was watching him closely, but blinked and smiled when Fiver looked at him, as if pretending he hadn’t been.

“I had a thought to make that curry you like,” he said, by way of explanation. “Though when I got to the market I realized I had no idea what spices went into it, which led to what was meant to be a quick trip to Radz-at-Han. I fear I lost track of time while Mehryde was taking me through the recipe. I hope I didn’t worry you.”

Fiver shook his head. “I assumed you just needed a break,” he said, taking another drink of his chai and trying to focus on that, rather than think about G’raha travelling across the world to learn how to make curry for him.

G’raha lightly bumped his head against Fiver’s. Wordless reassurance.

“While I was there, I remembered what you told me about this drink—when Nidhana made it for the people of Palaka’s Stand and it seemed to lift their spirits. Something so simple and mundane that was able to bring them hope in an otherwise bleak time.” G’raha paused and Fiver could feel his gaze on him. “I thought you could use some extra hope,” he murmured.

Fiver closed his eyes briefly, his chest tightening again in a different way. He took a breath, deep enough to stretch sore healing muscles, and then opened his eyes again.

“Thank you,” he replied, softly. He shifted down slightly, getting more comfortable against G’raha’s side. For a long while, they were quiet, and Fiver’s thoughts were quiet as well. Fiver savored the chai as he finished it, letting out a quiet, disappointed, noise when the mug was empty.

G’raha huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry, Mehryde showed me how to make this too.”

[strayfriend]

Why are you so overwhelmingly sad suddenly?

Because all this time it was too much to feel anything for more than a few minutes. I had responsibilities and no time for rest.

So you simply refused. You put everything away and that was fine. And then?

And then I existed in limbo like a sleepwalker, a daydreamer. I dreamt I bought a house. Here it is though, still.

What woke up the dreamer?

I WANTED to inhabit my own existence. I was trying to wake myself up. I meditated, I did grounding exercises, I focused on my breathing. Floating out, I found the way back to my body and I knew the tricks to descend the staircase of dissociation back into my brain. But it was so constant I was almost always absent anyway. For two years, barely there. Mostly I just had to wait. But what snapped me out of it? Maybe finally changing jobs. This one is less muscle memory and harder to dissociate through. Or not demanding enough to crowd everything else out? A couple of things got a bit more bearable. And I was back. I was okay. I was so happy to start seeing clearly and feeling things again.

But everything was still bottled up. I didn't realize I would have to deal with it because I never had to before. The reduced external pressure allowed the internal pressure to crack the glass and then... I guess it was Cane? One more loss sent a tremble straight down through me, a violent electric current shocking every piece of shrapnel still lodged inside me on the way down. And it all shattered and fucking SORROW came hissing out.

And now it's making all this noise and I'm drenched and I seem insane, because really, what has caused this?? Another dog? Like I don't watch sweet dogs die every week. Evidence says I should be able to shrug this off, even though I know it seems callous. I expect it of myself. I want to be the best version of myself and this isn't her. Rabbit heart of my uncertain youth returned. Can't do anything. I thought the long silence (and occasional birdsong) of my cloudy pre-dawn era was bad enough, but now that the numbness has ended I am this writhing malnourished thing desperately clutching at anyone nearby and struggling not to sob.

I can't imagine how anyone else can see me, because now I only see a hungry shadow. I'm small and shattering. And everything feels too much. And I'm watching myself, shivering and chattering with darting eyes and restless hands, and I know I never dwelled or worried like this before, used to walk on air and flew all across the ocean, into the tide, up mountains, in the jungle, in the snow. Sailed out into the cove to watch birds fly in, redder than the sun shining through the blood in the veins of your eyelids. Drowning in booze and coconut water, liberally dusted in glitter. That was the first transformation, mostly escapism but vibrantly alive. I had learned by then that I was not a child and never would be again, and that even recent iterations could not be returned to, but stacked inside me still like matryoshka. I couldn't even recover the soft gold gleaming lightness of 19. There is no going backwards. But I thought that I had grown into what I would be for a long time, and I liked being the fast and firey bird that I was. Maybe that would have lasted otherwise.

But something always changes and that self broke. Went deep down into the earth, couldn't feel or think anymore, could hardly even cry. When my aunt called and told me he died, I think someone had texted me so I knew, and I was already gone too, shifting. All I said, I think, was "you don't have to say it, I know," alleviate her of that burden. Voicing things like that grants them solidity, makes them more real. I didn't cry until I woke up with silent, heavy tears running into my hairline two days later. Still I could hardly feel my muffled grief, even as I cried and stood to speak at his funeral felt only a great emptiness in every layer of me. Even as I placed gifts in the casket. I was so detached from myself. More root than surface structure, thoughts all in the mud, humming together alone, whispering to the dead. But quiet and calm. So serene. I can rarely assign a name to my phases as I live them, but now I have labelled this the mushroom phase, because I spent all the cool mornings of that heavy, sticky summer wandering into fields and photographing the many fleshy caps that grew on rot as they repurposed the dead, soft and bright and complex. I was especially eyeless then, like them. Could neither see nor feel like a person did. My meditations then were redundant. Of course I let my thoughts drift by untouched, released; they weren't even mine, they weren't even thought.

I think the next change was gradual. I sank down deeper and hollowed out until I became a limestone cavern. Lonesome depths of sinking. Untouched pools of pristine water, gleaming stones. Water that longingly remembers the sky even as it carves deeper into stone that never cared to see the light at all. The faint and uncertain smell of rot.

The hurricane would have made us homeless, had I had less luck or less room in my sister's garage. I desperately fled to the first shitty little house I could convince a lender I could afford, 2 hours away. Every week I drove back to work a couple of shifts and then return. I drove in silence for a year and failed to notice there was something desperately wrong with me. Because I was a cavern, I had no thoughts but bats, usually asleep. In fact, quiet down, this self would say, the bats are sleeping. No more music, it'll wake them, the vibrations jeopardize the delicate formations. Sshhhh. We didn't want our little thoughts fluttering around in the daytime, let them rest. I spent my pre-dawn drives tracking traces of periwinkle and seashell-pink across the lightening sky. Patience started to win out. Quiet poems formed crystals in the dark silence of me. I spoke to the dead and heard precious little back, only that they never visited because I hadn't accepted that they were gone. I wanted to be a bird again and follow them into those pale skies. I knew I would never find a gap I could fit through into any other realities.

But anyway, a person can't be a cavern for very long, and the water in me remembered. At night I dreamt of standing in the tide on my toes, just swaying, until it would wash over me and I'd hold my breath. I could drown in it, in my own longing, but it always washed back out. And when I woke up i was just the dark and the earth again. Quiet little fuzzy sleeping thoughts, nestled together. Practical.

But the cave was never lonely. And the mushrooms weren't lonely either. And the bird that died was never that sad, too high in the air and gone before anything could catch up, that was the whole point. And the one before her was just human, weird but passably normal and functional little smiling human being. Just one the whole time, growing up like a human child does, despite the gaps and lapses.

Well, being back in your body after living on autopilot for almost two years does something horrible to you. I woke back up in the life I had neglected and found myself almost always alone. I hadn't made any friends in my new town, had hardly made any habits beyond following the bees and butterflies around my yard in the morning. But it was December, the depths of winter before the solstice, and all the bright and flying things were gone.

So I guess that's where I am now. Talking in circles, telling nothing, really. Still watching for streaks of color in the sky. Desperate to feel, but easily overwhelmed. Quaking. Sometimes I feel my soul almost wander right back out, but I do still want to be grounded and present. I guess I forgot that I had to take the bad with the good, and sometimes there's more darkness and loss than I can bear.

My hands don't even remember how to draw, or to juggle. I am off balance, I have been drifting for so long that everything is unfamiliar. I am trying, though. I have made it past the solstice, the days are getting longer. I am listening to music again, reading books and poetry. I don't dream of drowning anymore. And I found a little note from when I was a flying thing, scrawled in my old sketchbook. She said "Grief is made of longing. So is love."

[memento-morri-writes]

Five Things I Never Get Tired Of Writing Tag

I was tagged by @dogmomwrites. Thank you!! <3

Rules: List 5 things you never get tired of writing, then tag 5 people.

Found Family There's just something so nice about finding a place you belong and people who love you no matter what, even if you never had that before, even if you're an adult. It's a comforting thought, and also just a fun trope. Seeing characters who have never been loved, never had friends, find people who really care about them and want them to be safe and happy just breaks me every time. And I love it.

Angst I have a deep seated love for angst. I've said it before but "the more distressed my favorites are, the happier I get." Which is... interesting. I just love writing angst and putting my characters through hell and back. Breaking them, and seeing how they try (and sometimes fail) at piecing themselves back together. Seeing how their loved ones react, how they lean on each other or not. It's a lot of fun for me, and a great way to get to know my characters. But I don't want it to last forever, which leads me to the next trope:

Always a Happy Ending I have a rule for myself. No matter what my characters go through, no matter how horrible their past or present is, they will always get a happy ending. I know some people like tragedies or sad endings, and I don't mind reading them, but I write mainly for myself, and so I write what I need to hear. That there's hope for me, and for everyone else too. That someday, everything will work out.

Everything Is About Love I can't really explain this one very well, but every story I've ever written is about love. Whether that's romantic love, platonic love, self-love, or some combination of them, all of my stories are about love. Even my most fantastical, plot-heavy stories, even my stories with no romance, they're all about love. Why? Well, it's hard to explain, but there's something so very human about love. And I love it.

Fantastical Fiction For me, writing (and reading) is an escape. When I do it, I want to forget about the real, boring, stressful world. So for that reason, you're never going to find a high school or college or office job in my writing. Chances are you're never even going to find Earth. Real life is important yes, but it can also be awful. And while some people might want to read about "realistic" drama, the thought puts me to sleep. So no "real world" stuff here. Besides, sometimes writing about things in a fantastical context is an excellent way to figure things out. And learn things about yourself.

I'm going to tag @andromedaexists @rose-bookblood @ink-fireplace-coffee @plasmaprose @from-midnight-with-love No pressure!!

[multidimensionalsock]

The one thing that's important above everything else, is to learn not to put all this heavy pressure on myself, I try believe it when I say "If it's meant to happen, it'll happen anyway". I'll be fine. I've got time

2 days into college, Aimee Carty

[chi-scribe]

They said go out, I said alright

I think I won't, I maybe might

I probably should just take it slow

I'll be all good

But God I know

The one thing that's important above everything else

Is to learn not to put all this heavy pressure on myself

I try to believe it when I say

'If it's meant to happen, it'll happen anyway'

I'll be fine

I've got time

I've got time

That's where I'm at

To be honest

Just two days

Two days into college"

[ablogwithoutacause]

You never watched Mi Familia with me. I understand it was painful. The complication in birth scene. The negative traits many of the characters had. I understand, but to me It’s a beautiful picture that depicts how we don’t get to choose what family we’re born into. But we have a choice, and we decide if we make it. I’m living something of a movie… a “Mi Familia” movie.

My anxiety attacks seem to be persistent but I work on them day to day to not let them control me. Today at work I did what you told me. Another sleepless night. Eight circles, one for every hour I was obliged to be there. As every hour passed, a circle was filled in. I do something similar for my daily push ups. Each circle represents a set of ten. Every day five circles are filled. I got through the day. Over thirty hours went by and I found myself at home. Anxious, worried that no matter how many times i closed my eyes, it was as my eyelids were held open by compressed springs ready to release back into an open coil. I was worried another anxiety attack was coming. My heart beat would not subdue to a controlled THun-thUN... no matter how many times I controlled my breathing. My cousin Tony told me this, "Being alone is real, getting lost in your head is real. Anyone can be a tough guy, a bad guy. But no matter how big, how strong that man is to the open eye... when the door closes, and the lights turn off... that's when it gets scary." Tony was locked up for over a year. He was a tweety bird in a cage... and probably came close to losing his mind more than a couple of times.

At this point I'm writing just to write. To clear my mind. To empty out my heavy load into the vast yet complex "inner-webz". I see it as doing something with my time. Investing energy into something else. shifting inertia from one object to another. My mind was yet again filled with unnecessary thoughts. Each thought, a crab in a bucket (my mind). Just as one wanted to escape, the others brought it down and the pressure, the space not being relieved of worry.

I spoke to my mother for over an hour on the phone. That was enough to allow me to sleep a few hours. I woke up a bit refreshed. Nothing replenishing, but just enough fuel to get me to the next town. My dinner was a pimped out yakisoba maruchan... As the noodles softened in boiling water... I heated up chopped leftover chicken with raw garlic and onions. After the chicken was hot and the onions were glazing, I drained the water from the noodles and threw them in the casserole with the chicken and the members of the allium family. I poured the yakisoba sauce in, and cracked an egg in there. It was very savory and masked the generic instant noodle taste. I wish i had some bell peppers in the fridge. that would've pieced it all together for me.

To accompany the dinner, I made a chamomile and cinnamon tea, lightly sweetened with honey from Zacatecas. My mom had told me to have a spoonful of honey to help relax and go to sleep. I then spoke to my older brother... we're worried for the youngest. He expressed to me how just as he was once worried for me, now I am worrying for the youngest. He handed me the big brother belt i had long refused to wear. Now I have put a distance between the youngest and I, a distance which would be used as a pneumatic tube system, like those in bank drive-thrus. Only respect and wisdom would be passed on from me to him. His break-up with your sister is promoting him to engage in behaviors that are concerning. Again... reminding me of Chucho from Mi Familia.

Now... It is time to attempt to sleep again... since I am scheduled to work in less than 5 hours. I have no control over what I dream. These stress related dreams are no good for my waking life. This will be my next task. Controlling how I react to said disturbing dreams. I don't want to be afraid of what is healthy for me... sleep. I miss you, I learn from you daily. I wish you were here. And because I want you here, I will do everything in my power to have you here. Love you.

[unfcrgives]

"i want to be a novelist. i want to throw away my gun. all I want in my hands are a pen and a paper."

indie, private rp blog for bungou stray dogs' oda sakunosuke. written by ventium, 25+, she/her. no thoughts, only curry.

please read the rules below the cut!

i. hi, i’m ventium! 29yo, she/her, french native living in the uk. relatively new to all things bsd despite a superpower dedicated to powering through wiki pages and having bingewatched the show - i'll probably get some things wrong, hopefully get a couple of things right along the way.

ii. mutuals only blog, minors please don’t interact. english is not my first language, and i like to think i’m a chill writing partner. again, we’re here to have fun, not put pressure on ourselves. also worth noting that this will be a slow blog: expect a few days at least between replies, as i have a phd to finish and my main writing priority is my genshin impact blog.

iii. racists, lgbt+phobists, ableists, proshippers etc etc don’t interact.

iv. blog is multiship and may practice mains and exclusive based on writing partners’ rules and preferences. i have no strong feelings on the matter yet, but this may be subject to change. shipping is great and i love it, but i will also keep it to chemistry-only. naturally, odasaku is an adult, and will not be shipped with minors.

v. heavy topics and nsfw to be expected due to the nature of the lore and characters. i will tag everything i can think of accordingly, using the tag format trigger name tw. i have no particular triggers myself, but have made the decision that i would not have sexual assault or abuse of any kind on this blog - i don’t see the point, and it’s a triggering matter for many people, therefore, it won’t be present here.

vi. if we are mutuals, i definitely want to write with you. don’t be shy! memes never expire and can be sent at any point in time, my dms are always open, and discord is available on request for mutuals.

vii. i am autistic and my social batteries run out quickly - thank you in advance for your patience!

viii. here is a quick breakdown of the verses i am open to writing:

VERSE / ONE MAN ARMY (canon compliant) - oda sakunosuke is a young hitman, renowned for his talents with guns and his ruthlessness. he briefly winds up in prison after killing a man who tried to frame him for a murder he did not commit, helps fukuzawa yukichi with an investigation, and eventually breaks out of jail. he puts an end to his hitman career after a fateful encounter with natsume souseki. age app. 14-16.

VERSE / POSTMAN (canon compliant) - oda sakunosuke works as a postman of a very particular kind, while learning the craft of fiction writing. he delivers particularly dangerous packages by day and writes by night. one day discovers a very strange dying cat on his doorstep. shenanigans ensue. quite his job to join port mafia. age app. 16-20.

VERSE / DARK ERA (canon compliant) - oda sakunosuke works as a lowly member of port mafia, doing all the odd jobs nobody else really wants to do, having vowed to never take another life despite his evident proficiency with firearms. regularly meets up with his two best friends at the lupin's. adopts five orphans. gets betrayed. attracts the attention of the wrong man. loses his orphans. kills again. is killed in return. this verse stops with odasaku's canon death at gide's hands. age app. 20-23.

VERSE / NO REST FOR THE WICKED (canon divergent) - oda sakunosuke miraculously survives his duel with gide. devastated and ruined by the children's deaths and having disavowed his promise to never kill again, sinks into a deep and resentful depression. resumes his work at port mafia once his injuries heal. eventually deserts port mafia. alas, one does not simply walk out of port mafia. age app. 23-27 (present day).

VERSE / BEAST (canon complivergent??) - oda sakunosuke is a member of the armed detectives agency. he is unaware that he lives in an alternate reality maintained by his best friend, the only one in which he actually gets to live. age 27 (present day, adapted from the beast spin off).

[stannamarsh]

Wake Me Up Billie Joe Armstrong

Last night, Jason the Great changed my oil for free. He's amazing, and I'm still adjusting to being in a good relationship, but the stress of constantly driving to three different cities and staying in two of them (yet not really living in either) is extremely overwhelming. Prior to this, I was used to being single and/or in a partial stopgap fuckbuddy thing so I didn't have to date.

Eventually, I'd love to move in with him but we are both highly independent types who are creatures of habits and I don't want to pressure him into anything before he's ready. I also feel like I need enough money in the bank to ensure that I can take care of at least half of any change of location before I even bring it up. Though moving to the same town where he lives is an option so I Zillow to see what I can get in Cedar Rapids now and found a place that looks good in his neighborhood that is less than the rent where I currently "live."

Over lunch, I called my Dad to explain it all and had a meltdown in my office over the phone. If asked by someone who may have heard it from a different room, I will lie and say I was watching a dramatic Netflix original series. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I'm not used to having a job where you can be honest about what's really going on without fear of getting fired. No matter what industry you're in, it's not the norm.

There are better and worse, more and less capricious versions of that typical soul sucking pit of a work place where you're expected to figure out everything yourself with zero guidance or you're demoted or fired, but it's the rule rather than the exception.

Just as with Jason, I'm still getting used to a supportive partner, I'm still getting used to a job where I'm able (and encouraged) to ask for help. It's a small nonprofit that provides transitional housing for people with chronic illnesses but it sometimes involves pretending to be mentally healthy than I actually am, which is a learning curve too.

The second half of my day is going better because I remembered to eat. My own negative patterns include putting WAY too much pressure on myself, pretending I like things I don't in order to be nice (especially on TikTok so I will increase my scrolling), and reverting to past childhood encouragement to deny my feelings and to go against my own better judgment. These two things created a cycle of dependency that bit me in the ass as well as the asses of those who instilled it in me.

I like the happy chill days when I can just live my life without the heavy meditations on the way things are going. This is obviously not one of them. Today also highlighted the ways I struggle to take care of myself let alone anyone else (even if it's my actual job description) and as much as I attribute this to money, I'm not sure the high pressure way of living would go away if I had more. If it led to having more money, I'd probably keep doing it because then it would seem like it's justified.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 5)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3.2k

warnings: more smut (we’re picking right up where we left off last chapter) including some shower shenanigans and lots of dirty talk, relationship conversations, mention of bucky’s military background, really that’s just it...

Maybe it had been hours in Bucky's arms, maybe it had been a lifetime.  You were floating on air, suspended in pleasure as he rocked your body against his, still fucking you even though he'd already come once and you'd come too many times to count.

"Bucky," you whined, back arching even though you figured you were too weak for that.  "Baby, please— s-so good, you're so good…"

Metal fingers pinching your nipple sent your body into overdrive, exhausted inner muscles clenching around him as you cried out.

When he leaned down and kissed you again, you were afraid that you'd be too out of it to kiss him back.  But thankfully you managed to reciprocate, grabbing the hair at the back of his neck to hold him close as you whimpered softly against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you with dark, half-lidded eyes.  "Fuck, I'm gonna come again," he moaned like he was just as shocked as you were.  

"Yes!" you encouraged feverishly.

"This perfect little pussy is gonna make me come again, baby, is that what you want?  Want me to put another load in this needy cunt?"

"God, yes," you sobbed, his words so perfectly balanced between sweet and filthy.

"Well, I'm gonna," he promised through his teeth.  "Fuck, I'm gonna give you everything, pretty girl, I'm so close."

You couldn't remember the exact words you used but you were definitely begging him for it, completely lost in your need and, apparently, totally lacking in shame.

That weak, broken, desperate moan as he came inside you for the second time in a night… you wanted to bottle it up and keep it for rainy days, and sunny days, and all the days you'd ever see because it was just absolutely fucking divine.

"Don't move," he demanded with a whisper, "fuck, don't move, please."

"Couldn't if I wanted to," you laughed quietly.  He started laughing too, but not so much a 'this is funny' laugh compared to a 'is this real?' laugh.

"Fuck," he breathed, "that was… I didn't know I could do that."

"We're all learning new things about ourselves and our body's capabilities tonight, trust me."

"I'm gonna attempt to pull out without my dick falling off, okay?"

You chuckled through your exhaustion.  "Fingers crossed!"

You couldn't decide which was more lewd: the way it felt, or the way it looked.  In credit to the first, you were confident that even through the numbness that had begun to spread through your body, you still managed to feel every detail of his cock against the spongy ridges of your channel as it slid out of you, followed (of course) by the warm, slow ooze of come dripping down onto your sheets.  As for the second, well, his cock looked pretty glorious as it bounced back up against his abs, incredibly still hard but certainly starting to soften, glistening with your slick and his come and looking so lovely that you were compelled to sit up and lick it clean.  You would've if you weren't (1) so exhausted that you were sure you'd never sit up ever again, and (2) confident that any more stimulation to Bucky's poor cock would just be painful for him.

"Jesus fuck," he sighed as he watched his come leak out of your abused, swollen hole, admiring his handiwork; you giggled from both the odd feeling of his gaze on you like this and the comical way his swearing had deteriorated over the course of the night into half-assed blasphemy.

He fell down beside you on the bed, looking up at the ceiling before glancing to you with a smirk that was clearly tired but still plenty smug.  “God, I haven’t come twice in a row like that since… I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before, actually,” he laughed.

“I know for a fact I’ve never come that many times in a row,” you giggled.

"I uh… I need a shower.  And a year-long nap," he announced with a deep sigh.

"Use mine," you offered.  "I'll join you in a minute if you can promise to keep your hands to yourself."

"I don't know about that," he chuckled, "but I can definitely promise to keep my dick to myself."

"That'll do," you smiled as you watched him stretch and get up, grabbing his discarded boxers before slipping into your bathroom.

You took another deep breath and fought against the giddy smile that refused to leave your face.  Though you knew you had no right to be so happy over something as silly and frivolous as a guy, you let yourself get excited about this guy.  This guy who had made you feel safe when you thought you never would again.  This guy who had been a friend to you when it seemed like everyone else just wanted to get close to an alleged celebrity.  This guy who had already given it to you better than anybody ever had only to do it again without even stopping.

As likely as it was that your infatuation with him was preventing you from seeing all the flaws that every person and relationship were bound to have, it was hard not to think that this guy was everything you’d been waiting for.  Now all you had to do was try not to fuck it up.

//

Bucky sighed as he stepped into the stream of hot water, careful not to slip as his tired legs begged for more rest.  It was a hell of a workout, but then again, he'd never felt quite this good after a real workout.

It was all a little too good to be true; he was sort of assuming that he would wake up any minute now, in his own bed downstairs and with a mess in his boxers to take care of.  And he wasn't even mad about it, because who could be mad about a dream this wonderful?

If he was going to wake up soon, he was going to take advantage of the time he had left in his dream.  After a few moments alone, you slipped into the bathroom and opened the glass shower door, looking like everything he'd ever wanted with your messy hair and post-sex glow.

"Don't hog the hot water," you groaned as you pushed him aside, but you were smiling a little and he was perfectly content to just watch you from the corner anyways.

Well, not just watching; of course he had to reach out and run his hands over your skin, feel the warmth of you pressed against his body as your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back against his chest.  You hummed contentedly at his touch and the sound went straight to his cock, which swelled a bit where it was pressed against your hip.

You reached up and wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, his hands moving up to gently run over your breasts and stomach where the water was hitting.

He hesitantly ventured into kissing your neck before finally sliding his hand between your legs and grinning at the feeling of his own come leaking out of you.  You were so sensitive that you gasped and shivered just from that little touch, your little moans enough to drive him absolutely crazy (if he hadn't been already).

Two fingers slid into you easily; he decided to take credit for stretching you out so well, both of you sighing as he pushed in deeper.

"Bucky," you groaned, "can't… can't come again…"

"I'm just helping you wash all this come outta you, baby," he explained, though he was sure you heard the mischievousness in his tone.  "There's a lot… I filled you up real good, didn't I?"

You nodded and bit your lip, and he alternated between studying your face and looking down at his fingers slowly pulling out of you as the shower washed away his come and yours.

"I don't think this is all me," he whispered against your ear.  "I think you're getting wet again, princess…"

When you nodded again, your hips bucking slightly in his hand, he went ahead and brought his two slickened fingers to your swollen bud, drawing lazy circles around it as you moaned slowly.

"What're you getting wet for, huh?  Haven't you had enough?"

"Never get enough of you," you whimpered, as if you just magically knew the exact thing to say in that moment to make his cock twitch and his heart twist.  

"I'll be real gentle, honey, gonna take you there nice an' easy…" he trailed off, adding a bit more pressure but maintaining his relaxed pace.  You whimpered and writhed against him, your smooth skin sliding against his so easily with the water washing over both of you.  

He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers when he pushed inside again, smiling when you gasped and clutched his hair suddenly.  He figured you were sore, but he also figured you would stop him if he hurt you, so he just did his best to stay slow and sensitive as he found your swollen spot inside you and curled his fingers into it.  Your whispered curses were music to his ears; technically that would make your body his instrument, and that might be cliche but it wasn’t exactly untrue.

“Want a little more?” he asked below his breath, responding to your nod by rubbing your clit with his thumb.  Your back arched, and as beautiful as it was, it also caused your body to push away from his; he held you down with his free arm to avoid spending even a moment without you against him.

“C-close,” you stuttered, and he hoped the little chuckle he let out didn’t sound too condescending; just shocked, like he intended it,

“I thought you couldn’t come again,” he remembered, fighting his smirk to kiss your neck gently.

“I thought so too,” you sighed, your hips rocking against his hand as your breathing picked up.  “Fuck, don’t stop…”

It was subtle, but he felt you shudder and shake in his grasp, a new wave of warmth soaking his fingers.  He was careful not to let the water wash your come away as he brought the soaked fingers to his lips, eagerly tasting you as you watched him with heavy eyes.  “Want a taste?” he offered, but when you went for his fingers he kissed you instead, revelling in the little hum of satisfaction you released when you tasted yourself on his tongue.

It was you that pulled him closer and deepened the kiss further, weaving your fingers into his hair and moaning a little when he grabbed your waist.

“I should’ve known showering with you wasn’t going to actually be a productive bathing experience,” you laughed when you pulled back, noticeably staring at the way water droplets trickled down his chest.  

“Fine, I’ll let you actually do your whole shower thing,” he relented, “as long as I can borrow your shampoo.”

“Sure, but you’re gonna smell fruity and delicious afterwards,” you warned.

He chuckled a little as he leaned back into the stream of hot water to wet his hair.  “Don’t I already?”

//

You’d never had such an easy time falling asleep in someone’s arms, honestly.  It was so comfortable that you were actually a bit confused when you woke up alone, already pampered by the idea of spending the morning cuddled up with him.  Thankfully, with him living here most days, he was never too far off; you heard movement downstairs and realized he was probably making breakfast for himself since he was one of those natural early risers while you had dozed until— you glanced at the clock to check— 9:53, later than usual for a night you hadn’t been drinking.

Well, Bucky had taken the empty beer bottles from your nightstand for you, but you still remembered that you’d been drinking a little.  Yet certainly most of one beer couldn’t be to blame for you making a move on him; no, that was a purely sober idea, something you’d wanted to do for quite some time, in fact.

Perhaps it was a little misguided.  Maybe it was technically an inappropriate workplace relationship since you were, in a sense, his boss.  But, of every impulsive decision you’d ever made it was definitely your personal favorite.

Hopping up and slipping on a little flowy robe just to not be naked anymore, you rushed downstairs and found Bucky in the kitchen flipping a pancake in the pan.  He glanced back at you, looking a little conflicted, before you observed the plate of assorted fruit waiting for you on the bar.

“Wow, pancakes,” you nodded.

“And fruit,” he reminded you, like you weren’t already munching on a slice of a clementine.  “So it’s healthy.”

“Is this a taste of the ‘Bucky Barnes Boyfriend Experience’?” you chuckled, picking up a grape to eat next.  “Cause so far I’m a fan.”

Bucky’s head whipped around to look back at you, and your face got warm as you realized you'd been assuming that this was a 'getting together' sort of rendezvous and not just a one-night stand.  And maybe that wasn't a fair assumption, based on the way he was blinking back at you in shock.  “Orrrr maybe this is just the ‘Me Misinterpreting Things Experience’ and you just like to use some culinary comfort to soften the blow of the ‘about last night’ talk.”

"No, no," he shook his head, sighing a bit as his expression softened.  “I guess I kind of assumed you were going to regret it."

“Regret… last night?” you finished for him, thoroughly befuddled as you watched him flip the pancake onto a plate which he handed to you.

“Uh, yeah,” he scoffed, like it was obvious, before handing you the container of maple syrup.

“Why?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “‘cause it’s you, and it’s me.  You’re a movie star and I’m the guy who drives your car.  You were having a fun night, you got… caught up in the moment, and I was just in the right place at the right time.”

You took a moment to process that as you chewed your pancake, thankfully managing to swallow the bite before you burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, is that— is that really how you thought this was gonna go down?  After everything that happened last night?”

“Yeah, these aren’t morning-after pancakes, these are please-forgive-me pancakes,” he admitted as he poured another dollop of batter into the pan.  “Can’t you taste the difference?”

"Wait, wait,” you shook your head incredulously, “you thought I was gonna regret sleeping with you, and you still went through with it?"

He laughed a bit at that.  "You were grinding on me and sucking on my fingers.  You must think I'm a saint if you think I could resist that."

“And this was supposed to be your apology… for taking advantage of me…” you tried to reason aloud, still not totally understanding how he could ever question that you would want him.

He shrugged.  "I mean, I dunno… I was prepared to get fired today so you wouldn't have to see me around.  So I guess it was sort of a goodbye, too."

"Was it worth it?  I mean… was the sex worth losing your job?" you asked.  “Hypothetically.”

"Worth losing the paycheck?  Definitely,” he announced, quiet but confident.  “But worth not seeing you again?  No, I don't think so.  When you came down here I was just thinking about how I'd rather keep you as a friend than lose you as a lover."

"That's… poetic," you mumbled.  "Luckily, you don't have to choose.  I fully intend on keeping you around.  If you don't mind."

"Why would I possibly mind that?" he laughed.

“I guess I just feel guilty because if the press finds out you’re my boyfriend, they’ll be all over you.  Your past, your family, any ex-girlfriends…”

His lack of a response made you anxious again.

“Wait, I’m sorry, this conversation is sort of confusing: are you my boyfriend?” you asked nervously.  He laughed, flipping the pancake before looking back at you with a smirk.

“If you want me to be.”

“Yeah,” you answered, perhaps a bit too eagerly, “I do.  If you’re… into that.”

“I am,” he assured.  

“Think of it like a promotion!” you offered with a grin.

“Trust me, I do,” he nodded.  “Does this position come with a raise?”

“No, but a lot more benefits,” you winked.  “And, unfortunately, a lot more baggage.”

“Right, the press.  You really think they’re gonna care?” he raised an eyebrow.

You laughed sympathetically at his innocence.  “Oh my god, you have no idea.  From now on, when we leave the house it’s strictly business— anything else and they’ll be on you like white on rice.”

“Well then we’re not gonna be leaving the house much,” he snickered, “because now that I’ve got my hands on you once, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay away.”

You smiled as he started to lean over the bar to kiss you, but when he moved in just close enough you held up a piece of fruit in front of your mouth, which he took a bite out of instead.  “Slow your roll, Romeo, I’m trying to have an important conversation and you’re trying to distract me.”

“Was it that obvious?” he frowned, sliding another golden brown pancake onto a plate for himself and turning off the stove.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that this is serious stuff.  It’s not too hard to keep it a secret for a while but… it’s just a disclaimer before you agree to anything.”

“Do you give all your potential boyfriends this talk, then?” he asked coyly.

“Well, since I got big I’ve really only dated one guy and he was even more famous than me so... no,” you answered awkwardly.

“Oh, right,” he nodded, getting a little more serious.  “What was it you said they were going to investigate, again?  My past, my family, my ex-girlfriends,” he remembered.

“Yup,” you nodded.  “And any, you know, criminal convictions or whatever.”

“Well, none of those, not much family, barely any ex-girlfriends,” he enumerated, “but a lot of past.”

You solemnly contemplated eating another grape, hoping you had managed to maintain some nonchalance.  “How bad are we talking?”

“Not bad, necessarily,” he mitigated, stopping mid-sentence to grab the pancake with his hand and eat it straight, “but, you know… military.  So not exactly good.”

“Didn’t blow up any orphanages, right?”

“No, not quite,” he laughed, “but I wasn’t a conscientious objector, either.”

“Okay, just keep in mind they’re going to scrutinize everything you ever were before you were my boyfriend,” you informed him.

“‘Your boyfriend’ is the most important thing I’ve ever been.”

The comment took you aback— mostly in a good way, but you weren’t prepared for him to get sentimental like that.  You especially weren’t prepared for the effect it would have on you.  So you, being you, deflected it with a sudden topic change and a raunchy joke.

“Jeez, are you a sadist or something?  ‘Cause I can’t hardly sit in this chair properly, I’m so sore,” you winced.  

“That,” he announced with a grin, pointing at you with the half-eaten pancake in his hand for emphasis, “is the ‘Bucky Barnes Boyfriend Experience.’”