#pair: Permanent Geometry

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 4: Safe

WIP: Darkspace Portent Pairing: Scotty x Guetry Timeline: …???? CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,756

Additional Note: If you really wanna get fucked up, the accompanying music piece to this is “Rising Morning” by Christian Gray

***

"Hey, Scotty. Rise and shine."

Normally the routine of waking was instant, a few seconds of pulling himself out of sleep mode. Now, coming into consciousness took a bit longer, a groggy wakefulness that shuddered through his entire chassis and made him hyper-aware of the fact that he had been asleep. Prone on a flat surface of some sort, harsh lights shining in his face, people in various armor carrying weapons hurrying around beyond the void.

…Someone just called him Scotty.

"You had us sweating there for a minute." A face moved in closer, smiling, clear blue eyes sparkling and making it very noticeable that they weren't wearing a helmet. "You good? Do you remember taking a bullet to the chest like a major badass?"

Scot blinked and he felt his brow scrunch, moving to force himself into an inclined position. He adjusted his lenses, dampened the brightness of the light in his eyes enough to make out the rest of the face. He caught a few days of beard growth and deep sable hair pushed back, a few strands of it falling into his face, a tattoo covering the entire right side of his neck, disappearing into the shoulder of his heavy armor.

But Scot knew what was there. He'd seen it many times. As a reflection in the mirror, sure, but he knew every angle of every shape down to the most precise decimal point. He knew what the scars under those tattoos looked like, where they were thickest, and how long it took for that skin to heal.

"Guetry…"

"Don't do that again." Guetry gripped the upper part of Scot's arm, and though he kept up the warm grin, his eyes conveyed worry and affection. "We appreciate all the work you do out in the field but I don't wanna have to write a eulogy for an android. Oh—okay…" He paused as Scot snaked his arms around him, his demeanor easing, returning the tight embrace with surprise and acceptance. "Okay. I've got you."

Scot held him, passed a hand over his hair. Soft, silky, warm from being under a helmet for so long. He pressed his palm to Guetry's cheek, committed to memory the feel of stubble against his synthetic skin. He traced his fingers down to the neck portion of the tattoo, registering the raised scar tissue beneath it.

Guetry pulled back, patient, and held his hand away from him. "I can sense something's out of whack right now," he said. "And I'm not revoking permission to feel me up, but I'm gonna have to put a pin in it for just a little bit. Just a little while. Don't know if you remember, but we're kinda in the middle of a thing here."

Scot only then realized they were in an open shuttle, facing what appeared to be a camp, soldiers and operatives rushing in every direction past the door. The rest of Guetry's team waited outside, stocking up on supplies and ammo, getting directions from their commanders, occasionally glancing into the shuttle for an update. Mercury offered a sheepish wave, which Scot reciprocated in hopes of putting him at ease.

"I have to go back out there," Guetry said, reaching to the floor for his helmet. "I want you to stay here this time. They need to get that bullet out of your chest cavity and I don't want anything making that task impossible or pointless. Clear?"

"Guetry," Scot said quickly, grabbing his wrist. "Please."

With wide eyes, Guetry glanced from his wrist to Scot's face. Instead of wrenching himself free or even making a joke to dismiss him, he placed a hand against Scot's cheek. "Hey. It's alright. We're just support for the fliers right now—nothing's going to happen. I'll be back. That's a promise. I'm coming back to you."

Hesitating, Scot released his wrist, watching as he placed his helmet over his head. He couldn't explain his panic, the unbridled fear coursing through his circuitry, or why he couldn't tell if any of this was real or a convincing simulation. He'd never experienced this level of emotion in the time he'd been a functioning intelligence.

Having been faced with the increasing likelihood at that moment, only one thing appeared to be worse than losing Guetry, and that was the idea of losing Guetry again.

Guetry squeezed his hand before hopping out of the shuttle. Someone, previously unseen, came up from behind to put him into sleep mode once more.

—

He heard cheers and hollers before he could see anything. Scot opened his eyes as a technician relayed his status to a group passing the shuttle's open door. Mercury, Guetry, and a woman Scot didn't recognize all removed their helmets, wide smiles and bright faces at the news.

Guetry cast a glance into the shuttle, tucking the helmet under an arm. "Thanks," he told the technician. "I'd throw a fit if anything happened to my guy."

"You'll throw a fit if there aren't enough cheesy snacks," Mercury teased, moving with the others out of sight. "You'll throw a fit if you wake up a minute before time. You'll throw a fit if—"

"I'll throw a fit if you don't go away."

"That, too." Mercury laughed and popped out of sight around the side of the shuttle.

Guetry looked properly at Scot, now. Relieved, tired, covered head to toe in a layer of sweat from the fight, perfectly framed within the doorway of the shuttle, but happy. "Ready to go, my dear?"

Scot climbed out of the shuttle after making sure he wasn't attached to anything. The technician attending to him had gotten stuck into something else, not paying either of them any mind anymore.

And then there he stood, in front of Guetry, who was taller than he'd imagined he'd be. Taller than the chassis. Small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling, well-groomed eyebrows, pointed chin, thin frame. Hair not as neat as it'd been before. Cheeks flush with color, still somewhat out of breath, but eyes bright and looking at Scot as if he was the only thing that mattered in the whole of the entire universe.

"What's going on with you," Guetry asked softly.

"I've had…a rough experience."

"I'll bet. Wanna tell me about it?"

"No." Scot tilted his head. "…I think I would rather kiss you, instead, if I may."

With a new, cheeky edge to his grin, Guetry made a show of sneaking a peek around the camp, where not a single other soul cared about what was happening between them. "Ooh, here? In the middle of a battlefield? I dunno. People might throw things at me and call me a delinquent. Which I am and have been most of my life, but…I get the weird feeling it'll hurt more coming from other vets."

"Guetry, I love you." Scot's jaw tightened and he felt as if he were going to sink into the planet's crust at any moment. "I didn't know it was possible, and I don't think it ever will be again. And I wanted to tell you in case I never have this chance in the future."

All traces of humor left Guetry's expression. He reached up to ghost a thumb over Scot's cheek. "God, Scotty, I love you, too. So fucking much." A single heartbeat's worth of a gaze, and he cupped his face and pulled him close, pressing their lips together.

Scot buried his fingers into Guetry's hair, and he heard the sound of the helmet falling to the ground before a pair of arms wrapped around him, slid up his back, taking care not to ram a piece of armor into his chassis. Scot's system warmed, coolant working overtime to prevent him from overloading, and he wanted to disappear into his arms until the end of time.

Guetry nipped gingerly at Scot's mouth, stroked the side of his face, braced him against his chest. Allowing space between them proved to be a difficult endeavor. "I don't know what's going on with you," he murmured, running his fingers over Scot's features, "but if you need me to tell you every second of every damn day from this one forward, I will. I love you more than I've loved anything or anyone else. Do you understand me?"

Scot's face twisted in anguish. "Yes."

"I will always love you. Until the day I die. And when that happens, you pick up your pieces and keep going."

"I don't want to function without you."

"You don't have a choice." Guetry took his chin, and Scot wasn't so sure that he didn't know, in some way, what was going on. "You keep going. You hear me?"

Scot peered up into his face. With all the strength he could conjure, he nodded. The inside of his chest stuttered.

"Your purpose is you. It's the greatest one you'll ever have." Guetry held him tight enough to break. "It's the greatest one I've ever had. Thank you for keeping me breathing on my own for as long as you could."

Sudden darkness. An open door.

Scot stood still, waiting.

This wasn't a shuttle. It wasn't even a planet. A ship, with the name Setae'togun painted on the side in large, white letters, streaming through space. Guetry was gone.

Warren Cougar stepped into the doorway. His brows drawn, mouth a tight line. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

Scot clocked the wetness rolling down his own cheek and turned his face away from the door. He blinked at the bulkhead. "…I didn't know I could cry."

"I didn't think it'd ever happen." Warren swallowed. "But Christ, I'm so sorry I was wrong. We can take you to NodeSource if you wanna squash that ability as soon as possible."

"No." Scot let more tears flow, observing the pattern they made when they fell to the floor of his quarters. "I couldn't tell you why, but no."

"I might have an idea as to why." Warren sniffed. "Want me to get out of here?"

"He was your best friend."

Warren nodded, clearing his throat against the onslaught that threatened to bowl him over. "…I fucking miss him, man."

"Human fragility is a devastation." Scot reached out a hand, and Warren took it. "I mourn the millennia of pain it's caused each and every one of you…though I'm grateful to have known you."

Warren held his hand, and they remained in one another's company, reliving better times until they felt the incomprehensible weight lift off their chests.

[normally0]

The Arcs of Noah

The pyramid, once a simple triangle, has begun its rotation. Two points, seemingly bound in a dance across the spatial plane, move in perfect unison. Their surfaces, so nearly equal, betray their own imperfection—distorted subtly by the hand of their own making, by the guiding principle of construction that allows them to unfold. And yet, they do not simply expand; they transform, their edges reframed within the taut limits of an envelope. This envelope, far from mere containment, masquerades as a solid oblong suspended in space, whispering an ode to axonometric logic.

A frenzy of lines surrounds this object, a cacophony of traces that hint at its genesis. These marks are neither incidental nor chaotic; they are the echo of a journey—lines that chart the fold, the pivot, and the evolution of surface into structure. The drawing, a map of intention, reveals the skeleton of movement and the ghostly anticipation of its eventual collapse, or perhaps, its ultimate transcendence.

The arcs cut through, deliberate and precise, invoking a primordial rhythm: pairs entering the fold as though into an ark. This is no mere container but a vessel of transformation. Dimensions shift within it—what was flat rises to form, what is now becomes what has been, and the potential of “I will” emerges from the shadow of geometry.

Here, architecture ceases to be static. It is not a finality but a passage—a becoming. The solid pretends permanence, but the drawing betrays its truth: a framework displaced, a monument to its own making, alive with the tension of the unrealized. It exists in three simultaneous states, reaching beyond the physical to inhabit the realms of memory and ambition. The vessel, now complete, awaits its next evolution.

#Architecture #Axonometry #GeometricForm #SpatialNarrative #ArchitecturalDrawing #FoldTheory #DesignProcess #ArchitecturalGeometry #StructureAndSpace #TheVesselOfBecoming #TransformativeDesign #TracingDimensions #ConceptualArchitecture

[cursed-minus-seventy-five-points]

Basic Cube Building

The pillars of any cube are its 10 archetypes; with each archetype centered around a particular color pair. Each archetype consists of 14 cards:

1 dual-colored “payoff” card

3 creatures for each color in the pair

Cards that make creature tokens when they enter the battlefield or resolve count as creatures

3 non-creatures for each color in the pair

Be sure to consider lands that produce only one color of mana

1 colorless card

Be sure to consider lands that produce only colorless mana

The dual-colored card should usually be a permanent, and should reward playing a certain strategy with either a persistent buff or by generating repeated value.

The cards in the archetype should generally be of a variety of different mana costs; tending to skew lower.

As an example, we’ll build an archetype around Urza, Prince of Kroog.

He gives artifact creatures a large bonus and can (expensively) make copies of them.

Considering this, I add:

White Creatures: Court Homunculus, Barbed Spike, Cataclysmic Gearhulk

White Non-Creatures: Tempered Steel, Glass Casket, Paladin's Shield

Blue Creatures: Master of Etherium, Armguard Familiar, Sharding Sphinx

Blue Non-Creatures: Winged Boots, Disruption Protocol, Rise and Shine

Colorless Card: Steel Overseer

Good Payoff cards:

Edgar, Charmed Groom - Rewards you for playing vampires

Savai Thundermane - Rewards cycling

Stonebrow, Krosan Hero - Rewards tramplers

Bad Payoff cards:

Centaur Healer - Its effect doesn't scale with any of the other things you're doing.

Death Frenzy - Not a permanent.

Ral, Caller of Storms - Its effects don't scale with any of the other things you're doing.

Cube Breakdown

14 cards/archetype

1 cycle of dual lands

5 role-players per color

5 colorless role-players

After building each archetype, you will need 10 dual lands; one of each color:

You can do one cycle of 10 or a cycle of allied and of enemy.

Finally, you add the 30 “role-players”; 5 of each color and 5 colorless. These cards are usually

removal

generically efficient threats that don’t fit into any archetypes

pet cards

cycles

Cube Breakdown

14 cards/archetype

1 cycle of dual lands

5 role-players per color

5 colorless role-players

At the end of this process, your cube might look like this:

Archetypes

Artifact Aggro

Urza, Prince of Kroog

Armguard Familiar

Barbed Spike

Cataclysmic Gearhulk

Court Homunculus

Disruption Protocol

Glass Casket

Master of Etherium

Paladin's Shield

Rise and Shine

Sharding Sphinx

Steel Overseer

Tempered Steel

Winged Boots

Instant Speed

Nymris, Oona's Trickster

Aetherize

Bonds of Quicksilver

Brineborn Cutthroat

Dreamspoiler Witches

Drudge Reavers

Faerie Duelist

Faerie Tauntings

High-Speed Hoverbike

Hired Blade

Mutual Destruction

Omen of the Sea

Succumb to Temptation

Wavebreak Hippocamp

Sacrifice

Body Dropper

Artillerize

Blood Aspirant

Blood for Bones

Costly Plunder

Furnace Celebration

Gixian Infiltrator

Havoc Jester

Prowling Geistcatcher

Rapacious One

Ruthless Knave

Taste of Death

Thatcher Revolt

Witch's Oven

Trample

Stonebrow, Krosan Hero

Agressive Mammoth

Almighty Bushwagg

Archetype of Aggression

Bronzeplate Boar

Fire Urchin

Fists of Ironwood

Footfall Crater

Hornbash Mentor

Messenger’s Speed

Meteoric Mace

Ram Through

Rancor

Vorrac Battlehorns

Vigilance

Frondland Felidar

Adarkar Valkyrie

Bitterbow Sharpshooters

Brave the Sands

Brushstrider

Builder's Blessing

Cryptolith Rite

Half-Elf Monk

Overwhelm

Segovian Angel

Sprouting Renewal

Swallow Whole

Warden of Geometries

Wary Okapi

Vampires

Edgar, Charmed Groom

Anointed Deacon

Arterial Flow

Blood Gutton

Bloodbond Vampire

Cradle of Vitality

Duskborne Skymarcher

Gift of Fangs

Glass-Cast Heart

Martyr of Dusk

Queen’s Commission

Squire’s Devotion

Vampire’s Zeal

Voldaren Estate

Dice

Farideh, Devil's Chosen

Arcane Endeavor

Arcane Investigator

Berserker's Frenzy

Brazen Dwarf

Chaos Channeler

Chaos Dragon

Critical Hit

Diviner's Portent

Feywild Trickster

Goblin Morningstar

Netherese Puzzle-Ward

Scion of Stygia

Vexing Puzzlebox

Graveyard

Lord of Extinction

Cabal Therapy

Crawling Sensation

Crow of Dark Tidings

Dakmor Salvage

Dodgy Jalopy

First-Sphere Gargantua

Greater Mossdog

Kraul Foragers

Necrotic Wound

Reassembling Skeleton

Splinterfright

Sylvan Might

Wand of Vertebrae

Cycling

Savai Thundermane

Abandoned Sarcophagus

Astral Drift

Cast Out

Desert Cerodon

Drannith Healer

Drannith Stinger

Flameblade Adept

Flourishing Fox

Go for Blood

Renewed Faith

Slice and Dice

Unpredictable Cyclone

Winged Shepherd

+1/+1 Counters

Bred for the Hunt

Animation Module

Arbor Armament

Essence Capture

Feral Hydra

Fertilid

Floodchaser

Forced Adaptation

Helium Squirter

Ordeal of Thassa

Simic Fluxmage

Solidarity of Heroes

Swarm Shambler

Unity of Purpose

Land: Skybridge Towers, Waterfront District, Tramway Station, Racers' Ring, Botanical Plaza, Silverquill Campus, Prismari Campus, Witherbloom Campus, Lorehold Campus, Quandrix Campus

Role-Players

White

Destroy Evil

Icingdeath, Frost Tyrant

Marble Diamond

Neck Snap

Wrath of God

Blue

Opt

Repulse

Sky Diamond

Tromokratis

Urza's Rebuff

Black

Charcoal Diamond

Diabolic Tutor

Doomfall

Drana, Kalastria Bloodchief

Murder

Red

Abrade

Etali, Primal Storm

Fire Diamond

Reckless Impulse

Twinferno

Green

You Happen On a Glade

Broken Wings

Llanowar Elves

Moss Diamond

Silvos, Rogue Elemental

Colorless

Gateway Plaza

Smuggler's Copter

Sword of Vengeance

Ulamog's Crusher

Unstable Obelisk

[kimnjss]

cherry pickers | jjk sm au

banner by @dee-ehn​

🖇 synopsis:

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life... rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you... forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

(or, you’re a video vixen with an assumed identity and jungkook manages to see past it.)

pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

fic type: social media au

side ships: sope (?)

genre: a gross amount of fluff :( smut!! // some angst mixed in ofc.

disclaimer: jungkook’s friends are real assholes nd some of the things they say are… ehhh :/ i’m sure the actual 97gc is nothing like this - this is strictly for story telling purposes!!

updates: everyday. (please don’t ask!!)

A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

parts:

prologue

character profiles: 97 liners

character profiles: jungkook nd his hyungs

character profiles: yn nd crew

part one: open house

part two: basic geometry

part three: kinda cute

part four: status report

part five: bro code gods

part six: worthy opponent

part seven: birthday dinner

part eight: broke boi

part nine: moving funny

part ten: just hanging out

part eleven: formal setting

part twelve: romance factor

part thirteen: fourth wheel

part fourteen: pretty boy

part fifteen: bare minimum

part sixteen: kiss me

part seventeen: devoted hoes

mini time jump: always careful

bonus: ruined me

time jump: come over

part eighteen: balls deep

part nineteen: being gross

part twenty: food demon

part twenty-one: 190718 yn

part twenty-two: fucking yoongi

part twenty-three: keep going

part twenty-four: real different

part twenty-five: random fuck

part twenty-six: traumatically destructive

part twenty-seven: shit show

part twenty-eight: just perfect

part twenty-nine: we’ll survive

part thirty: fucking terrified

part thirty-one: break up

time jump: couple rescue

part thirty-two: only you

part thirty-three: take notes

epilogue(1)(2)

end

[megslovesbooks]

Dreamin’ of the West Coast (aka the Piano Player Eddie AU!)

1/1

10k

rating: T

art by the wonderful @benjaminrussell

a MiniBang for @buddiebigbang 2022

pairings/sidepairings: Eddie Diaz/Evan Buckley (pre relationship, don’t worry, this is endgame), Eddie Diaz/Shannon Diaz, Hen Wilson/Karen Wilson, Chimney Han/Maddie Buckley

triggers/warnings: some alcohol consumption, discussion of a failing marriage, one of the songs linked ‘Wild Turkey’ deals with the death of a loved one via suicide.

summary: When Eddie moved his struggling family to LA he wasn’t looking for a perfect Hollywood ending, he’d just wanted a fresh start. Two years later things are anything but easy, teaching high school music while trying to repair his failing marriage is taking its toll. When the chance to play with one of LA’s hottest up and coming bands lands on his door step it feels too good to be true. And if Eddie’s learned anything it’s that things that seem too good to be true are usually worse.

“Eddie! Eddie, hey wait up!”

It takes a minute for the sound of his name to register past the usual din of post school ruckus. The fact that it's Friday makes the halls of Central High even more chaotic than usual and by the time Lena Bosko, Marching Band instructor by day, rock band drummer by night, catches up with him the air is so full of the sound of high school kids making their weekend escape Eddie can barely hear her. Rolling her eyes, Lena snags him by the arm and drags him into the nearest open classroom.

“Lena what—“ he begins then tacks on “Hey Tom.” as the geometry teacher looks up in surprise from behind his desk at the intrusion. Lena ignores both Eddie’s question and the fact that there’s someone else in the room.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “It's a trick question. I’m going to tell you. You know my old friend Coop?” Eddie does, it's hard to forget the man who was one of LA’s most renown piano players until he lost an arm in that 7.2 earthquake a few years back. Eddie had just moved to LA with his wife and son; they hadn’t even found permanent housing yet. While Eddie had been trying to navigate getting his family somewhere with power and running water, Coop had been in surgery, losing his left arm at the elbow. He’d been caught under a flipped car and had amputated his own arm to save his life when it became clear help wasn’t going to arrive on time. He still plays with Lena’s band sometimes and he’s one of the most impressive people Eddie’s ever met. Lena doesn’t wait for an answer this time either.

“Well, he’s working as a sound tech down at the Orpheum this month, he and the manager go way back, and he called me last night asking if I knew any good piano players who were available for a super high profile gig tomorrow night. Obviously I thought of you.” She’s talking so fast now Eddie has to throw up his hands to slow her down.

“Lena, hold up, what are you talking about?”

“A job dummy.” Lena says, sighing as if she hasn’t been incomprehensible for the last fifteen minutes. “A BIG job. Coop only got asked about it because he used to fill in at the Orpheum sometimes back in the day, never something this big though. Apparently its so last minute the band doesn’t have time to fly one of their own people in. It's really good money, and it could be a huge break. Think of how badass your resume will look with something like this on it.”

“My resume? Am I job hunting?”

“Come on.” Lena says, flipping the long braid of her hair over one shoulder in exasperation. “Do you really love substitute teaching kids finger scales so much you want to be here forever.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, suddenly painfully away that Tom the Geometry Teacher is still in the room, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s listening to every word of this conversation. “Yeah, kinda.”

It's not a lie, he really does love teaching. he likes working with the kids, showing them how music can be more than just entertainment, how it can be a thread that weaves through their lives, the good and the bad. God knows it’s certainly saved his life a time or two. He’s even been considering going back to school to get his teacher’s license —subbing and private lessons only pay so many bills. That said, it’s hard to deny that part of him that’s always hoped for just a little bit more. But when does Eddie ever get what he wants? He stopped asking for things a long time ago.

“Fine.” Lena says, her smirk too knowing. “Then it can just be good money and a fun story to tell at parties. You know, assuming you ever turn into the kind of guy who goes to parties.”

“I go to parties.” Eddie insists, trying to ignore the way Tom snorts under his breath. “Ok. Back up. So you want me to—what exactly?”

“Ok.” Lena says, pulling out her phone and beginning to tap madly, “I’m sending you all the info Coop sent me. You’ll meet him at the venue at 9am tomorrow. The band’s manager wants to talk to you. If you get along, Coop says they’ll probably have you play for the group, so maybe practice something tonight, then assuming you get the gig they’ve got a rehearsal blocked out in the afternoon and the show in the evening.” She’s speaking so calmly Eddie can almost believe it isn’t the most insane thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“So I just need to call Coop and confirm?”

“Nope. Did that for you already.” Lena grins at the face he makes. “I wasn’t going to let you not take advantage of this opportunity.” Eddie’s phone vibrates and when he glances down he sees all the info as promised spelled out in black and white.

“You already told him yes? What if I had plans?”

“Do you?” She asks, and then when he can’t come up with an answer has the audacity to share a smirk with Tom. “I didn’t think so.”

“Lena—“ He begins, then falters.

He could fight her on this. It’s a bonkers plan and honestly, if anyone else had thrown him this kind of curveball he’d be pretty pissed about it. On the one hand it’s Lena, who always manages to keep him guessing while having his back at the same time. Mostly anyway. he can’t deny the way his heartbeat is picking up at the thought of getting to play in a group again. He hasn’t really been on stage in years. But on the other hand, he hasn’t really been on stage in years. There’s no guarantee he even gets the job, that he can keep up with whatever it is that they want him to do, and he has less than 24 hours to prepare. He should say no. That would be the sane thing to do.

“Fine.” He says, part resignation and part exhilaration. “But if this goes south you owe me many beers.”

“Trust me, Diaz,” she says, the wide smile on her face so bright he has no choice but to reluctantly grin back. “You’re going to be bringing me the beers.” She looks at him for a moment then says,“Well? Why are you still here? Go on, you’ve got work to do!”

She’s hustling him halfway out the door when he spins back to face her.

“Wait a minute.” he says, “You never told me the name of the band. Do I know them?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but you live under a rock so…?” She lets the sentence hang, but then relents at the sight of whatever his face is doing. “Sorry. Yeah, you ever hear of Station 118?”

Behind them, Tom the Geometry Teacher chokes on his coffee.

[amazingarchitecturewebsite]

Kéras Project in Agia Galini, #Greece by Tzagkarakis + Associates @tzagkarakis_associates. Read more: Link in bio! “Περιγραφή, kéras [Greek: κέρας]: the horn, hard permanent outgrowth found in pairs on the heads of certain mammals” One of the main inspirations for this project is the «Horns of Consecration», a symbol of the Minoan civilization. This geometry is translated through several elements of the design of the house. The plot is located 2,6 km west of Agia Galini village, in the southern coasts of Rethymno, Crete. #casa #pool #архитектура www.amazingarchitecture.com ✔ A collection of the best contemporary architecture to inspire you. #design #architecture #amazingarchitecture #architect #arquitectura #luxury #realestate #life #cute #architettura #interiordesign #photooftheday #love #travel #construction #furniture #instagood #fashion #beautiful #archilovers #home #house ‎#amazing #picoftheday #architecturephotography ‎#معماری (at Greece) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWKSHlvs4wo/?utm_medium=tumblr

[dirty-holy-things]

Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

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The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

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

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

Taglist: @bdavishiddlesbatch @aleynaandrews @who-is-a-heretic-now

[canonconspiracy]

The Millennium Rose (Teaser)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21​

Pairing: Yami Yugi/Atem x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor violence, loneliness (?), nothing gets more violent than the series itself - Rated T.

Posted on AO3 (rmorningstar21) as The Millenium Rose; Posted on Wattpad (rmorningstar21) as The Cursed Millennium Rose, and The Struggling Millennium Rose - Third book for Wattpad coming soon as “The Rejuvenated Millennium Rose”. 

AN: Okay, so I will be the first to admit that my The Millennium Rose series is an older series of mine - one of the first chapter stories I truly got invested in.  It’s been on hiatus for quite some time, but that hiatus will be coming to an end soon. For those of you who haven’t stumbled upon this on either platform, I wanted to share a little teaser (first chapter) of my series.  This follows from Season 1 onwards..  Reader and Atem are married before Pharaoh Atem is sealed in the Millennium Puzzle. I was going to end this one after the Battle City Finals, but due to popular request, posting will begin after my current commission chapter story is up.  I typically age up, but was started prior to doing so.  Due to the rating, I haven’t changed that.  Wanted to keep it accessible for all readers.

A chill crawled up your spine, stinging with each centimeter it moved, grasping your hands tightly to your arms to attempt to shield yourself.  Though you were not sure exactly what you were shielding yourself from, albeit the pain or the darkness that was engulfing your body. As you felt the darkness falling hard upon you, like a weighted blanket that you could not hold, a faint light laid on the floor, illuminating each twisting maze as you stepped.  Each time you walked further through the maze, you could feel the pain increasing, beginning to make your steps more and more tedious. You attempted to call out, to call for his name in the dark, with no avail. Your mouth opened, but as the air escaped your lungs, your voice did not ring. It was almost like choking - the pain that strode into your lungs from your throat - but you could not utter a single word.

Hours passed as you circled the maze, walking in each and every stone cold direction, the pain of the chills slowly seething your skin.  Your surroundings were blackness, and yet you seemed to walk in a labyrinth, swearing that you had turned this way prior, been in each and every spot before, again and again.  Inaudible cries of pain burned in your throat as you continued to walk on, your legs growing tired, lungs constricting. Hopelessness swelled in your chest as you continued on and on, silent tears beginning to fall from your tired eyes.  

Your tired, crying eyes met a figure, merely ten feet away from where you were walking in what seemed like a room.   For a moment you froze, studying the figure, but as you were met with lilac orbs, you took your exhausted legs and ran towards the figure.  The small glimmer of hope taunted you, showing you the man that kept your legs going on your weighted journey, lonesome darkness entangling down to your very soul.  Hope swelled in your chest as you ran, but as you did the room began to get further away, his lilac orbs seeming to grow smaller and smaller away from your vision. Still your feet patted forward until there was no ground beneath you.

As the ground had disappeared, you had begun your journey downward.  Hastily the gravity took your body, plummeting into a deep abyss. Tears once again rained from your eyes.  Your heart dropped as you did, and you tried so hard to scream, feeling it scratching at your throat, constricting it.

He was gone, and you had failed to reach him.

***

You awoke with soaked cheeks and labored breaths, before glancing around and realizing that you were not in that labyrinth any longer.  Another nightmare, you thought to yourself, though every day you lived the nightmares that you slept with.  I miss him.   Ironically, your nightmares had held your memory intact over time, reminding you of the reason you kept on fighting day in and day out in this monotonous world.  Though you would never be able to forget his handsome face, his lilac orbs burned into your skull. As your y/e/c eyes scanned the room, it was simply a relatively plain room surrounding you, little trinkets upon your dresser in the form of plush monsters, and your deck sitting comfortably next to a kuriboh plush that you had grown to adore.  Attempting to steady your breath, you wiped your face free of the salty sadness and glanced at the time flashing upon your alarm clock, your eyes still holding a light redness from when you had been crying in your sleep. Springing to your feet, you nearly fell over, steadying yourself on the side of your bed before further action. Your head was woozy with the newfound movement, the room slowly coming back to you as your dizzy spell passed you.

Making your way to your small, gray walled bathroom, you threw your prior clothes aside and hopped into a quick shower.  Hastily you scrubbed yourself with your f/s body gel, not getting enough time to even enjoy the kisses of the warm water that drenched over your frigid body.  In less than five minutes time, you were already dressed, hair dried, and grabbing at your black messenger bag that laid next to the door. You tucked your deck safely into your bag before gentle fingers reached to touch lightly upon your golden wristband.  For a moment, you allow your eyes to close, thinking of your wristband. It held the symbol to keep your life intact as well as cursed, leaving you to deal with the merits and disappointments of this life. Then as your eyes were still closed, those lilac eyes showed in your mind, reminding you of the reason you keep on with this silly charade, hoping that one day everything will change.

Practically jogging out the door, you made your way to your new life once again.  Domino High School, as you read upon the sign, looked bustling and boring from the eyes of a woman who had attended countless high school’s over time.  The crowds had shown that it was definitely a more lively school than the last you had attended, though not as lively as the one you had attended prior.  Maybe if you did not forever look 16, you would not have to attend so many boring lectures in your life, but you had attended plenty in your time, across the globe.  Each curriculum merely had minor changes to it, if any, and you had to purposely get things wrong from time to time to not seem out of the ordinary. The world changed and grew around you, while you stayed the same, the same h/c h/l, and young y/e/c orbs.  The only thing that had changed over time was your skin, which had lightened from your Egyptian tan to a pale ivory, just as everyone else looked around you. It was just another boring day in monotony for you, but there was a presence around that had kept you on your toes as you entered your newfound high school.  You could feel something was different in the world now, which had rose excitement and fear in your young body.

***

You were coming out of your geometry class, holding your books tightly to your chest and walking quickly to your locker before lunch, your eyes at your feet as you walked.  As you did so, you were lost in thought, and before you knew it, you whacked directly into something solitary, causing you to stumble backwards, staring up in a moment of terror.  What you had found was that you ended up slamming directly into another student, and blush began rising in your cheeks from the embarrassment. It was needless to say that the boy looked unpleasant with his round face that seemed to hold a permanent scowl.  The boy looked as if he were maybe 17, largely boned, while you had a very tiny frame, yet he glared angrily at you as if you had pushed him off of a cliff. On the other hand, you were the one with the books scattered all over the ground, and the impact had caused your tailbone to whack the floor, causing a sharp, yet temporary pain.

“I’m so sorry!” you said frantically, grabbing your books quickly and pulling yourself to your feet.  You bowed slightly in respect and began to rush off before you felt a pull at the back of your uniform.  Seconds later, you were pinned against the wall, staring up at the unpleasant boy you had angered, his face looking even more unpleasant than previously.  It was as if the anger building in him was surfacing due to what you would assume was a slight inconvenience.

“Don’t think just because you’re new you can get away with that,” he growled, pressing harder against your shoulder.  

Just my luck that I run into the school bully on my first day here, you thought to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.  This was not particularly an uncommon occurrence for you, seeing as you had attended plenty of high schools over the last couple thousand years, but nevertheless, you were still a relatively scrawny girl with a 16 year old body.  Old souls still did not have super strength, after all. Though you could likely send him to the shadow realm, doing something so rash on your first day would have been a mistake that you would have to live with for the rest of the time you could attend school there, and you shied away from that idea.  “I didn’t mean to harm you,” you said cowering back, pain beginning to build in the shoulder he was pressing on. “I-I it’ll never happen again.” You attempted your best fake smile, and yet it dropped almost immediately as the rage fueled his face, watching it scrunch even more.

The boy drew his free hand back, and was about to send it directly into your face.  You could see the build up, and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. After a few moments without impact, you opened your eyes back up to see the boy being held back by another student.  “You shouldn’t hit a lady,” the slender boy said with the relatively pointed hair, all coming up at the top. As you finally were fully registering what was going on, you saw that the boy was holding the bully’s fist, twisting it slightly.  “And if you don’t let go of her, we are going to have problems, buddy.”  

The school bully that was about to attack you cowardly ran away, letting go of your shoulder, and letting your body slump to the floor.  You could hear a few people talking to the boy that had just saved you, but you were too busy trying to control your breathing, and attempting to ignore the pain that seared through your shoulder.  After a few moments, you noticed a hand outstretched to you, paired with a gentle smile on the boy’s face whom had just saved you. With your good arm you had taken it, letting him bring you to your feet.  

“Uh, thank you, so very much,” you said bowing slightly, a formal gesture that you had not broken over so many years.  You smiled softly at the boy, holding your books tightly to you, despite the pain that you felt still radiating through your shoulder.  There was no doubt that the bully had at least left a bruise upon your shoulder from the pressure he was using, and though he was a coward to the boy that had saved you, he likely would have slammed a fist directly into your face.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the boy said with a genuine smile.  

You had nodded at his words, meekly saying, “I just moved here.”  In actuality, of course you had just moved there, but you knew that every school was basically the same.  Each school that you had run into, you had your share of those issues. Sometimes there were kind strangers willing to help, occasionally you had friends that had your back, and then sometimes you would have to deal with a swift fist hitting you somewhere.  Bullies were a common occurrence for high schools, and that was one of the few things that made you regret not aging.

“I’m Tristan, and these are my friends.”  He gestured back to the group you assumed you were hearing while you were still on the floor.  

“I’m Tea,” a girl with short brunette hair said with a kind smile.

A boy with a Brooklyn accent and blonde hair said next, “I’m Joey.”

And the last boy could have given you a heart attack standing right there.  He said, “I’m Yugi,” but as you noticed the spiked multi color hair on his head, the first thing you thought of was him.  Your heart skipped a beat, though the boy was definitely smaller than the one that you longed so desperately for. The differences were subtle, and yet you could see each one.  His stature, for one, and for two, the shaping of his eyes was much more child-like than him, though they held the same lilac color. Yugi had a shy, yet kind smile upon his face, and continued with, “Would you like to come with us to lunch?”

For a moment, you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.  As you weighed your options, you studied the group, though your eyes were mainly set upon the boy who called himself Yugi.  He was so much like him, and yet not. If he was a reincarnation of him, would that be even possible? As your y/e/c orbs raked over the peculiar group, you noticed something odd hanging from the short boy’s neck.  Just as your item held your wrist was Egyptian, you could clearly see that what he had was an artifact, a very familiar one for that matter. Thinking, you glanced to your wrist, and back to it, and it dawned upon you, making you nod quickly.  “I-I would love to, thank you,” you said rushed, realizing that you had been standing there in awe and silence. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

As you walked with the group, you couldn’t help but keep looking over at the Millennium Puzzle adorning the young boy’s neck.  Maybe, you wondered to yourself, but attempted to shake the thought of as you stood in line with the group and got lunch with them all.  Even if it was, would he remember me?  

When the group had gotten their lunches, you sat beside Tea and Yugi while Tristan and Joey sat across from you three.  Through your peripheral vision, you would occasionally catch small glances of Yugi, particularly of the millennium item adorning his neck.  Excitement was rising in your chest, even paired with a small bit of hope that you could be right. If the prophecy was truly real, then you would be right.  What ifs ran through your mind as you thought more and more about it, though you attempted to keep regular conversation going on with the group when necessary.  They seemed like kind people, and even if somehow you were wrong, you picked the right group to hang out with for this attended school.

[a-biochemist-not-a-bird]

#'s 4, 7, 17, 20, 35, 43, 51, 65, 72, 86, 94, 98? (I know it's a lot haha)

It is a lot! But the serotonin this gave mee <333

okaaaaay

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Academically, I was a favorite. I was quiet and put in way to much work yadayada. But the most interesting teacher I had was my third grade teacher who i'm forever indebted to. She would probably describe me as shy, picky, inflexible, and a smart-aleck.

7. earbuds or headphones?

Hmm, earbuds most of the time because it's easier to lay down with them. I do have noise-cancelling headphones :) which are a life-saver but if they came as earbuds. Dude.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My sneakers. I get white sneakers (not the really fancy ones but like since its been a trend lately they're easier to find) and draw on them.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

On my laptop. I also have an assortment of notebooks which I use when I'm not at home or to try and combat writers block (aka my best friend).

35. average time you fall asleep?

11:00 pm

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

tie between a hoodie and a cardigan. Hoodies are comfy, but I don't wear them outside of my house except for really bad days. Cardigans are also comfy, and they're a people- friendly clothes.

51. current stresses?

School :), my lovely lovely depression that is hovering between moderately severe and moderate, we have family over right now

65. any permanent scars?

Yup! two on my shoulder.

72. worst subject?

Geometry. I'm a math person, but proofs can die.

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies!!!!

94. favorite season?

Fall, ofc.

98. favorite historical era?

ooh tie btw WWII and Elizabethan Era

[unseelie-bitch]

Season 1 Episode 5: Wither Into the Truth [Part One]

Oop someone is screaming

Is Beatrix being tortued???

That's a child oh my god Dowling that is a CHILD you CAN'T TORTURE A CHILD

Silva side eying her like "uhhhh... Fara... that- that's a child" he is NOT down with torture. I acc love how he's been written

"It's painless" SHE'S SCREAMING. I'm with Sword Dad, Fara you need to STOP

I do actually love Fara's character though she's so interesting

I also ADORE Beatrix

Sword Dad looked so conflicted lmao

Ew it's Dane

Do NOT trust Dane. I have no real basis for this I just... don't like him

Who would win? Bloom and Sky or one Fake Crispy Lad

Why is Bloom cauterising a wound the size of a paper cut?? Bro that'd hurt MORE and also... leave a scar??

So they actively pair up a Specialist and a fairy, right? And they're talking about it like a permanent pair because they need to learn to trust each other. So why the fuck is Sky, top of his SECOND YEAR CLASS, with the first year changeling that can't control her magic?? Even IF it's so he can keep tabs on her, as per Silva's orders, why is no one questioning that??? Why isn't BLOOM questioning that????? Ravenclaw my ass this bitch is a full blooded Gryffindor

What was with that look Aisha gave her?? Full blown yikes vibes

WHAT is FakeMusa wearing

So you're telling me that FakeMusa is the ONLY empath available for Dowling to use?? Awfully conveniant and unexplained plot point but tbh, not even close to the worst written thing here

Is Riven being nice???

WHY IS DANE BEING MORE OF A DICK THAN RIVEN

Don't you fucking DARE pair up Terra and Riven

Since when were Dane and Beatrix a thing???

"He's still got a hard-on for her. Like a weird, gay hard-on" I don't... I don't even have the WORDS to describe the fucking biphobia in this show

At least Sky's pointing out the OBVIOUS pairing of him and Bloom. Also Silva "no one's questioned it" I FUCKING HAVE

Sky looks like such a puppy he feels so bad oh no

Sad Sword Dad flashbacks??

Oh shit this is gonna be Sky's dad's death isn't it

Oh so Sky's dad was a DICK and Silva has always been his real dad

...after having typed that, and having seen the way this show handles non biological relationships, imma say Silva is Sky's bio-dad

Dead Crispy Boy

WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SPIT ON IT

Right so Sky's dad was, in fact, a Grade A Douche

Wayo wassup Roz

Oh she's ALSO a bit of a dick

Bro don't blame the kids you're the one who eased off their training

Burned Ones are clearly people like come on...

Imma say the Burned Ones were a failed experiment for the Solarian Army (and that perhaps Bloom's town was the source which is why it had to be destroyed)

The Solarians have DIPPED

Why does Terra care you ALL CLEARLY HATED STELLA

Also imagine the lack of creativity to have the magical realms use earth's social media

Why does Terra WANT to be insulted??? WHY WOULD SHE MISS HER BULLY THAT'S NOT HOW PEOPLE WORK

A Slytherclaw would be a better liar but go off I guess

"I mean, I get it; who wants to deal with nuance?" Not the bloody writer that's for sure

Whom the fuck raised Beatrix??? Is there a weird, Rosalind-adoring cult out there because, if so, I feel that's a little bit BLOODY IMPORTANT

Love that you're giving the fire fairy a book to charge with her magic

Also why are the only guards of the powerful murderess two children?? Two first year children, no less

"Ancient Geometry" ah yes, the secret and evil artifact, containing the arcane knowledge of... *checks notes* old shapes

Can Musa and Pebble PLEASE have a conversation

Also if y'all wanna hook up... maybe go back to Pebble's room and not the one Musa shares with Terra, his literal sister??

Musa backstory???

Oh my god they're ACTUALLY having a conversation

Nope never mind they're back to fucking

...in Stella's room lmao

DON'T LIKE THAT THE PLANT IS MOVING ON ITS OWN

Lmao I love that Stella's just vibing and breaking Terra's plants

Also glad we're getting some Stella and Musa content because they've like, literally never spoken

Sorry are we saying she was only actually gone for like three days and has just been vibing invisibly for the rest of the week because that's OBJECTIVELY hilarious (but also, again, shit writing)

Ah the artifact was IN the book this makes a lot more sense than Bloom imbuing ancient geometry with her fire magic

Also why IS the Stone Circle important?? They keep specifying it is but not why

I'm with Bloom she is PERFECTLY within her rights to be pissed at Sky

Sky I understand why you did what you did but you must understand that her trusting you right now is UNLIKELY

Oh nvm she's just telling him anyway. We love this ~realistic writing~

Ah see the troops looking for Stella makes a lot more sense

Queen LED is right - you have half-trained children to defend you! That is JUST the same as soldiers

Are we getting the actual Ricky story?

I feel really bad for Stella but also it's been an in-universe week and her character has done a full 180. This is NOT the same girl who would send Bloom out with the ring or teach Bloom with the exact same methods that made her lose control what the fuck

There has literally been 0 progression come ON

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Giovanni Amboise AGE & BIRTH DATE. 599 & June 3rd, 1421 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Vampire OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Giuseppe Maggio

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: violence, death, blood ) Cosimo de’ Medici was responsible for establishing Giovanni’s family as the rulers of Florence during the High Renaissance. Bankers and patrons of the arts, the Medicis were rivalled by few in Italy in both affluence and power. Unlike his sickly brother, Giovanni was healthy and bright, from a young age it was clear to his father that Gio would be his successor and would some day take his place as the head of the family. Gio was educated as a humanist and excelled in rhetoric, history, poetry, and geometry, though even as a young man he showed a proclivity and fascination with the arts: sculptor, painting, architecture. While not naturally skilled himself, he was a patron to many budding artists of the period.

A natural leader and bright mind, from the age of seventeen his father made him director of their family’s bank in the Ferrara branch of Northern Italy. From there a number of artists worked for him and made sculptors and paintings for his estate; Donatello, Mino da Fiesole, and Pesellino among them, to name a few. In order to secure and strengthen their families hold in the socio-political climate, arranged marriages were necessary for the time. Following the Alessandri families’ loyalty to Cosimo during his exile, Giovanni was wed to their daughter Ginevra as a means of firmly cementing the relationship between their two families.

The two had a single child together, whom Giovanni named Cosimo after his father. In the year that followed Giovanni was naturally elected as Prior of Florence, a lordship of nine that ruled over the city and were elected from the guilds most prominent families. While Giovanni paid his wife little attention, their son was one of the many joys of his life, and having to bury him while he was still only a child nearly broke the man. Gio could see from his uncle and his brother that sickness was something that plagued not only his family but many people of the era, he had no wish to die young, he wanted to retain his wealth and retain his status. 

His fascination with the humanities became an obsession with immortality, he found a witch who was willing to part with knowledge of the occult in exchange for protection from the rising ire and critical eye of the church. In exchange for his protection she told him of the vrykolakas, and as a gifted seeress she told him also where to find one and how to effectively fake his own death. She emphasized the importance of the process, to die on unconsecrated ground with the vampire blood in his system. Giovanni used his expansive wealth and resources to locate the creature, and after tracking it down drew out his blood 

Giovanni de’ Medici awoke in his tomb in the Basilica di San Lorenzo and silently crept from the crypt. The monuments that were later made were done over a grave that was not his, and those who visited his site paid tribute to a body that was not that of Giovanni de’ Medici. As much freedom as his last name had always afforded him, his second life as a vampire came with so much more. He had wealth and strength, powers that were beyond his wildest dreams previously. The witch he’d made an allegiance with enchanted his family’s signet ring so that when he awoke with it in his grave, he could walk freely under the light of the sun. 

The two remained friends, despite the issues that he was initially presented with by the attraction he felt to her blood. She directed him to a place where he could hide out in safety, so that he might outlive those who knew his face in life and later return to Florence. In his travels he met a polymath who would later become world-renowned, Leonardo da Vinci. The talented man would later become synonymous with the Renaissance period and soon after they met Giovanni became completely enamoured by him. They fell in love and while the relationship was tumultuous between the human and the vampire, they shared a deep connection that Giovanni wished to transfer into eternity. He wished to turn the man so that they could remain together, however Leonardo aptly refused, eventually this led the pair of them to fight, and when the King of France offered the polymath a position in his court, Leonardo took it. 

Spitefully, Giovanni refused to follow after him, and years later when news of the man’s death reached his ears, he was filled with regret. Giovanni ventured to Amboise where his first love was buried at Saint-Hubert’s chapel, and from there he took the name of his lover’s final resting place. Throughout his immortality Giovanni remained an apt patron of the arts and an affluent banker, his investments made it so that he never needed to work again, and while he watched his family name fall from grace and fade into obscurity, he lived on. 

The earthquake of 1852 drew the vampire’s attention towards Corinth Bay, Greece. It was then that Giovanni decided to take up permanent residence within the city, the area had a peculiar way of attracting all manner of creatures towards it and this interested him a great deal. Giovanni’s obsession with the occult did not fade over time, quite on the contrary, his collection of memorabilia extended beyond mortal constructs but towards the arcane as well, pieces of history and magic alike.  

PERSONALITY

+ considerate, thoughtful, extroverted - greedy, condescending, irritable

PLAYED BY Shane. EST. He/Him.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 7: Sloppy

WIP: WASTE Pairing: Guetry x Oren Timeline: before shit went down, obviously CW: drug use, drug mention, sexual situations Rating: M Words: 845

***

Playing a show while zooted to oblivion on reaver rock has always been one of my favorite things to do.

Alec hated it, of course, but she always preferred me to be high under her supervision rather than to do it alone, or, worse yet, with Oren. However, despite spending the majority of my high times around her—on show nights, anyway—I still had to go back home to Oren.

And sometimes that was even worse than the drug.

One night in particular, I dragged myself through the front door of my Node apartment to find him sitting on the couch, a pipe already prepped for me and outstretched in my direction.

"Man, I dunno," I muttered, propping my beat guitar against the wall. "I'm coming down hard."

"This'll help," he said. "You'll sleep better."

I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face...my soft face, my pillow face that always puffed up when I was coming down. Sticky with dried sweat and warm, and gross. "Yeah, I feel like shit."

He handed me the pipe as I dropped onto the couch beside him and lit up.

"You didn't come to the show?"

"Nah," Oren said, wrapping an arm around me. He loved it when I was at my lowest, loved it when I didn't have the energy to be anything but pathetic. "I was tired. I'll be there next time, garçon."

He never was.

The smoke in my lungs numbed my skin and once the air started to feel like fur, I climbed onto Oren's lap and drowned him in lazy kisses, peeled his shirt from his body, and marked his shoulders with my teeth.

I'm taller than him, but not by much, yet it always surprised me when he could maneuver me by carrying me or laying me over the coffee table, or even the times he would fuck me against the wall or...whatever. Truly, the sex was nothing special. As it was happening the rock made it seem mind-blowing, which I think was part of the reason Oren would make sure I was high when we did it half the time.

Another reason was that he liked to test his products on me, too, but that's neither here nor there.

I left my room as common morning broke and started to put the rock away, head pounding and the rest of me sore from being a bit too rough with Oren. He came out sometime later to find me still trying to tidy up, which was slow going due to having just been body-checked by a passing lenayan dreadnought.

"No, no," he said, taking the box of rock from me and setting it back on the coffee table before I could stuff it into my stash safe. "This is the one I'm selling later."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," I groaned.

He grinned. "I could make you breakfast. How's that sound?"

"I guess." I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the island in the kitchen. "How much is this haul gonna net you?"

"Twenty-five easy," Oren said, bare chest puffed with pride as he baconed my eggs and sausaged my toast. I don't know what that means, either. "How much you need for that new drum set you wanted to give Alec?"

I waved the thought away, nursing the cold bottle and relieved the headache was on its way out. "I've got enough. I just got my deposit from the vineyard the other day."

"Right, right." Oren glanced at me from the stove. "That reminds me...how's Gisella been, d'you know?"

At the mention of my mom, my hand tightened around the beer and I turned a lethal glare onto him. "And why the hell do you want to know that?"

"I'm just curious."

"I told you to stay away from her. She's actually trying to get clean for once."

He shrugged. "Okay, relax. I just..." He grimaced and took the pan off the heat. "Well, this is, what, attempt five? You don't really believe it'll stick after so long, do you?"

The smell of food and the physical hell racking my bones were the only things keeping me from vaulting over the island counter and braining my boyfriend with the frying pan. That was a startling realization, but I didn't feed the intrusive thought too much. "You see why it's extremely fucked that her former drug dealer is pretending to be concerned about her trying to get clean, yes?"

Oren, sensing that I had cleared the pathetic stage and was no longer in the headspace to take his shit, nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry, garçon."

I rolled my eyes and took the plate of food from him. "Come eat with me."

We shared breakfast, which helped return some of my strength to me. I showered and lit up again, which returned the rest of it, and then I left the Node altogether for an assignment I was given to take down an allegiant base on Voka.

And if you were wondering, yeah, my mom relapsed the next week. Wonder why.

[normally0]

Title: UHU Tac White - The Clever Cat’s Companion

Narrative:

In the heart of a bustling city, a pair of clever cats—one red, one white—found a way to make their mark without leaving a trace. These two cats, Ruby and Ivory, lived in a beautiful old house with walls full of memories and stories. Ruby, the red cat, represented boldness and creativity, while Ivory, the white cat, symbolized precision and purity. Together, they discovered the magic of UHU Tac White, a putty-like adhesive that became essential for every teenager and creative mind.

Teenagers in the neighborhood loved decorating their rooms with posters of their favorite bands, movie stars, and inspirational quotes. However, traditional drawing pins left unsightly marks and holes, much to their parents’ dismay. UHU Tac White offered a perfect solution—an adhesive putty that held posters securely without damaging the walls. This innovation was more than just a practical tool; it was a gateway to self-expression and creativity.

For architects, drawing pins had long been the standard for pinning up blueprints and designs. Yet, removing 'the point'—both physically and philosophically—opened new possibilities. In geometry, the point is a foundational element, but its removal symbolized thinking outside traditional boundaries and exploring new dimensions of creativity. UHU Tac White embraced this idea, allowing for the free arrangement of ideas and designs without the constraints of permanence.

Ruby and Ivory became the mascots of this movement, embodying the versatility and reliability of UHU Tac White. Their playful nature and distinct colors mirrored the product’s packaging, which featured striking red and white accents. The cats’ story resonated with people of all ages, illustrating the balance between bold innovation and pristine execution.

UHU Tac White also had a deeper connection to the essence of life. Just as the cats navigated their world with curiosity and finesse, UHU Tac White helped people organize their spaces without disrupting the natural flow. The product’s non-toxic and safe composition underscored a commitment to health and safety, reflecting the importance of harmony in our environments.

Through their adventures, Ruby and Ivory showed how UHU Tac White could be a trusted companion in every household, from the artist’s studio to the architect’s workspace. Their story highlighted the importance of preserving the integrity of our surroundings while encouraging creativity and exploration.

In a world where permanence is often overrated, UHU Tac White stands out as a symbol of flexibility and innovation, allowing us to leave our mark without leaving a trace. Just like Ruby and Ivory, we can embrace change, adapt, and create without fear, knowing that our foundations remain intact.

[currentsinbiology]

This sounds exciting!

Noninvasive technique to correct vision 

Engineers have developed a noninvasive approach to permanently correct vision that shows great promise in preclinical models. The method uses a femtosecond oscillator for selective and localized alteration of the biochemical and biomechanical properties of corneal tissue. The technique, which changes the tissue's macroscopic geometry, is non-surgical and has fewer side effects and limitations than those seen in refractive surgeries. The study could lead to treatment for myopia, hyperopia, astigmatism, and irregular astigmatism.

Chao Wang, Mikhail Fomovsky, Guanxiong Miao, Mariya Zyablitskaya, Sinisa Vukelic. Femtosecond laser crosslinking of the cornea for non-invasive vision correction. Nature Photonics, 2018; DOI: 10.1038/s41566-018-0174-8

Corneal topography before and after the treatment, paired with virtual vision that simulates effects of induced refractive power change.Credit: Sinisa Vukelic/Columbia Engineering

[cheek02gram-blog]

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[lunarmote]

But how much of it was the ADHD?

Recently I got diagnosed with ADHD. Started medication today.

One distinct benefit of the medication is that I’m aware of a calmer state of mind. A lull, a deep state of metacognition. Where previous jumbled thoughts had equal pull, now they appear on the horizon as light pollution. I would also describe it as looking through a window pane. I’m aware that these thought tangents are far away and that I can choose to engage with them, but there is a distance between me and them, and they have reduced effect on me.

In this state I’m aware of two more states of being, my unmedicated ADHD brain appearing like a phantom blueprint to which I compare today’s experiences. "Old me would have done it this way. Old me would've chased that tangent."

There is a more solemn thought however, one with a philosophical pull. 

Is it really accurate to speak of “old me” and “new me?” Or was the old me the real one, this new one some socially-acceptable substitution? If we view medication as corrective, would this new me (which I’m completely unfamiliar with) have been the real one all along?

This diagnosis has had me visiting and rewriting my past. All those times that I thought I was inadequate, lacked discipline (implication: only lacked discipline) now have a neurobiological explanation. I can find commonalities between myself and other people with ADHD. But as I’ve only met one person who openly talked about his condition, I can’t resist comparing myself to non-ADHD people. 

Before my diagnosis, when I was suffering in silence from lapses in concentration and idea spaghetti, I would get praised by friends for being innovative, for thinking outside the box. I couldn’t get my work done because my personality was the type to work in short, incendiary bursts. So I became known as the “dreamer,” (someone pair me with a logistician!), someone whose job was to brainstorm. A permanent resident in a think tank.

I could keep a conversation rolling even around new people (provided that the stakes were low) because of my ability to connect the color red to some argument on the metaphysical impossibility of evil without good. Or — my favorite example — I could rope math students into starting a plushie business with me, because of the link between Pikachu’s right paw and geometry. Some people would get annoyed at my topic changes but those people didn’t stick around anyway — and those who did told me they liked me for me.

Or for who I'd thought was me.

“There is no point in asking the question. They’re both you.” 

A hasty and not inaccurate response. It’s true, I have the same body with the same appearance and name and memories. But there’s a sense in which this misses the point. There’s more that makes up a person than details of name and birth. And there’s more that makes up a person than memories (for they can be false). I’d say a big part of what makes us us is a consistent narrative that describes the ways we tend to behave and think.

I’ve heard ADHD be described as consistently inconsistent. Note that “consistently” modifies inconsistent. It cannot be the other way around. Introspection has caused me, over the years, to develop a feeling there was something wretchedly inadequate about me because of a pattern of failures. I preach the virtues of organization, yet I have a zoo of unused planners. I can’t meal-prep to save my life. I never remember to separate the whites from the colors (I’ve since developed the solution of only buying black clothes). I hated any cognitive behavioral therapy that tried to change thoughts of “my life is a failure” because that is literally how inference works. Simply because self-blaming thoughts are toxic does not change the underlying logical process of generalizing based on a list of examples. 

But as much as I defined myself by my failures, they still originated with me.

We speak of medicine as corrective. I’m typing this with a wry smile. How can you correct someone into someone she never was?