#seeing them in everything. blah blah blah

[pellucid-constellations]

Look After You (1)

Pairing: Bucky x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been in the business of protecting people since his pardon. You have been in the business of doing whatever the hell you want since birth, according to Bucky’s observations. But he’ll look after you—protect you with all he has. Because it’s his job. And maybe for other reasons.

Word count: 4.3k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of stalking and crime, annoyance to lovers, Bucky's POV

a/n: Ahhhh I can't believe I have a Bucky series going rn guys. This was so much fun and so seamless to write it really felt like 2021 again <3 I really hope you enjoy and I loveee reading comments and feedback 🥰

Series Masterlist ♡

Main Masterlist 🤍

~~

Following his pardon, Bucky Barnes devoted himself to protecting people; after years of doing the opposite, he figured it was the way to go. He’d tried therapy, government work, even took a few community college classes to explore the world of engineering—none of it stuck.  

It wasn’t that Bucky was incapable. Thanks to the serum and quite a few years of being alive, Bucky was actually very capable of very many things. But he never felt fulfilled. Something was always eating at him. Something that settled once he got into this line of work. 

He’d approached it through the government at first, acting as a sort of protective agent for high-ranking officials and their families. And that was fine, but it wasn’t. The people he protected weren’t in any real danger—nothing imminent. They were mostly 60-year-old men having affairs and glaring at Bucky every time he tagged along to the “secret dates.”

Bucky found that he did not feel fulfilled again after one year of that work, so, he pivoted. 

With his connections to the (former) Avengers, Bucky knew… people. And those people knew people who got themselves into trouble a lot. Foreign adversaries, high-profile stalking, witness protection; Bucky began to see it all, and it meant something this time. These people needed help, begged for it, and Bucky had the skills and means to protect them. 

Everything was mostly short-term, and he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone… technically. It may seem easier to simply take out the cause of his clients’ woes, but that wasn’t what he did anymore. That, and doing so would put his pardon into jeopardy. So, Bucky protected them for the finite amount of time it took for the adversary to be neutralized by law enforcement, or for the amount of time it took for witness protection to finalize their case. 

He did not become attached or invested in his clients for this reason. If he got invested, things got messy. Bucky needed to have a clear head to analyze situations and be a third party to the danger he was dealing with. Bucky didn’t have time to be worried or scared or even be angry at the situations his clients were in. 

He was good at his job—seasoned, even. 

And then he met you. 

Bucky got the call on a Tuesday. Your file entered his classified email inbox shortly after he’d agreed to the case. He'd taken similar cases before—a celebrity with a crazed fan who wouldn’t leave her alone, an address leak, and a home invasion. It was all textbook stalking that Bucky could surely handle.

Your team had tried general security, but the home invasion had occurred under their watch, and they weren’t taking shortcuts anymore. Your safety was a top priority, according to the 500-word email drying out his eyes, and they would pay any amount to ensure it. There was also a charity gala coming up that you needed to attend and you just got the part in a new movie and blah blah blah. 

Bucky didn’t need all the details. 

With his gun and several other weapons lining his body, Bucky tucked the hem of his jeans into his boots and walked out of his Brooklyn apartment. You living in New York was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he knew the area and didn’t need to hop on a plane and rent a car to get to you, but a curse because New York was huge, and it could make keeping an eye on you difficult. He was experienced and knew how to track, but if you slipped from his gaze, it would only take a second for you to be taken. 

Bucky brushed away the thought as he mounted his bike. If you listened, which all his clients did, everything would be fine. The next few weeks would be a pain in the ass, sure, but you would end up alive, and whatever freak was sending you drawings and breaking into your house would end up in jail. 

The bike roared to life and peeled off from the curb. You were staying at a decoy apartment in Queens, a far cry from your Upper East Side penthouse, which he was sure you loved. He had researched you in depth when he got the assignment, and in that short time, he learned that you enjoyed the finer things in life—dinner parties with your friends, expensive coffees, shopping trips followed by lying on the beach. 

This entire ordeal was probably so harrowing for you. 

Bucky looked within himself to find the morsel of pity, but then found it. Because although you were rich and loved by the masses, there was also a creep breaking into your house and possibly threatening your life. 

It wasn’t his job to judge his clients; it was his job to protect them. 

He parked his bike three blocks away from your apartment, going down a few wrong roads, before backtracking and making his way to the correct building. He hadn’t spotted anyone tailing him. Yet. 

The apartment he had set you up with was modest and certainly not the worst Queens had to offer. It had the cliche exposed brick lined with fire escapes and paint-chipped signs advertising companies that no longer existed, but the inside had been remodeled recently, and you technically had the penthouse suite. Not that that meant much in a building like this, but he really had tried to make sure you were comfortable. 

His efforts obviously meant very little. Bucky knocked on the front door in the pattern he had emailed you, informing you to never open it unless you heard that exact rhythm, but he didn’t get to finish. The door was ripped from its hinges on the third knock. 

And there you were. Dressed head to toe in expensive athleisure, hair still freshly done from whatever treatment you’d gotten recently, you smiled at him while also looking thoroughly unimpressed. The opposite expressions still looked kind somehow, and Bucky was aware of the copious amounts of media training you’d probably undergone. 

“Bucky?” you asked, greeting him like he was late for a housewarming party and not walking into an apartment with a Stark-level security system. “I was wondering what time you were coming! Talia mentioned we would be meeting today, but I thought it would be much later.” 

Bucky looked over your shoulder to assess the space for a brief moment before clearing his throat and furrowing his brow. “I was told your other security team ended their service last night, so I would be starting as soon as they left.” 

You blew out a light-hearted breath and swatted the air, “You could have started a little later. You already moved me all the way to Queens in this… very cozy apartment. I would have been okay for a few more hours.” 

“I would have come earlier, actually, but your manager told me you requested that I not.” 

“Earlier? Bucky, it’s 7 am. How much earlier can you get?” 

Bucky raised his brows expectantly, and you gave a slight giggle that echoed discomfort, shifting to the side to let him in. He nodded to you and then counted each camera placed in the space. He looked for the locks on the windows next, and then felt the floorboards under his boot for the one that gave an inch. Good—everything was in place, and he knew where the closest weapon was if he were disarmed. 

Bucky looked out the window next, eyeing the apartment across the street to see in. He knew they couldn’t see him as he had the windows blacked out, but—

“Um, could you take your shoes off?” Bucky paused his inspection when your melodic voice hit his ears. “I just like to keep outside germs… outside, you know? And if I’m going to be here a while, I think having house rules might help. You’re going to be here a lot, right?” 

Bucky turned slowly, the window now at his back. You were still by the door, your hands intertwined by your waist, your host-like smile still wide on your pretty face. Bucky looked down at his boots that had too many things lining the ankles. He rubbed the scruff on his jaw and fought off the sigh building in his throat. 

“Let’s sit down,” he instructed, jutting his jaw toward the couch in the middle of the living room. 

You blinked, looking off to the side before sitting beside him. Too close. Bucky adjusted the legs of his jeans and scooted back a few inches, but you didn’t seem to notice the change. You only looked at him expectantly, your smile dimmed somewhat, but not enough to impede how bright and beautiful you looked despite the circumstances. 

Okay. Odd thought. 

He must not have his head on straight; your bubbly nature was confusing him. 

His clients were usually distraught and panicky by the time they reached him. Like you, most had already exhausted lesser security details and had dealt with weeks or months of danger. Hell, it was only two weeks ago that you had woken up to a shattered window and pictures of you strung up in your kitchen. 

But as he looked at you now… nothing. 

No fear. No panic. In fact, you looked pretty happy, not counting the subtle sidelong glances you made towards the interior of the older apartment. 

Bucky needed to remember that you were a movie star, born with an innate charm that you had honed since you joined the limelight at 16. Of course he was going to be taken by you. He was sure everyone was. 

Bucky flexed the muscle in his jaw and set his hands on his thighs. “I do have rules we need to discuss. None of them are house rules, but they are all rules that need to be followed for your safety, alright?” 

You nodded in what looked like jest. “Okay, yes. I’m being very serious now.” 

He eyed you for a moment, and then continued. “First, you didn’t follow my directions at the door. You don’t open that door unless I’m the one opening it or if you hear the knock we’ve discussed. I’ll change it every week, and from now on, we’ll do it in person so it won’t be in writing. I shouldn’t be knocking, though. I’ll have a key.” 

“A key to here?” you interjected, looking equal parts confused and disbelieving. 

“Yes to here. I’ll be living next door for the time being, so I’ll be close while you’re sleeping. As soon as you’re awake, I’ll be over. So, to answer your previous question, I will be here a lot.” 

“Isn’t that a bit much? My last team only escorted me—” 

“Your last team didn’t have a super soldier whose only job was to protect you. They were also the ones employed when your stalker broke in. Things are different now because they need to be different. Do you know my past? The things I can do?” 

Some of the humor melted from your face. “Yes.” 

“Good. Saves time. I’ll be here every morning at 7 am. You’ll give me your itinerary for the day the night before so I can plan for it. Once I get here, we’ll have a check-in. Anything new, any changes, you report to me then. I drive you where you want to go, and I vet each person you see. I have a list of your close friends and family that I’ve already cleared, but anyone else needs a two-day notice. When we’re out, I need eyes on you at all times. You have to go to the bathroom, you tell me. You want to go home, you tell me. A stranger on the street asks for directions, and I need to know about it.” 

“Bucky, I don’t really think—” 

“Not done,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m giving you my phone number. You use it if you hear anything at night when I’m next door, and you use it when you can’t see me in public. You don’t use it for anything else, got it?”

“Yes, but—” 

“The police and my guys are looking for whoever this creep is. They have a few leads, and I’m honestly more confident that we will find him before the cops, but it’s going to take a while. That means you’re gonna have to be comfortable with all of this for at least a few weeks.” 

A pause. 

“Done now?” you asked. 

Bucky could feel his reproach building as he slowly nodded. You took a deep breath in and shrugged your shoulders up towards your ears. 

“Okay, well, I don’t know who you’ve worked with in the past, but people in public are going to be asking me for a lot more than directions. If I leave the house most days, I get stopped by at least a dozen people asking for pictures or just saying hello. Do you want me to get their contact info one by one, or should I just ask for a pic of their social security card to speed up the process?” 

Bucky jutted his jaw to the side in place of a response. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I also don’t love that I have to have my entire day planned out the night before. I like to be spontaneous sometimes, you know? I’m also on the waitlist for my workout classes often, and I can’t know if I’ll get off of it that far in advance. Wait, are you going to be like, in my classes with me?” 

You kept going after that, complaining next that 7 am was too early, and then that he needed two entire days to vet your friends before you could see them, and then that you had to tell him when you were going to the bathroom because that was embarrassing and not right. Bucky listened to each word with his hands limp between his legs, his ass sinking deeper into the couch. 

This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated, and not even because you were a celebrity. Because he had accounted for the fans and paparazzi, but he had not accounted for you being so nonchalant about a crazy person coming after you.

“Okay, okay, listen to me,” Bucky grunted, interrupting your spiel on good restaurants and why none of them would be in Queens. “I get it, okay? You’ve had to uproot your life, and it’s not fun. I know it’s not fun. But your life is the thing at stake here. Your. Life. The guy knew where you lived, knew how to get in—I saw the things he left. I don’t work paparazzi security details. I turn down dozens of cases a week because they don’t fit the level of safety that I work for. I took yours minutes after getting it. Does that tell you anything?” 

You huffed and gave a poorly concealed eyeroll, but Bucky’s trained eyes caught the fists you were making against the couch cushion. He saw how your shoulders slumped an inch and how something deflated in your posture. Still, you didn’t relent. 

“Alright, I get it, oh great and scary super soldier,” you laughed off, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. “Put your number in then. I’ll follow your rules.” 

Bucky kept you in his gaze as he grabbed it from you and then handed it back. “Add me to the face recognition.”

“What? No way. Why on earth would you need that?” 

“Can’t have secrets. And if there’s an emergency, I need to know that nothing will hold us up. Even if that’s just having a phone I can access.” 

“You’re insane. I’m not giving you free rein of my phone.” You held the device close to your chest in horror, clutching it as if it would protect you from Bucky’s words. 

He only sighed from a place deep within his chest. “Relax. I’m not interested in your texts or whatever else you have going on in there. In fact, I’m not really interested in anything that has to do with you other than your safety. So stop worrying about pilates and your brunches, okay?” 

You scoffed, and then you scoffed again. Tapping the screen a few times, you held then held it out to Bucky, unlocked and ready for his invasion. “You sure are charming, aren’t you?” you gritted out. 

He allowed a slight upturn of his mouth. “Enough to get the job done.”

~~

On the third day of your protection detail, Bucky began questioning his sanity. 

Y/N: Boooring right? I hate table reads when I only have like two lines

Bucky pursed his lips and glanced down at your text. 

Bucky: I told you to only use this number for emergencies. 

Y/N: A period??? What have I done to earn such anger from you :(

Bucky: What the hell are you talking about?

Someone from across the room called your name, pulling your attention from the pointless conversation with Bucky, and he almost sighed in relief. 

As it turned out, you did not listen to his rules. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair to say. You listened to some of his rules. Sometimes. You gave him an itinerary each night, but would you actually stick to it the next day? That was a question Bucky quickly realized he needed to ask. And sure, you stayed in his line of sight, but being a super soldier meant he could see very far away, and you sure did love to take advantage of that. 

God and the texting. Bucky was pretty sure you did it to annoy him. He got good morning texts, goodnight texts, texts about the people in the room he was in, and if you liked the meal you were eating; each time you picked up your phone, it was as if you were programmed to send him a meaningless message. 

The first morning, it had scared the shit out of him. You were the only person who had the number, so when he heard the notification ding on his nightstand, he jumped from bed and was halfway dressed in the hall before he read it. All you had said was ‘good morning’ with a winky face that personally offended him. 

You thought it was hilarious when he came in a few minutes later—fully dressed—with a stern expression and a mean talk. Of course, that had done nothing to abate the constant text messages, and he was sure you would start calling him if he wasn’t constantly with you. 

“Y/n, do you have a moment? I want to run you by the hair and makeup team we just hired.” 

Bucky perked up from his storm of annoyed thoughts in the corner of the room. He kicked off the wall and hovered a few feet away as you nodded with a smile and made a joke he didn’t have context for. 

Right, you leaving the room without checking in with him. Perfect. 

Navigating through a sea of trailers on a lot with the sun beating down on him was almost nauseating. He caught the producer eyeing him a few times, with fear or concern, he couldn’t tell, and Bucky slid his sunglasses on to hide the fact that he was eyeing her as well. 

And you, but that was for business purposes. 

You looked more casual today, with a large college sweater pulled over fleece pants and shoes that Bucky knew you couldn’t run in if he needed you to. 

“If those damn slippers fly off, I’m dragging your ass around New York like a sack of potatoes.” 

“They’re comfy, Bucky. I’m not wearing running shoes to a table read.”

Bucky was learning—rather reluctantly—that no amount of fear or harsh talk was going to make you take things seriously. So, he was just going to have to be extra serious for both of you, even when you made it hard with your stupid emojis and the shimmery sunscreen you wouldn’t stop talking about that caught the sun just right. 

God, you pissed him off. 

You met the hair and makeup team, whom he hadn’t been able to research beforehand, and then introduced him to the hair and makeup team, the hand on his back entirely inappropriate and burning a hole through his shirt. 

“Oh, wow, y/n, you have an Avenger as a bodyguard? How marvelous,” the hairstylist, Barbara, cooed. 

Bucky offered her a smile that looked like he had eaten a lemon, and the middle-aged woman quickly turned back to you, gushing over your complexion and how it was going to work perfectly with the products she had. 

Bucky didn’t have the mind to correct Barbara, and he also didn’t have the clearance to explain the real reason he was here. People didn’t know what you were going through, and they wouldn’t until the bastard was caught. It was safer that way. 

Bucky didn’t miss the way you slunk behind him slightly when the conversation went to your past security detail and how handsome he was. She had seen pictures on Twitter, Barbara explained, and she couldn’t get over how tall and good-looking he was. 

“Oh, not as handsome as you. Obviously, Mr. Barnes,” Barbara called, her hand landing on vibranium as she laughed and missed the fact that you had started picking at your fingers. 

Bucky did not miss it. He did not miss anything. 

“Thank you. We have to get going, though. Your appointment?” Bucky directed the question toward you, watching your expression shift back to effortless ease that made you look pretty in a way that was good for movies. 

“Right, yeah. It was great to meet you, Barbara. I’ll see you when filming starts!” 

The car ride back home was relatively silent, which was strange and almost alarming for Bucky. Granted, he’d only been in vehicles with you for a grand total of three days, but you always talked for the entire ride in his limited experience, and right now, nothing. 

He surprised himself by breaking what he thought was welcome silence. “Those slippers hold up then?” 

With your gaze down toward your fingers, you allowed a small smile to creep up. “They are not slippers, Bucky. They’re very fashionable right now. I’m going to get you a pair.” 

“I’ll toss ‘em.”

“You won’t. I've been watching you eye them. You’d kill for the comfort, I just know it.” 

“You know nothing. I hate those things. Can’t get anywhere with them.” 

“I got around just fine.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked through each mirror in the car once, and then twice. He looked to you next, admiring—or observing, rather—the ease that didn’t look as fake anymore. You tapped your index finger on your thigh and then moved it to the car door. 

“Hey,” you called out. He felt your gaze on the side of his face.

“Yes?” 

“I know this isn’t part of the itinerary, but can we stop somewhere?” 

Bucky found himself inside an entirely too-hot ice cream shop about ten minutes later. The older woman behind the counter was sweet, but everyone was a suspect to him, so he watched her carefully as you bent over to look at the flavors. He shouldn’t have said yes, but you were talking again, and he gave in too easily. 

“You’re not going to look?” you asked, a sample spoon loose between your fingers. 

“I’ll get vanilla.” 

“Vanilla?” you exasperated, hand jutting to the tubs behind plexiglass. “But you haven’t even looked at the options. What if there’s something better?” 

Bucky looked to the exit and then to the door leading to the back of the shop. He accounted for the camera in the far corner and stepped a few inches closer to you. 

“Vanilla’s always good,” he simply offered. 

“Right. I’m sure you’ve been getting that same flavor since, what, the 1930s?” 

The older woman snickered and raised her brows, hoping for a reaction she wouldn’t get.

“Pick one, y/n. We’re behind schedule.” 

You scoffed, one of your favorite things to do, and muttered, “Behind schedule to go sit on my ass at home.” 

The reprieve from your sass apparently only lasted for the car ride, and Bucky did not ask what made you upset as he ordered his vanilla scoop and ignored your eye roll. He felt like he wanted to ask, maybe, but that was not his job. He didn’t get invested in his clients. That made things messy, unworkable. 

You were fine, anyways. You bounced back after only a few words from him and a container that held more toppings than actual ice cream, so you were fine. 

Bucky monitored the sidewalk as you stepped out from the shop and mindlessly meandered back to the car. He looked both ways, profiled two men who obviously recognized you, and then placed a hand on your lower back to usher you into the car. He held your ice cream with an unimpressed look as you buckled your seatbelt, and then watched your head as he closed the door. He locked it for the short jog over to the driver’s side, regretting his own ice cream as it slowed him down getting back in. 

All the while, you tapped at your phone and dug into the sweet concoction that made Bucky sick just looking at it, not a lick of concern on your face. 

“You could at least act a little cautious, you know,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling away from the curb after letting every car pass on the street. “Might do you some good.” 

You knocked your head back on the headrest. “You need to chill out a little. You’ve been with me for days and nothing’s happened. You’re scaring people. You freaked that little girl out yesterday when she asked for a picture. She cried.” 

“I was more worried about her dad,” Bucky grunted out. “And she didn’t cry. It was windy. Her eyes were watering.” 

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.” 

[11yellowdaffodils]

When Buck is staying at Eddie’s while half-heartedly looking for a place, Christopher really wants a dog. He keeps seeing dogs on TikTok and TWO separate friends of his just got puppies. So he really wants a dog

He makes up a whole PowerPoint about it and then sits Buck and Eddie down on the couch to present it on the TV. Buck is hooked on the title slide. Eddie does NOT want a dog. (“Who’s gonna take care of it?? Who’s gonna pay for it when it eats something it’s not supposed to and needs to go to the emergency vet???? Not me.”)

Chris gets through his whole presentation (dogs are good, they make people more responsible, I’ll take care of it I promise, look at these shelters I found, look how cute these dogs are, blah blah blah) and Buck already knows his answer. Eddie knows his too, unfortunately. Eddie says “no dog.” and Buck is like “we’ll think on it and give you an answer by the end of the week”

That night, when Christopher’s asleep, Eddie and Buck are talking about the dog. Eddie is all “they’re messy and they smell bad” and buck’s all “Eddie plz 🥺🥺 Eddie plz plz plz can we get a dog 🥺🥺🥺 I miss blaze and I’ve never had a dog before plz plz plz Eddie can we have a dog 🥺🥺🥺🥺” but Eddie is staying firm on his decision. Buck is like “Eddie I’ll pay for half of everything, Eddie I’ll take it on walks every day, Eddie Carla knows some really good pet daycares and pet sitters, Eddie a dog would be so good for Christopher, Eddie we can take it to the station and Bobby will love it plz Eddie :(((“

So finally bucks like “Eddie I live here too I should at least get some say” and Eddie snaps a little bit and is like “Buck what’s gonna happen when you’re gone?? You’re looking for a place right now and what happens when you find it??? You leave and I’m stuck with the dog all alone and I— (his voice breaks a little bit here) I am not going to be taking it on walks every day” and Buck goes all quiet for a minute. None of them say anything and they’re just staring at each other in that intense way they do when they’re feeling too many emotions.

So finally Buck speaks up and is like “I could…. just— not leave?” but it’s very quiet and shy and uncertain. And then Eddie stops because he hadn’t really considered the option before. He hadn’t let himself consider the option before. His best friend was looking for a place because they were just best friends and best friends don’t typically live with each other so why should they be any different? But they are different, aren’t they? And he’s still looking at Buck in that way of his where he’s all brooding and emotional because Boys Don’t Cry, and Buck quickly goes “or not, obviously, I don’t know what I was thinking, no dog of course, you don’t want one and this isn’t my house or anything and Christopher isn’t my—” and Eddie cuts him off by kissing him. Because they aren’t best friends, that ship had sailed a LONGGGGG time ago but Eddie just hadn’t figured it out yet. Hadn’t figured out why there was such a pit in his stomach whenever Buck mentioned a place he was looking at (which he realized hadn’t happened in a good three weeks or so), hadn’t realized why everyone he’s dated since knowing Buck had felt so wrong and flat. But now he has. Finally.

And Buck is surprised at first but then obviously melts into it because Maddie was right, it wasn’t so crazy, and he’d been in love with Eddie probably since the two of them were digging out an active round from a guys leg together.

After they pull away from each other, Eddie looks up at Buck and smiles and is like “stay. Please. I’ll get you a dog. I’ll get you anything you want, just stop looking for stupid apartments and stay with me” and Buck is all surprised and breathless still and he’s like “okay” and Eddie kisses him again

The next day the three of them go to the shelter and pick out a cute little 2 year old mix that looks mostly like a border collie named peaches

[we-love-lando-norris-over-here]

How are landos radio are always posted on x and insta to prove something but 81s never post oscunt’s radios to be like hey here they asked about one stop or they said this blah blah, just to see its not worth showing that they are dumb and cant understand a simple radio. But still talk out of their asses about how mcl favored lando this races. This whole race was a hail mary and might fuck around and find out with lando which it worked. If they actually listened to ZB saying mid race that they dont know what the fuck to do with lando. They wont be this stupid and show they have no common sense and knowledge.

Because they’re not oscar fans, they just hate Lando 😂

Pretty sure half of them don’t even watch the races. They just crawl the internet after the races, looking for Lando radio snippets to twist into whatever narrative fits. Meanwhile, oscar’s radios are out there. Loud and clear. Man’s been crashing out left and right, so we’ve been hearing plenty from him.

And yet…silence. Nothing. Not a clip, not a quote.

Tells you everything, really. Even his own fans don’t care what he’s saying, they’re too busy obsessing over Lando.

Obsessing over Lando = oscar 🫱🏽‍🫲🏽 his fans

[waxonicarus]

i dont have the screenshots but the taverna scene with hecate and melinoë has so much insight to the both of the characters. in the flashback where the two play hide n seek, we see a much more relaxed hecate who ISNT called headmistress because she hadn’t started melinoë on her task. later, she is referred only as headmistress by melinoë and the more ‘fun side’ of the witch is replaced with her teacher persona (although she clearly adores melinoë obviously) and melinoë follows nearly everything she says.

in the taverna scene however, while melinoë and hecate are both throwing them back, hecate makes a comment about how the intoxication of the patrons is going to cause issues and they should have rules blah blah and melinoë IMMEDIATELY gets moody. she actively goes against hecate here about how it would be “just another rule because thats what we need😒😒” and hecate picks up on this and laughs it off, apologizing in her own way.

i dunno the taverna is where the unseen are meant to relax and melinoë does! while she still thinks of her task while fishing and bathing she relaxes in the taverna and gets pissy when she has to adhere to ANOTHER rule. it’s a little insight to hecate and melinoë’s relationship outside of the task and it’s so sweet. i love melinoë and hecate

[thebloodysmut]

not to bring pop punk into this but emergency contact by pierce the veil might be one of the most 8x17 buddie songs to exist

[phykoha]

gang should I read the Mirage comics

[kaisollisto]

“Are you here?" Ava barely breathes it, there's a tension in the air that she can't recognize, an energy that squashes her. Her throat feels scratchy and she can feel the Halo slotted between her shoulders. Ava's flat on her back head turned to look over at Beatrice. She feels wimpy like a stomped flower, her left arm dangles dangerously close to Beatrice-territory. She wants to reach out, to touch Beatrice to confirm that she's here but something stops her. She feels so silly, she could easily shift over to touch Beatrice, shake her gently and - 

Beatrice slides over, a firm sleepy sister warrior knife wielding badass with frumpy hair poofing from what remains of her low bun. She moves towards Ava, inches away from her but moves to answer her. It’s rare for Ava to see her like this. Beatrice is clearly fighting sleep, rubbing her eyes and doing her best to move in hopes that it’ll shake the sleepy spell. 

She’s dressed in one of Ava’s ugly loose white shirts, a huge bass clashing with faded big blocky lettering that just reads “FISH”. Beatrice had looked at her weirdly when Ava had dug it out of the bins at a thrift store disheveled and ecstatic. 

Ava had spent hours coaxing her into it doing her damn best to hide Beatrice’s laundry when she wasn’t looking. It fills a warm feeling in her chest and Ava wants to burrow further into it. It was a fool proof plan. 

Ava found her shortness made it exhausting to reach up towards the Beatrice-level-cabinets. The halo pulls at her pinching and knotting up the muscles in her back after a long day of training. She feels it alive within her, an uncomfortable reminder sealed inside her back. 

At the end of the day Ava settled on hinging at the waist. She had slowly started integrating Beatrice’s sleep shirts in cabinets that Beatrice had to bend down to reach. Ava always tried to situate herself at the scene of the crime doing her best to seem inconspicuous while she leaned over hungry for Beatrice’s reaction. Ava thumbed her findings down in the recess of her mind, her finger tracing over it in a hurried desperation. The time would pass and she did not want to forget. 

(It helped, the imagery of Bea’s furrow when she would find her sleepwear underneath the sink when Ava would have to tuck her spine into the halo as she placed the shirt somewhere clean.) 

Thanks to her genius planning Beatrice had finally caved and worn Ava’s huge “FISH” t-shirt after weeks of her persistence. She looked adorable, she was drowning in it and constantly tugging at it. She had found Beatrice loved to tuck it into the band of her sleep shorts creating puffy funny creases distorting the text even further to say “FSH”. It looked so ugly and old and endearing. 

She looked out of her depth and it made Ava’s heart thump funny. Beatrice with her weird posh mannerisms combined with the peaceful unguarded look when she slumbered made her feel hot all over. 

It was the prospect of the future, a glimpse into her life with Beatrice, of when they would grow old together. It shakes her, the idea that Beatrice will get wrinkles with her. She takes it seriously, a study that she isn’t well versed in but preparing for. It is a long hard internal debate flipping between what wrinkles will show first. Ava selfishly hopes it’s smile lines, that Beatrice will smile at her as much as she does in secret. She’s happy to be wrong, Beatrice’s forehead crinkles have always been cute. She hopes that Beatrice never stops looking at her, thinking of her. She wants to spend a long time being the source of her wrinkles. And just for right now she can handle the role of being just her friend. 

Beatrice blinks one eye open, the other pressed against the pillow as she stifles a yawn. Her hand blocks her mouth in a delicate way and Ava can see her nails are short and uneven in places. Ava wishes she could touch them, study them in a way no one has done before. She wants to press against Beatrice hard enough to watch her skin fold around hers. Some sort of truth that she was here, that she is here. 

Beatrice scoots over slowly, her elbow tucked under the pillow. She stops inches away from Ava, a frown set in her jaw. Ava mirrors her position albeit more awkwardly and more wiggling than Beatrice’s but she finds a place where the Halo won’t bite her back. 

“I’m here,” Beatrice murmurs it, a quiet thing between them. 

Ava closes her eyes hoping Beatrice won’t notice her shakiness. She blinks a few times before she presses closer, the arm she’s laying on moving to support her head underneath the pillow. 

There’s so much to tell her, anything and nothing at all and Ava doesn’t know where to start. It constricts her throat, the constant stream of consciousness from inside of her heart. It’s horrible and she can’t stop it as the feeling balloons inside of her lungs. Ava wants help, she so desperately wants to feel okay again, to feel anything other than the stupid fucking halo. It grates on her nerves and muscles, a burning hot metal ring poking and prodding at the entirety of her upper torso. It leaves her reeling, a sort of anger that beckons for her to hurt (hurt something, hurt someone, hurt), disregarding the aftermath of tears and shame. 

Ava is sure she’s shaking, a layer of sweat gathers between the space of her shoulder blades as the Halo lights up with her inner turmoil. It’s a faint pitiful thing that Ava would be ashamed of if not for the bone aching tiredness. 

She wants to say she’s sorry the words clawing their way up her throat and it feels wrong to feel anything but that. There’s a sort of unspoken shame that haunts her with the Halo. It’s a thing she’s known long before any of this. 

Beatrice drags her out of her turmoil with her hand hovering near Ava’s pinky. She has a gracefulness to it, like she has practiced it a hundred times over. It’s weird, to be in a bed, a soft and lumpy bed looking at Beatrice. Beatrice with such plain features and subtle cheekbones that Ava can’t stop looking. It pays off, watching Beatrice, Ava knows it when Bea smiles a grin too wide for polite acknowledgement and Ava can see her dimples pronounced. 

“Can I?” Beatrice’s finger lingers near her hand, a hovering itch that Ava needs scratched. It’s so wholeheartedly Beatrice that Ava can do nothing but nod. Something inside of Ava aches harder than the rest of the organs inside of her. It’s the unwavering crushing thumping feeling that squeezes around her heart. The sincerity of Beatrice. 

She places her hand over Ava’s and squeezes her gently. Beatrice’s hands are firm and soft. She can feel the callouses on her palms prodding at the back of her hand and wonders if Beatrice has ever had them fade away. If she’s had the pleasure of unscathed palms. Her hands are warm but not sweaty, not like Ava’s.

Ava can’t feel Beatrice’s pulse but she tries her best to match it. She imagines it would be a slow melody playing a duet with a classical track. Some sort of tune that spurs comfort or a feeling of nostalgia. She briefly wonders if Beatrice listens to music, if she seeks out music that has spoken to her. If there was a song that shook her to her core so deeply she had to sit down and digest it. There’s so much she still needs to know and so little time. 

“I admit I’m not sure what you need from me.” Beatrice whispers it quietly, she’s hunched awkwardly, hovering close in Ava’s space but too far away for her own comfort. 

Ava clamps her mouth shut, sure that “come closer” will betray her. That she will reach too far into Beatrice and take far too much. 

Beatrice pays no mind to Ava’s silence and slowly caresses her hand, it’s a small little gesture that seems to have no set course. Ava briefly wonders if it’s the start of a massage or if Beatrice is looking for her joints underneath her skin and touching her tendons in apology. 

It should be awkward, Beatrice and Ava orbiting each other in a lopsided manner. A rotational tilt that is unfamiliar to both of them and yet feels intimate. An unknown dance with their eyes closed and their breaths mingling. (It’s easy to follow Beatrice’s lead, Ava knows love.) 

There’s nothing Ava can say to her, she chokes up at the prospect and they both blink at each other. She’s not sure what she needs, only that it’s nice having someone here. 

Beatrice drowsily blinks rapidly and slowly at the same time as Ava watches swallowing the bits of her smile. Her hand has slowed its pathing, opting to curl on the inside of Ava’s fingers. It’s endearing watching one of her favorite bad ass sister warriors lose against sleep. It softens the edges of Beatrice who is always carrying some unseen obligation. (Here it is only the two of them free of their past and future burdens, just two girls sprawled thinly on hopes and dreams). 

She can feel Beatrice’s grip loosen, she’s going to fall back asleep any minute now but Ava doesn’t have the heart to keep her up. Beatrice is no doubt tired, powered by her own sleeping and eating habits unlike Ava who has the artifact to juice her up. 

She isn’t quite unwound but she feels manageable now. It’s weird to be within reach of Beatrice, someone who cares about her. To be in proximity of someone who will look for her, be in step with her, maybe it’s duty but Ava holds it close to her heart regardless. (It’s all the same to her, devotion, loyalty, love). 

She clings to Beatrice afraid to let the moment go, she had called and someone had answered, Bea had answered. Ava can feel her eyes watering, it almost feels like a distant dream. She tucks her chin closer to chest and thinks, how awful to be loved. 

She can feel her throat closing up and she squeezes Bea’s hand just a tiny bit harder. (She answers in the twitch of her hand, clearly on the cusp of sleep). The Halo still thunders in her back throbbing some fatal fate but here in the hush of night grounded by the touch of Beatrice she has some reprieve.  (Part 1)

[fl00mie]

I remember you're genocides 🫵

( do you even remember who moqi is ... hai its me )

now answering to your question.. no sorry i can't remember someone called like that-

(read tags pls)

[pardonmydelays]

all jokes aside, our show is in sixteen days and i've never been more anxious about anything in my entire life

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Hi? Gosh how do I even start with this :'D

I know it's been ages since I've last popped up on here. I've been debating when to post this for a while, but I kept adding to my draft more and more and now it's the end of JULY omgg I felt so guilty disappearing with zero updates but then thought my birthday would be the best day to finally address this considering it'll feel less random? idk but Ive always celebrated my bday with you guys and I'd feel so bad answering your kind asks without me at least explaining why I was gone for months.

Truth be told, I was dealing with a lot of stuff irl. health issues and sudden declining grades that left me stumped and drained for months now- along with technical issues like having to replace some parts of my computer that took a while for me to find to even draw digitally, which I didn't have the time for anyway with how tired and weary I felt every day.

I'm frankly shaken up by a lot of shit rn and I don't know how to be active online with this burden on my chest- Especially as it's been a while since I've even looked at utmv related content and my motivation dwindled. I swear I'd hype myself up to post or reblog something- but I'd see just how much I've missed or the overwhelming amount of posts I'd need to go through and I'd feel so swamped with exhaustion and most importantly guilt, for not clearing the air up sooner to reassure you guys that I'm, y'know, alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. And I'd procrastinate cause typing it all out is hard and I'd give up halfway every time and it's just not fair to you all!

I thought I was handling it well when I started going out and socializing more, instead of staying cooped up at home on my computer all day. and in the first draft of this post I made months ago I was gonna detail some of the fun plans I had, for my life and for this blog :D but relaxing my strict study schedule and letting go a bit of my tight routine, thinking it was better than wringing myself dry to keep it up, backfired horribly, to say the least.

I know right?? so silly to be hung up on stupid shit like studies of all things! but this is a very important thing for me considering my career plans and the competitivity encouraged by everyone I'm surrounded by, the pressure of keeping up adding to my already stressful days. I had to fix myself up first and I couldn't handle the strain nor interact with people and thinking of jobs and exams sapped my energy so much it's frankly embarrassing. writing this feels so cheesy too and it frustrates me to know I could've come back a month earlier if it weren't for that, but I also know putting all of this into words then would just sound like incoherent venting (not that this is very different tbf) and I wasn't in the right headspace to address my absence, or anything really- I didn't want everyone to see me return when I couldn't muster up a genuinely positive message, let alone talk to anyone with a shadow of my usual cheer

I feel like a complete mess and It drives me up the wall how depressed I've gotten. I debated deleting this blog so many times 'cause the fear of disappointing my audience and my friends, for lack of a more fitting sentiment, made me feel even shittier. I'm constantly thinking if this wall of text is worth posting, or if it's better not to burden you all with all my sappy troubles as if it's the end of the world. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'm not trying to dramatize this situation, but I don't think I'm up to pretending I'm all sunshine and enthusiasm you're all accustomed to.

So sorry for worrying you all! I'll try to catch up, deliver some missed birthday gifts, and answer some asks while I'm at it! Again, I can't state how much I appreciate your support throughout the years. It's frankly a miracle I kept any of you around with how much I keep popping and leaving at random with no warning. I definitely can't promise for my stay to be without a hitch, and if you don't mind an inconsistent schedule you're free to stay of course, but I'm afraid I can't sustain the pace I had when I first started this blog. I'll keep posting art, but lower my activity in the fandom sphere to reduce the strain on my mental health. so fewer rants and walls of text, more art, and less stress overall. Love you all and thanks for waiting for this long <3

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I think I need that "Wow, I haven't stubbed my toe in five months! I was then shot fifty-seven times." Audio again

[justablah56]

hey guys does anyone have any fun podcast or tv show recs with canon poly rep . besides second citadel . Ive been hit with the sudden need for canon polyamorous characters .

[horrorknife]

“i should make more long posts about my thoughts on things/analysis/etc bc its fulfilling for me” vs doing that and being met with the honestly gutting embarrassment of “you get 1 note max even if you tag these posts because no one actually reads them no matter what you do”

[island-in-the-shadows]

Two blackouts, one bottle of Prosecco, Baileys, Hozier, and Devils Minion thoughts while Gone Girl plays in the background. A banner start to 2025. That's my brain for you.

Im drunk ok? Like my tags are so random.

Also like shoutout to @irisbleufic you are a treasure and i wish sober i would be more courageous to say thank you. Your kind words have fuelled me to carry on with my DM writing and I appreciate them so much as much as I appreciate your prolific writing. Does it ever do your head in that you've written more about DM than Anne Rice has because my WIP is at 26k and that's more than the DM chapter in QOTD and I am like...how can one not write enciclopedias about them, you know?

Que el año nuevo les traiga bendiciones y vampiros gay y hombres tan bellos que te hacen lloran. Etc

@ninoochat vous etes marveilleux et je pense que tu deserve le monde, d'ac?

@metropoliswhite merci beacoup for your kindness, always.

This has been a drunk message. Focker out!

[aeolianblues]

I'm not an extrovert. At all. In everyday life, I'm a yapper, sure, but I need someone to first assure me I am okay to yap, so I don't start conversations, even when I really want to join in sometimes! It's just the social anxiety acting up. God knows where from and why I lose a lot of my inhibitions when it comes to talking to people about music. I don't know where the confidence has suddenly sprung from. I've made a crazy amount of friends in musical circles, either just talking to people about common music or (since it is after all in music circles) talking to bands about their own music. I let out a sigh of relief any time an interaction goes well, because in truth it's going against my every instinct. I wish I could do that in everyday life

[keeps-ache]

trying to trip myself into writing so i can get back into the groove i had the other day by just repeating 'steam steam steam steam steam steam steam' to myself and i am unsure that it is working lmao