#I need to go through and finalize so many verse tags...

[owedfavors]

⤷ ✧ @ve1ljumpers said, ❝ you strike me as sneaky. ❞ ( regency!pike )

❛ sneaky implies doing something underhand while striving to avoid detection. ❜ though at face value, the words are mere observation, her tone implies that it is rather a protest: she does nothing of the sort. listening, after all — at least when not done surreptitiously by listening around corners or through closed doors — is scarcely either underhand or furtive. nor is being circumspect in her own words. and as for all her science, work which might well belong in the shadows to avoid the scorn of society, she has never taken pains to conceal it. if few know the extent of it, that's merely because they neither ask nor permit her to speak of it.

there's nothing sneaky to it at all.

despite the protest, however, it strikes her that in a way, his description, while apparently unsuited, is simultaneously more perceptive than any of the many accusatory adjectives, at face value more accurate, assigned to her by so many over the years.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

for you, i would ruin myself / a million little times

o. dazai x reader

dazai reads poetry to you after sex ・❥・mentions of sex / physical intimacy (nothing specified) and aftercare

✎ headcanon i’ve had for a while and wanted to write on it <3 here you go.

special tag for: @osamucide because i love you (im sorry this took 86 years)

song: illicit affairs

dazai, obviously, loves to fuck you. feeling your skin pressed against his, lips embedded against yours lazily while he finds different ways to draw pleasure on your body. for him, its a point of distraction. you’re too busy feeling good to feel empty, even if its for a moment.

but its that moment after the high, the returning back to earth, he especially loves. almost reluctantly, he removes himself from you, slowly easing with gentleness you’d expect from him. he was never one for brash, brawny movements. just quiet intimacy with quiet thoughts that speak volumes. he catches his breath with you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you sink into the pillows beneath him. he tentatively lifts his head from your shoulder as he collapses next to you.

he waits a few minutes. if you fall asleep, he’ll fall asleep next to you. if you’re still awake, he’ll throw some sweatpants on and grab you some water and take a shower. if you haven’t had enough, he’ll invite you to join him.

but it seems unlikely, since right now, you’re still reeling from it. stars and clouds swirl around in your eyes as he stares, lips curved with content. while he waits, he grabs a book from the nightstand.

the pages are browned and worn out. corners of pages have been folded as crude bookmarks, and the last few pages are wrinkled from the time atsushi knocked over a cup of water on his desk. though he offered to replace it, dazai never seemed to mind the way it aged, like the book itself mattered more. almost as if it were a gift from an old friend.

he sees you shift over to face him in his peripheral vision. instinctively, he extends an arm to you so you can sit up next to him against the headboard.

you don’t normally look through his things. though he wouldn’t mind- he doesn’t have much to hide, anyway. the things dazai does keep hidden are things he doesn’t have to worry about you stumbling across. he has quite a large collection of books, and seemingly, he’ll read or has read, anything. biographies, manuals, tales of clandestine meetings or stolen stares. surely, there should be something in that pile you would enjoy. some titles have peaked your interest, but you’ve never picked one up for yourself.

perhaps its because nothing could match the way dazai reads to you.

so you prompt him, though you both already know the answer: “what are you reading?”

he smiles as your voice, scratched from your previous activities hits his ear. the blankets pool around his waist, gaining all the warmth he needs simply by being next to you. “what do you want to hear?”

he gives you the choice because, to him, all poems, with even a small hint of love, in some way, shape, or form, were about you.

which is why he loves your answer so much: “anything, ‘samu.”

his fingers flip to a random page. 113.

brown eyes skim over the words, softening in recognition once he reaches the final verse. he clears his throat, his adam’s apple sitting beneath the skin you’ve kissed and touched many times before.

Leave the perfume on the shelf

That you picked only for him

Leave no trace behind

Because you don't even exist

A dwindling, mercurial high

illicit affairs

clandestine meetings, stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie, and lie, and lie

A million little times.

his voice is soft, sanguine. he’s never putting on a grandiose performance but never flattening out the words into boredom. he delivers each syllable with justice, with poised pronunciation but a witty flare that is uniquely his.

you can see in his eyes the words resonate with something he’d like to believe he buried. something about betrayal. about feeling betrayed when you have no reason to feel that way, or simply because they left. or about remembering someone for longer than you’ve known them.

but he shoves it down with a question. “do you like that one?”

his cologne has worn off. his hair, though it was never exactly neat, is feathering over his shoulders in coffee-brown tangles. you can see that flushed hint of red on his lips, beginning to swell from kissing too hard. his sleek clothes are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel- from his arm wrapped around you- residual sweat.

still, he notices how you look at him like he’s the entire world, even after reading the poem that brought up so many pushed-down things for him. you see colours in him you can’t see with anyone else.

he gazes at that colour in you, while he awaits your answer.

“i liked it.” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“thats all?”

“osamu, you could read a grocery list and i’d listen.”

you get a soft laugh out of him.

he presses his lips against your forehead, coaxing you to sleep as he lays you down. he only reads a few more poems in his head, though he may as well have the letters memorized.

a grocery list. he thinks to himself. there was a time in his life grocery lists were the furthest from his head. death and destruction seem to take up a majority of your mind, and groceries are left on the back burner.

oh, but with you? he can spend every sunday morning unpacking expensive, store bought ingredients with you, and momentarily forget about everything else in the world.

for as long as his heart remains beating, he’ll savour all of it. a million little times.

[veltana]

Shared desires

✦ Pairing: Bucky/Fem!Reader, Steve/Fem!Reader, brief Bucky/Steve

✦ Word count: ~4,4k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Canon verse, Wife!Reader, Husband!Bucky, Best friend!Steve, cuckolding, degradation, praise, oral (fem receiving), spit sharing, manhandling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, angst, hurt/comfort, feels, eventual polyamory, pet names (doll, honey).

✦ Note: NERVOUS! I've never written for an event before, but it gave me the push I needed to finally finish this! For @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar we have Chocolate (a secret revealed) together with Neopolitan (love triangle). Topped with Chocolate Syrup (established relationship) and one could argue a dash of Sprinkles (special event)(it sure is special for them 😂) As always, reblogs, comments, and asks are very welcome ❤️ Enjoy 😋

Masterlist | AO3

Steve’s mouth is hanging slightly open, cheeks red, and eyes wide. "Excuse me?" he sputters. "You're the only one I trust with this, if you don't feel comfortable I get it, but I thought I’d ask.” "But Buck…" Steve begins, momentarily lost for words, then says, "I don't want to cause a rift between you and your wife." "You wouldn't, we've talked it over so many times and honestly you're the only one she's okay with." "Me?" Bucky reaches over to place a hand on Steve's knee, squeezing it reassuringly. "You've been at our side since the beginning, she knows you, and knows you would never hurt us."

Then he leans back with a smirk. "And don't think I didn't see you looking at her last time we went out drinking." Steve flushes even more, looking away, mumbling, "Those pants should be illegal." Bucky laughs in response.

With a sigh, Steve looks at his best friend, his long lost brother, the person he went through hell to get back. If Bucky knew the truth he wouldn't be laughing. For a second Steve contemplates telling him but as he's done for years, he keeps his deepest secret inside and instead says. "Just let me think about it, okay? It doesn't mean it's a no but just… I need to think, okay?" "Take your time," Bucky reassures him.

***

Several hours later you're ordering take-out while waiting for Bucky to get home from the compound. You could cook but your body is jittery with nervous energy and it's hard to concentrate. Bucky asked Steve today and you have yet to learn how it went. Your husband could have texted you, but Bucky often forgets that texting exists.

When the key turns in the lock you can't keep your cool any longer. Running into the hallway just as Bucky kicks off his shoes you don't even pretend to be nonchalant about it. "Well?" you ask.

With a chuckle, Bucky envelopes you in a hug. To be in his arms is the best feeling in the world. Surrounded by his scent and his warmth, knowing you're safe and cared for. "He's going to think about it, didn't say no. He was just shocked." Pulling back you squeeze Bucky's waist. "I understand that. I was too when you first brought it up," you note.

Bucky starts backing you out of the hallway until your back meets a wall. "But now you can't stop thinking about it," his deep voice taunts, making you light up with desire. "Now you want to get fucked while I watch and get humiliated.” The sound coming from your throat makes it impossible for you to deny it.

***

A few weeks later, you’re sitting beside Bucky, across from Steve in your living room. The guys have beers and you have a glass of wine. Steve's cheeks have been pink since he stepped through the door and looked at you. "I understand if you think it's a little… odd," you say to him. "And even if you say yes now, you can always change your mind later."

Steve nods and takes a swing from the bottle. He's not going to get drunk but it eases the nerves. "So, I'll fuck you while Bucky watches?" "Yeah," you nod. Steve puts the bottle down, dragging a hand over his face. "God, I'm going to be honest, I'm scared it's going to fuck up our friendship Buck. What if we do this and it's not what you imagined?" Bucky nods, but his answer is sure when he responds. "Then we'll stop. And there are no hard feelings. The same goes for you, even if we're right in the middle of it and it starts to feel wrong, just say the word and it stops right away."

Steve doesn’t look convinced. Honestly, you're just glad he wanted to come over and discuss it. A little idea forms in your head. You put down the wine. "How about a trial run?" you suggest. Both men turn to look at you but you only keep your attention on Steve. "If you're okay with it, I'll sit on your lap. If that feels alright we can share a kiss while Bucky watches and if it feels wrong it doesn't have to go any further."

Steve thinks for a moment, then agrees. A small groan comes from Bucky, just the thought of it makes him aroused. You kiss him on the cheek before standing up and slowly walking over to Steve. His eyes follow your every move but he doesn’t look scared.

When you straddle him, his hands immediately come to rest on your hips but then it's as if he realizes what he's done and stiffens. "It's okay," you encourage him. "You can touch me." He relaxes minimally and you settle down completely. "You can stop anytime," you remind him as you cup his bearded face. His tongue comes out and wets his plush lips, nodding.

You let your thumbs run along his cheeks, never breaking eye contact and the moment feels so intimate. You’re unsure what to expect, but your pulse picks up as he becomes more confident, moving his hands up and down your sides. A finger slips in under your sweater and brushes your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine and a pleased whimper comes out of your throat. That seems to encourage him and the light touches turn heavier.

Carefully you lean forward, giving Steve time to stop or to pull away. The hesitation on his face from earlier has fled and instead, you see a spark of eagerness. Pressing your lips softly against his, it takes a second for him to return it.

Turns out Steve Rogers is a great kisser. After sliding your lips together he quickly turns bolder, opening your mouth with his and finding your tongue to play with. His touches get greedier too. When both his hands shift in under your sweater to feel your naked skin you whimper again, longing for more of it. Without noticing you’ve started moving, seeking friction for the throbbing between your legs.

"Oh, fuck yes," you hear Bucky grunt behind you. That makes Steve break the kiss, you meet his wild eyes, pupils blown wide from lust.

"Your husband is getting off on you grinding in my lap, honey." You’ve never heard his voice so deep before. "He has his hand inside his pants, stroking his pathetic little dick while you do your best to hump me.” "Fuckfuckfuck," you hear from Bucky. With a whine you press down hard, feeling that Steve is just as affected as you. With difficulty, you stop yourself from going to the floor and beg to suck his dick. Instead, the both of you continue with the heated make-out session, your hands now heavy on Steve’s body, wishing you had his skin against yours.

The sounds coming from Bucky on the couch grow more urgent and it turns you on to know he's getting off to you making out with Steve. It feels wrong and so right at the same time. Steve nips your lower lip before kissing down your neck, saying, "I can't wait to fuck that sweet cunt of yours." Both you and Bucky moan. "Gonna give you a night you've never had before and make sure every time your husband fucks you all you can think about is my dick."

That makes Bucky lose it, a small shout declaring his climax. Steve and you slow down the tempo of your kissing until it's just soft, barely there caresses. Though the need is alight in your body, coherent thoughts start to tumble back in and after a few minutes, you pull back from him. His lips are swollen, and you feel a tinge of reproach for getting carried away with him. Cupping his face once more you ask, "How are you feeling?" He gives a dry laugh, "It's a mix of shame and horniness."

When you frown he grabs your hands to remove them from his face, squeezing them before letting go. "It's alright, it felt good while it was happening,” he reassures you, before asking over your shoulder. “How about you Buck?" "That's the hardest I've ever come from jerking off in my life I think." Both Steve and you laugh as you collapse against his chest. Immediately he starts caressing your back. You get a familiar feeling in your chest, one you usually only get when Bucky holds you.

"How about you, doll?" Bucky asks. "I liked knowing I was doing something to get you off at the same time as it was kind of "wrong"." A moment later you get off Steve, and sit down on the couch beside Bucky again. Somehow it feels weird to be away from him but you chalk it up to the sexual desire still prominent in your body.

“How about another meeting in a week or so? Get everyone to think it through another round and then we can decide on a date and location?” Bucky suggests. You nod and Steve does too.

***

On a Friday, after numerous more talks to plan the evening and all of you getting your STD tests back clean, it's finally time. The excitement is palpable in the hotel room you decide to stay in.

At Steve and Bucky’s request, you're wearing a very tight dress and the smallest pieces of underwear known to man.

Steve is sitting at the foot of the bed, white shirt tucked into black slacks like he's heading out to dinner, not about to fuck his best friend's wife. Bucky is in jeans and one of his henleys, placing an armchair at the side of the bed.

Even though you know what is about to happen, you feel nervous, but also excited to fulfill your husband's kink. When you take your place in front of Steve, meeting his hungry eyes, there is a buzz in your body making you bite your lip.

"Ready?" Bucky asks and you both nod. The moment Bucky sits down you climb onto Steve's lap. The smooth material of his slacks caresses your inner thighs as you settle. Immediately his hands land at your waists and starts stroking your sides, down to your ass, squeezing and pressing you just a little bit closer. Those blue eyes are a storm, filled with lust and need. Your face probably mirrors his and a second later your lips are pressed together.

Both of you moan and Steve fists the fabric of the dress, threatening to tear it to shreds. A soft groan is heard, and both of you smile into the kiss. Steve pulls away, making you pout, but he tsks at you. "Just be happy that I'm the one kissing you and not the shitty husband you have.”

Something in you wants to defend Bucky because he's not a shitty husband. He's amazing in every way! But you know that this is what he wants, it's part of the game. Bucky gets off on Steve's degradation. You can't deny him that.

Then he's kissing you again, heavier than earlier. Your hands grab his head, messing up the semi-styled hair, anchoring you to him. On their own accord, your hips roll against Steve's crotch, pulling moans from the both of you.

A second later he has you flipped onto your back, smiling down deviously as you stare at him in shock. But when he presses his clothed cock to your soaked panties the shock is forgotten. Pleasure engulfs every sense of your being.

"There you go honey, let me take care of you, let me make you feel better than your husband ever could." With a whine you jerk against him, trying to find relief for the ache in your cunt, but instead, he pulls away, taking your panties with him. Without looking he throws them Bucky's way and another groan comes from him when he feels how wet they are. Steve gets off the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Show your husband, honey. Show him how fucking wet you are for me."

With a whimper, you spread your legs. The air feels cool against your heated flesh. You don't dare to look at Bucky but understand he sees what Steve wants him to when a broken moan can be heard through the room.

"Touch yourself," Steve commands, and with shaking fingers you find your entrance, letting one sink it into yourself, wondering if you've ever been this wet before.

Slowly you move it, all while watching Steve get undressed. He's in no hurry. With a thick voice, he says, "One more, but don't you dare come."

With stuttered breath push another finger in. The sound that fills the room is obscene but leaves no doubt about how horny you are. When Steve is down to his underwear he pulls the fingers from you, sucking them into his mouth, groaning at the taste. After licking them clean he releases them with a pop and smirks at you. Then he turns to Bucky and it's the first time you get a good look at him.

His hands are gripping the arms of the chair in a death grip, you're surprised his vibranium hand hasn't done more damage. He's taken off his henley and his cock is out, hard and leaking onto his abdomen. Glassy eyes follow Steve's movements. The blond grabs Bucky's face, forcing his mouth open and tilting his head back. Immediately Bucky sticks out his tongue and from above Steve lets his spit run down into Bucky's mouth.

Bucky's dick twitches and leaks more. "That's the only fucking taste you'll have of your wife tonight. Say thank you." Steve rumbles. As soon as Bucky has swallowed down the mix of your slick and Steve's spit he says "Thank you," in a voice hoarser than you've ever heard before.

Steve comes back to you, pulling your dress off and stepping out of his underwear before settling on the bed and pressing your legs up against your stomach. "Now I'm going to get a proper taste of that sweet cunt," he grins.

"Steve!" you cry and your hands immediately find his hair as he dives in. His tongue travels from your opening to your clit, over and over again, soaking you in his spit until you feel it running down your ass. He sucks and licks, alternating pressure, and speed to make sure you're never quite getting enough to make you come but to keep you constantly on edge. The moment he sinks two fingers into you, you arch off the bed and a high-pitched wail leaves your mouth.

You're at the brink of shattering. The current of the climax is cursing through your body. Incoherent babbling fills the room as you try to urge Steve to take pity on you. Luckily for you, he does and concentrates the movements of his tongue to your clit, as his fingers press against your G-spot. A surge of heat fills your core, making it almost unbearable before it takes you and you come with a shout.

Steve works you through it until you're twitching from oversensitivity, pressing on his forehead to get him to stop. "Almost pushed my fingers right out with that," he muses, twisting them, pumping slowly. "Bet your husband has never made you come so hard."

A groan from Bucky accompanies your whimper. "Now tell me what you need honey." "I need you inside me!" "But my fingers are already inside," Steve makes a point by pressing the two fingers inside against your G-spot, making you lose your train of thought for a second.

"I- I mean…" you try. "Yes?" "More, I need more." "Just say the words." "I need your cock inside me, Steve, please!"

Seconds after his fingers have left you, he flips you onto your stomach, then puts you on your hands and knees right at the edge of the bed, at an angle where Bucky can see you. You're trembling with anticipation of what's coming.

Steve caresses your ass and legs, lightly dragging his fingers over your swollen clit and soaked center. "I can't believe this pretty fucking cunt is wasted on your husband." "Please, Steve!" "I bet you're never this wet for him" "No!" "You want me to fuck your sweet cunt, honey?" "Yes!" "Make it drip with my cum?" "Please!" "Should I knock you up, right here in front of your husband?" "Fuck me! Please!" As you feel the warm head against your cunt your arms collapse, your cheek resting against the bed.

"I love it when you beg for me," his strained voice is deep as he pushes inside. Moans, whimpers, and wails fall from your lips once he starts moving. He's big, just like Bucky, and you love to feel so full. You push back as he thrusts forward, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

Suddenly there is a hand on your neck, making you turn your head until you see Bucky at the edge of your vision. "Tell your husband how my cock feels!" Steve demands. "Ah! Bucky! It feels so good!"

Bucky is still not touching his cock, his mouth is slightly open, his whole face red as he watches you. "Yeah, doll, you like it?" "I do! I do!" "Is he big?" "Yes! I feel so full!" That makes Steve laugh. "All she wants is a big dick and all she got was you," Steve tells Bucky.

Bucky is about to burst with those words and the armchair creeks in his grip. Then Steve turns your head again so you can't see him anymore. Instead, you're focused on how he's fucking you rough and deep. "You're gripping me so tight honey, it's like you don't want to let me go." You answer with a strangled moan. "Yeah, you're too full of cock to talk, just be a good little wife and take what I give you."

And you do, body going almost boneless as Steve fucks you. Carefully another orgasm starts to build in your lower stomach, and soon it has you wiggling and whining, needing release.

Steve's hand finds your aching clit. "That's it," he groans. "I need you to come on my cock before I fill you up with my cum. Make sure you tell your husband whose dick it is you're coming on, honey. I want it seared into his mind. Every time he fucks you from now on all he's going to remember is how loud you screamed my name." Nodding helplessly you do as he says and as the dam breaks and pleasure rushes through you, you wail Steve's name.

A moment later the telltale sign of Steve's orgasm floods you and he groans your name. For a moment his hips are plastered to you, keeping everything inside. Then he pulls out and the cum runs down your legs. When he lets go of your hips you don't have the strength to keep yourself up anymore. Falling to the side you watch Steve walk over to Bucky, pulling him up and pushing him towards you. "Go fuck my cum back into your wife."

Bucky all but scrambles over to you, ridding himself of his pants in the process before carefully turning you over onto your back and sinking into you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, your lips finding his in a familiar dance.

"I won't last, doll," he confesses. "Don't need you to," you promise with a smile. A second later Bucky’s hips stutter, his orgasm causing him to cry out against your shoulder. It lasts longer than usual and brings a wide smile to your lips, knowing Bucky's fantasy is fulfilled.

When he's done he collapses on top of you, his weight heavy but welcoming, making you feel safe and loved. A moment later you look over at the armchair, expecting to find Steve, but he’s not there. His clothes are gone too and then you hear the door to the hotel room shut.

***

The anxiety in Bucky's chest grows for every dial tone that sounds and Steve doesn't pick up. The whole weekend he’s tried to get a hold of him but he hasn't answered his phone or been seen at the compound. Bucky sent hundreds of texts, all being delivered but none replied to. There is a hole in his chest where his best friend used to live and it feels like he's getting a glimpse into how it was for Steve to find him and lose him over and over again.

Bucky wanders into the exhibition, eyes searching for Steve. This is the last place on his list of where he could be. After this, he's out of ideas. Then Steve might as well have gone to outer space and Bucky shudders at the thought of searching aimlessly through the galaxies for him. But he would do it.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a familiar back. As Bucky steps up beside him, Steve’s shoulders go stiff. "You left," Bucky states. "I know," Steve responds, looking down.

"Why? We agreed to talk afterward to make sure everyone was feeling okay. It's called aftercare for a reason." "I don't know, just seeing the two of you. You love each other so much." "We do. But we love you too."

Steve huffs at that and Bucky's eyebrows draw together. "Am I going to have to beat it out of you, punk?" "Maybe this conversation is better somewhere else," Steve suggests, glancing around. "How about we go to our place? She's worried sick about you." Steve nods and together they leave the museum.

***

You’re going to wear a hole into the floor with your endless pacing. Over and over again you replay the moments after hearing the door shut. The look on Bucky’s face. The scramble to find clothes and run after Steve. Not finding him anywhere. Both of you frantically calling him over and over again.

Then you hear Bucky's truck. And a motorcycle. Your bare feet start running before you know it and you fling the door open to see Steve get off his bike. A heartbeat later you're running across the lawn. He sees you and he’s confused, but when you jump into his arms he catches you without hesitation.

You want to scream and beat him but instead, you cling to him. Bucky says something but you can't hear it and then you feel Steve start heading towards the house.

"Doll, you have to let go," Bucky's soft voice says as Steve sits on the couch. In response, you shake your head like a petulant child. "Yes, you do, come on," It's a little sterner now. "Honey, I'm not disappearing again. I promise." Only then do you slide to the side so you're sitting next to Steve, Bucky on the other side of him.

"We're very sorry we got you into this Steve," Bucky begins right away. "It was supposed to be a fun night for all of us." Finding Steve’s hand you squeeze it to let him know you agree with what Bucky's saying. "We never wanted to hurt you," you whisper.

There is a long beat of silence and you're about to speak again but Steve says, "It's my fault that I wasn't honest with the two of you." His eyes are downcast and he brings your hand into his lap, then grabs Bucky's too. "I should have said something earlier but I was scared."

"Of what Stevie?" you ask softly. "We want you to be happy, you can tell us anything." Steve snorts, weaving all your fingers together. "Scared to tell my best friend and his lovely wife that I care for them more than I should. That when I can't sleep, I wish I could feel their warm bodies beside me. That every time I see them kiss, smile, and be utterly happy together I'm both jealous and delighted. I want the two of you to have a good life. But I also want to be a part of that life, more than just as a friend."

The confession knocks the air from your lungs and you share a look with Bucky. He speaks first. "Steve, I had no idea." "That's kind of the point." "And when I suggested that you join us…" Bucky trails off. "I saw it as the only opportunity to be with the two of you, even if it was just for one night." "And when we were done…" You try to think of it from Steve's perspective. "The way you love each other is so evident. I'll never be able to fit into that. Everything just felt wrong and that I was an intruder. So I left. I know I shouldn't have but I was so disgusted with myself I couldn't stand it."

"Oh Stevie," you lean into his side. Never in a million years could you have predicted this. "I understand if you're feeling like you never want to see me again and I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”

"Hey, Steve, listen." Bucky untangles your hands to grip Steve's face and turn it towards him. "We have talked about a lot of things throughout our marriage. We both agree that even if we're not actively looking for someone else, if someone would come along one day that we both feel would complete us, then we would pursue that person and ask if that's something they're interested in. Apparently, we've both been blind because that person has been right in front of us this whole time."

As soon as Bucky says the words you know they are true. If this weekend has proved anything it is that you and Bucky love Steve just as much as you love each other.

The look on Steve's face says he doesn't believe it. "You've already kissed my wife. Can I kiss you, Steve?"

The disbelief is still evident but he nods and Bucky slowly leans in. Steve's eyelids flutter shut the moment their lips meet and you watch as your husband and his best friend find something new in each other. Steve's free hand comes up and grips Bucky's neck, at the same time and he squeezes your hand. Their kiss is slow and sensual, containing emotions that have been locked away for years. It's beautiful to watch.

As they break apart a blush rises in Steve's cheeks and a smile cracks his face. Bucky grins back at him in answer. Everything isn't solved or worked out but now the ground under you feels more stable to stand on and you know that together with these two men there is nothing the world can't throw at you that you won't be able to handle.

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 005 ! big balls and lots of courage

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note this is my redemption arc after last ep🔥 ps thank u guys for all the encouragement/motivation on the last update, i actually feel so much better today

previous <> masterlist <> next

it had already been a month since your first day as music bank mc’s, and the two of you have grown so much since then. you often felt more confident when reading the script, and were able to feel more comfortable together, despite already having the chemistry from the start.

today, riki was just finishing up, thanking kard for coming onto the show before making his way towards you backstage.

“today was so exhausting.” he sighed, setting down his mic and script sheets next to yours.

“good job today. you guys are so overworked with your promotions, but when we’re on mubank, you never let that show.” you point out. “i’m gonna go get changed, but i’ll see you next week?”

riki watched you walk away from him, going closer toward the dressing room. he paused as he debated on whether or not he should act out on his thoughts.

“fuck it..” he cursed under his breath. he had been building up the courage for the last 2 weeks to ask you for your number. there were so many missed opportunities, but he decided, today would be the day.

“y/n!” he called out, before running up towards you.

you both stood in the middle of the hallway, right in front of the door of your dressing room.

“yes riki?” you asked with slightly widened eyes.

“can i.. do you think i could.. uhm- sorry. by any chance, could i get your number?” he asked nervously, breaking eye contact as he began to play with the silver rings on his fingers.

“why do you need it?” you played dumb, tilting your head in faux confusion.

“oh? just for uh, you know. communicating schedules and so we could go over scripts together. just so it’s easier to uh, communicate.”

“hm? you could just come to our dorm you know. we live in the same building after all.”

riki pouted. “y/n! why are you doing this?” he whined, running a hand through his hair.

“i’m just teasing, baby. here, give me your phone.” you laughed.

he watched you intently as you dialed in your number, before pressing the green call button. “now i have your number too. we can text each other whenever we want.” you smiled, before opening the door to your dressing room.

“wait, y/n?” “yes, riki?”

you held the door open with one hand, keeping your other arm to your side. he stared into your face with a doe gaze without even realizing. riki’s eyes held a warm expression, with a slight glimmer visible in them.

“nothing. see you at the dorms.” he smiled before licking his lips.

carefully, you stepped forward to go closer to him. so close, you could feel his breath against yours. riki’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt you come closer, but it was much to his surprise when you turned the other way.

“huh?” his skin turned red as you reached up to cup his face. you pressed a soft kiss onto his left cheek, before pulling away.

“goodnight riki.” you grinned at the boy in front of you for a final time, before closing the door. he stayed in front of your dressing room for a few moments, before walking away to return to his own.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

I want to know if you can do a omegaverse fanfict of alpha Archie Andrews X Omega male reader where the reader is a single dad of twin boys from a previous Alpha that left him. Who after his sons were born him and his family moved to Riverdale to start a new start. Quickly he people in Riverdale begin to realize he is the father of his twin Sons who got mixed reactions but he doesn't really care because all he cares about are his own children their safety thinking that he doesn't need a another Alpha in his life until he come across Archie. Who Archie surprisingly falls in love with the Omega reader loving how he takes care of his sons always imagining him as his mate but never know how to ask him until one day the reader was stressed since he has no way to pick up his sons from daycare because of the bad weather that day and his parents are out doing business as Archie realized and decide to help him giving him a ride to the preschool and help him pick up his sons who after that day it become a daily thing where the two will pick up the reader's sons and do something fun together. After a couple of weeks Archie finally asked the reader out who the reader accepted knowing that his sons love Archie so the sign to give it a shot. After some months they become official as everything was going well until the alpha that fathers the reader's Sons finally showed up causing trouble who Archie stands up for the reader which caused a fight between the two Alphas which cause both of them to go into the hospital. As the reader apologized to Archie that he bring him into this mess who Archie Comforts him telling him that he doesn't care as long as him and his sons are safe and that he would do anything for them. ( sorry for the long request)

Fresh start

Pairing : Alpha Archie Andrews x Omega Male reader Tags : Omega verse, Past implied Mpreg, Single parent reader Word count :1086

Authors Note : So sorry for the late reply, i tried my best but i have really bad writer block when it came to this one, if you would like a part two which includes the rest of you request, just let me know and I'll try to do it.

Riverdale was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance for Y/N to leave behind the painful memories of the past. After his Alpha ex left him and their twin boys, he packed up their lives and moved to this small town, hoping to find peace and a semblance of normalcy. The twin boys, Jasper and Leo, were everything to him—two tiny bundles of joy with laughter that could light up even the darkest of days.

The first few weeks in Riverdale were a whirlwind of unpacking boxes and trying to establish a routine. Y/N threw himself into being the best father he could be. He enrolled the boys in day-care, joined the local parents’ group, and tried to get to know the other families. While many of the neighbours extended warm welcomes, it was a small town, and secrets had a funny way of spilling out.

Some residents recognized Y/N as the single dad of twins, and the messages came from all sides. Curiosity swirled through Riverdale like a constant breeze, accompanied by mixed reactions. While most were supportive, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the prying eyes of judgement. But in those moments of vulnerability, he held fast to what mattered most: Jasper and Leo.

Looking after the boys kept Y/N busy. But after a long day, the exhaustion often settled heavily in his bones. The thought of allowing another Alpha into their lives felt daunting. He had loved before—deeply and completely—but had been left alone to weather the storm of single parenthood. Now, he was determined to focus solely on his sons’ happiness and welfare.

Then came Archie Andrews.

With his charming smile and infectious enthusiasm, Archie quickly became a fixture in the lives of those in Riverdale. Y/N first noticed him during a community event—Archie was leading a music class for kids. Jasper and Leo's eyes sparkled with joy, captivated by the way Archie interacted with them and the other children. The warmth that radiated from Archie was palpable, and Y/N felt a flicker of admiration he hadn't anticipated.

As the weeks rolled on and the seasons began to shift toward colder weather, Y/N found himself drawing closer to Archie in unexpected ways. They had crossed paths at the day-care more often than not, and each time, Archie made an effort to engage with Y/N and the boys. It was innocent at first—a smile here, a shared laugh there—yet it quickly blossomed into something more profound.

However, one fateful day figured to challenge Y/N’s outlook on life in Riverdale.

The weather turned unexpectedly nasty. Clouds rolled in, and soon rain pelted the streets like marbles dropped on concrete. Y/N found himself fretting about the condition of the roads. He had no car, and his parents were out of town for business. The thought of walking in this downpour to pick up Jasper and Leo from day-care felt impossibly daunting.

As he paced his apartment, a faint knock at the door interrupted his spiralling thoughts. When he opened it, the sight of Archie standing there, drenched from head to toe, sent confusion rushing through him.

“Y/N!” Archie exclaimed, shaking off the rain like a soggy puppy. “I saw the weather forecast and came to see if you needed help. I can drive you to pick up your boys!”

Y/N hesitated, torn between feeling grateful and the constant reminder of his reluctance to allow anyone into their lives. Did he really want to rely on someone else again? But as he saw the genuine concern in Archie’s eyes, he felt the weight of his pride battling the reality of the situation.

“Um, yeah… that would be great. Thank you,” Y/N replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

The car ride was both tense and comforting. Y/N’s heart raced despite the ease of the conversation. They chatted about Riverdale’s quirks and local hangouts, but Y/N found it hard to ignore the way Archie’s casual glances made his stomach flip. It felt strangely wonderful.

When they arrived at the day-care, the sight of Jasper and Leo running to greet him was worth the world. With Archie by his side, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of delight as the boys excitedly recognized their new friend.

After picking them up, a spontaneous idea struck Y/N. “Would you like to come back to our place for some snacks? I could really use the company—and I’m sure the boys won’t complain,” he suggested, half-embarrassed.

Archie’s grin widened, and how could Y/N have known a simple invitation could change everything?

As weeks turned into a routine, the boys grew to adore Archie, and Y/N found solace in their little family growing closer. Each day meant picking up the boys and spending quality time together, whether it was building fortresses made of blankets or biking down the nearby trails.

Yet beneath that camaraderie blossomed something stirring in Y/N’s heart. The more time he spent with Archie, the more he realized how he had begun to imagine a future where they could be more than just friends. He saw in Archie a gentleness and strength that beckoned to him, softening the barriers he had built over the years.

Finally, weeks turned into a couple of months, and one sunny afternoon while Jasper and Leo played in the backyard, Archie mustered the courage to approach Y/N. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he started, clearing his throat.

Y/N, cautious but curious, waited for the words that would surely change everything.

“Would you like to go out with me? Just us? A date?” he blurted out, a hint of apprehension ghosting over his expression.

Y/N’s heart thundered in his chest, and a smile spread across his face—a smile filled with warmth and hope. The boys were playing nearby, oblivious to the moment that was unfolding between their father and the Alpha who had quickly carved a place in their lives.

“Yes,” Y/N answered, his voice barely above a whisper tinged with disbelief. “I’d love that.”

Days turned to weeks, and soon they were officially together. It felt right, bringing the boys along for “family days” where laughter and joy filled their small home. The connection between them deepened, fortifying Y/N’s belief that perhaps he could trust again, and that maybe Riverdale was not just a place for new beginnings, but for new chances at love.

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi! Because someone just asked me, I'd love you hear your Top 5 favourite McLennon fics!

You made my day! Nothing could have made me happier than this ask.

I'm not going to evade your question. I will post my top-five, even though it hurts to choose. But you inspired me to finally write a longer (okay: very long) post about some (not nearly all!) of my favorites, which will be under the cut.

(Sorry for not knowing every writer's tumblr, by the way. Please feel free to let me know, so I can tag authors where appropriate. Thank you!)

My Top 5:

MIRACLE WORKER by @scurator. What can I say. Every time I need my heart broken and to feel an inkling of what grace truly means, I go to this masterpiece about Paul and Robert Fraser finding each other again at Cavendish in 1981.

COAST STARLIGHT by bookofapril is "Miracle Worker's" cosmic twin. The sun to its night. Paul and Robert Fraser on Fire Island in 1974. Nothing I can say will do it justice, so I won't try. This is the "other world" conjured in "Tug of War," so powerfully and joyfully imagined, it's real. (I'm always thinking of this story, but I did so extra hard when I came across a prompt recently: 'They aren't each other's first love, but they're each other's true love'.)

SAME AS IT EVER WAS by RedheadAmongWolves. My favorite Outsider's POV. An ageing newsstand owner from Liverpool remembers John and Paul as boys and young men. There's something magical about the relationship coming alive in these glimpses. A story filled with tenderness that reminds me to always look closely.

AN ORGASM OF SOUND by @pauls1967moustache. The insanity of John and Paul in 1967 got the tribute it deserves. I sleep easier since I read this story. It feels cosmically right that it exists.

PLANT A SEED by @eveepe. Paul in his slutty sailor outfit in Miami. He and John are into each other, and happy, and fuck slowly. Afterwards, Paul has an idea for a new song. That's it. Tender, glorious, hot perfection. Apply at least once a week for best results.

For more thoughts about some of my favorite stories, sorted into very much defined-ad-hoc categories, read under the cut.

Young Love:

I love the myth of their first meeting, and stories that speculate about the sexually loaded creative fireworks/gritty jealousies/tentative hand-holding/topping and tailing during the first years. Here are some faves:

Paul finds music, and John, and his life is changing. In STREETS OF OUR TOWN (@with-eyes-closed) you can taste the upheaval and promise of first love and growing up. Deeply sensual, even without on-page sex. The shaky, sweet, and all-consuming fire of John and Paul’s first kiss is immortalized in ALL I KNOW SINCE YESTERDAY (RedheadAmongWolves). In NON NOBIS SOLUM (@downtothe-lastdrop), art student John simply has to know how far grammar school boy Paul will go to please him. But Paul matches him play-by-play. In THE CAST IRON SHORE (@m1ssunderstanding) Paul earns extra money through music and sex. John finds out. They fall in love, and hide their mutual pining behind transactions—but in the end, they man up to pair up, and get their band back on track. (The first part is finished; I can’t wait for part 2.) John and Paul’s ’61 trip to Paris has been honored in fiction many times; WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG THEY ASSUME YOU KNOW NOTHING (@lilypadd23) is a slow-burning, blessedly long story that blossoms sweetly. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT is the concept by which Paul measures both his pining for John and their deeply satisfying (but surely not really queer?!) sex life. Perfectly realized Paul POV by @merseydreams. Finally: I NEED YOU DARLIN’ (verse) (by @beatlessideblog) would have fit many categories, but I put it here, because in the end, it’s about young John and Paul becoming friends, making music, having sex, and falling in love. No more, no less. Embedded in a late 50’s/early 60's Liverpool omegaverse in which there's a place for their bond. But, surprise (?!): It’s still complicated. I can’t overstate how charming and satisfying and funny and hot this work is.

Old John and Paul:

Is there anything as lovely as imagining John and Paul growing old together?

In HERE TODAY (@herspecialagent), John and Paul found happiness with each other in Scotland. On 8th December 1980, they invite friends for a party, and fight an inexplicable sense of doom. A reminder that our other lives can be closer than we think, and to keep our loved ones even closer.

GROW OLD WITH ME (@inherownwr1te): Old farmers and husbands John and Paul enjoy domestic bliss, deal with a broken arm, and make sweet love.

HAVING COFFEE (@feathersandblue): John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “one of the most iconic gay couples in history,” look back on their early love, the Beatles, and being outed in the 80’s, in this oh-so-glamourous, well-written 2020 portrait…

Magical re-tellings of J/P and/or the Beatles Story:

No matter where you come down on the blessed vs. cursed continuum—they were living through something magical.

In KISSING THE BLARNEY (@zilabee) the Beatles draw love and music from kissing Paul, and each other, until the stupid world interferes. But fear not, all ends well. How to tell the truth through whimsy: this story demonstrates it.

In WE ARE ALL TOGETHER (also by @zilabee), John and Paul switch bodies. It helps.

I WAS A YOUNGER MAN NOW (THEN) (POST HOC) BY @fingersfallingupwards: Paul is a time traveler and braids his life together with John’s, out of order, through the years. And yes, they do grow old together—but not without losing each other first. I’m in awe of this story.

A darker time-traveling story is A MATTER OF TIME (D12Fan), in which John and Paul love each other, over and over, and never manage to make it work—but Paul won’t give up.

FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED (@downtothe-lastdrop): The misery of the 'Get Back' sessions and memory-stunting technology imported from “Severance” are not enough to kill off John and Paul’s attraction and longing for each other. Again, this is basically what happened, so.

John and Paul without the Beatles?

Yes, please! Sometimes, the best way to dissect and celebrate (and fix?) this mesmerizing and exasperating partnership is to lift it from its context and drop it elsewhere. Anything goes.

WHATEVER FATE DECREES by @dailyhowl: A gorgeous, finely spun, securely handled, self-contained vision of how John and Paul could have worked as artists in love, without a band to 'legitimize' and constrain their bond. I love this homage to their deep and complicated love that needed trust and breathing room.

1967 by @walkuntilthedaylight: What if John and Paul had gone to Spain together and not come back? This story not only explores their relationship layer by layer, it also dives into the the feelings of those who knew them 'before' and who now meet them again, as a couple. A fascinating alternate history. Not a fluffy one.

TOMORROW I'LL MISS YOU (@pauls1967moustache): Paul abandons John in Hamburg—or John stays behind without bothering to write, depending on who you ask. This "Before Sunset"—AU reunites them, years later. They ride a bus and write a song, and the love and tension are sweet and painful.

DOUBLE FANTASY (by @javelinbk): Modern AU in which John and Paul meet at John's flower shop and manage to ignore and creatively re-interpret their feelings for one another for a surprising amount of time, before fate has mercy. I love how their sweet, well-matched eccentricity makes the world a warmer place for both of them.

WE ARE STARDUST (Unchained_Daisychain): AU. John and Paul meet at Woodstock, fall hard and fast for each other, and have to decide what to do with it: Paul's life is back home in England...except...

Angst, darkness, and courage:

Pain, fear, grief, and other dark emotions are part of the real J/P story, so it makes sense to honor and harvest them in fiction. One of my favorite brands of McLennon angst is the one triggered by their feelings for each other, and the thing they become once they're together™. When they're scared of how much they need each other, and of what will happen next.

ONE AND ONE AND ONE IS THREE and MANAGING EXPECTATIONS (both by @pauls1967moustache), for instance. The first is a terrifying threesome with Yoko (at John's instigation, of course), in which trust is never rewarded and sex resolves nothing. The second is Paul wondering, in thoughts both messy and crystal clear, whether he exists independently of John. He turns to Brian for answers. They fuck. It feels like a human thing compared to what is going on in Paul's mind. Just astounding.

SUNDAY DRIVER (@boshemians) dives into the theme of Paul and John being afraid of themselves in the aftermath of Paul's accident (moped, sexual) with Tara Browne. This one, like "Managing Expectations," ends on a lovely grace note.

MACABRE (@dovetailjoints). Lennon and McCartney go too far.

OPEN HEART (@paisanas). Paul drinks John's blood. John lets him. But Paul starts to hate himself for how much he needs John, which John feels as rejection. I love how this story ends on Paul embracing his need. You can see the painful, bare bones of their malnourished love under the lush sensuality of the vampire sex. Raw and rich.

SILENCE (@ohjohnnysblog). Short and piercing. If there is someone you love—tell them. Don't wait.

THE LATE, GREAT JOHNNY ACE (@midchelle). Reeling with grief, Paul is recording an album in 1981. George and Ringo are there. John is not. But in the end—he is. And they touch. I've always admired Paul's resilience in the face of having to perform or "prove" his love of John in public, and this story showed me, without sugar-coating, where this resilience comes from.

Light, hope, and fixing things:

There is also much lightness and brightness in McLennon, because John and Paul were ridiculous, and horny, and weird. And also: they deserve a laugh. They deserve the fluffiest of happy endings. They deserve high-quality, life-affirming smut. They deserve silly, because silly is what they were. You know their names, look up their number.

1980. John is in BERMUDA (@scurator), Paul visits. Paul comes prepared, John just comes. Sometimes, it can be this simple. This story always leaves me in such a good mood. Paul is the (more) experienced one, and it...really works for me.

GOT TO GET DOWN (@eveepe): In praise of John's obsession with Paul's...precious. His small and perfect prick.

ADVENTURES IN TOTAL HONESTY (@merseydreams). Pithy and sexy, and, I quote from the tags: #Excessive Margarita Mixing.

ANINUT (@pauls1967moustache): The Beatles heal, together and separately, after Brian's death. Once more, I quote the writer: "The Beatles did not follow any of the Jewish mourning traditions, and frankly, they should have."

The unhinged weirdness of the Mad Day Out, with John and Paul escaping and Francie, Yoko and Mal not missing them...much, is rightfully celebrated in one of the insaner stories I read: JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING (@skylikeaflame)

FAIR'S FAIR (@javelinbk): John and Paul are being silly during a press conference, resulting in acute arousal requiring John's skilled intervention. I love the unexpected care and tenderness in this one!

WHERE THE POETS WENT (RedheadAmongWolves): Tender and enchanted story in which Paul and John go to a bookstore, where they're not as famous as everywhere else. As delicate as the chiming doorbells and the pages murmuring around them.

TAKEN AWAY (@crumblingcookies) Extraterrestrial Intelligence intervenes to reunite John and Paul.

CAN I TAKE MY FRIEND TO BED? (manhattanvalleys). Paul fucks the band in sequence and gets off in the end, as is his due. This is a story like Prince's KISS. No filler, all effect.

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY (@ohjohnnysblog). Warm and nostalgic phone sex in the 70's.

KEEP THE LIGHT WE'RE GIVEN (@backbenttulips). Amidst the rise of Beatlemania, Paul and John expect their first child. This is Paul's 1962 diary.

More Outsider POV's:

STILL MATES (@pauls1967moustache): in 1968, Peter Asher takes the leap to act on his feelings for his sister's spiraling ex fiancé. This isn't about Paul as much as about Peter, and who he wants to be. Gutting character study. It made me love Peter.

ANOTHER GIRL (@boshemians): Astrid reunites with the Beatles during the making of AHDN and registers their words and deeds with the same stark objectivity as her camera. I love how she seeks the shelter of obscurity while they are being dragged into the limelight. But she sees them, wherever they are. J/P in this story feels incredibly real to me.

WHY BUY THE COW (RedheadAmongWolves). The milkman sees everything on his early morning rounds: the arrival of a nice new family, the McCartneys, the mother's illness, the sadness after her death...and the arrival of a new love in the older son's life. He shouldn't approve—should say something, in fact. But a small inner voice holds him back.

SLEEPLESS IN WALES (thinkpink20). Mike overhears Paul and John whisper in bed. He doesn't understand everything they say. I do. Adorable.

Not each other's first love, but each other's true love

THIS YEAR'S FOR ME AND YOU (@skylikeaflame): After a long life, after deep and loving partnerships with other people, John and Paul, encouraged by their grown-up children, finally meet their mutual love head on. A festive story about waiting the perfect amount of time.

THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas): The Beatles are in the past; John and Paul's love is in ashes. Paul, who is fragile and bereft, lives with George, who is content. The four ex-Beatles unite for the second wedding of Mike McCartney. At times, the aching grief in this story is almost unbearable. But the love between George and Paul is unusual and real. This is unfinished. I'll keep waiting for the final chapter.

Beyond J/P

WANT ME WHEN I'M NOT THERE (@backbenttulips): Linda catches Paul cheating on her with John. She divorces him. Finally: a story that puts her most likely reaction front and center, with no mercy for the messed-up geniuses.

In the Rebecca-AU LOVE LIKE GHOSTS (@backbenttulips), Yoko becomes Mrs. Lennon. Soon, she discovers that her husband is haunted by the ghost of his first love. It's pleasing how well this re-telling matches the events as they (alas) (almost) happened. The ending is chilling. Genuinely horrifying. I love seeing Yoko as the sensible one and as the focus of empathy.

THE BASS LESSON (@aquarianshift). Paul and Stu fool around without letting go of their mutual resentment for even a moment. And it works. "Let's never do this again." I don't think so.

TELL ME ALL MY LOVE'S IN VAIN (@midchelle). Forget about quote unquote platonically obsessed male rock stars: This about about Maureen and Patti through the years. The web weaving continues.

SPOTLIGHT ON JOHN AND STU (@dailyhowl) A love story in letters—too brief, like Stu's life, but sounding as if the writer transcribed their dictation. Some of the best descriptions of what it must have been like to play on stage with the Beatles during the mania are in NO I IN THREESOME (@with-eyes-closed). George finds himself in the beam of attention between John and Paul, and nearly loses his mind. But he's determined to stay and become part of them. Paul is daddy and "fucks like music" as seen through George's eyes. The whole story is vicious and hot and uncomfortable—until there's the love and quiet at the eye of the storm.

Not for the faint of heart! WHAT THE CIGGIE CARTON SAW (@waveofhand): Paul McCartney having his way with cigarettes.

This is getting out of hand...but I'll stop here. There are so many more stories I love. And I can think of many other categories that would deserve their own post.

So, who knows: To be continued?

[ladykailitha]

Omegaverse BTS

I was loving people's reactions to the final chapter but wanted to talk a couple of things the name of Steve and Eddie's kid and Tommy Hagan. Because in this 'verse he's so fascinating. Thanks for the comment @eyehartart!

I went back and forth on this so many times you have no idea. At first Dustin (as in Henderson) was their son because the only ones mentioned of the Party are Max and Lucas. So I thought why not be the reason Dustin is never mentioned is because he isn't born yet.

Then when I first started writing the sequel I wanted the whole party at the wedding. And after much thought, their first child is merely named after Dustin and will be explored deeper in the sequel.

Tommy, Carol, and Steve (Nancy and Jonathan, too, just not Corroded Coffin and Chrissy and Jason or Robin) all went to the same high school. All born to rich parents.

It was expected that Carol would be the omega and the two boys would be alphas.

Steve presented first and got tested 24 hours after his first heat. Carol and Tommy commiserating with him being infertile.

Then Carol presents as an alpha, so now everyone expecting Tommy to be an omega as Tommy and Carol are the top couple at school (after Steve and Nancy broke up).

He presents as an omega and then he too is infertile (actually infertile none of the other omegas you meet in the story who are escorts aren't golden omegas, just Steve.)

Carol immediately dumps him and starts sleeping around with fertile omegas.

Also, like Steve's parents Tommy's parents blew up when they found out he was infertile, but they did the golden test. So not only were they "saddled" with a "broken" omega they were out a lot of money too.

Tommy actually wanted to be a wet nurse for the elite, as his tough guy persona was just that, an act. He wanted to go into one of the other nurturing fields but his parents forbade him.

They were going to get their money back from having such a useless son.

They were expecting him to get at least close to Steve's million dollar cherry price, but only got a third that.

His parents were livid again. But they took their money and never looked back.

In the eight or nine years it's been since they were auctioned off, Tommy's parents have never contacted him. They made sure he got into the best schools for the skills he would need as an escort, paying for it out of his bid price. But he's never received so much as a post card from them.

It took him three years to pay off his debt while it only took Steve less than one year.

So despite all the training and everything he got, he was never as popular as Steve.

Resentment grew.

He stayed with Starcourt Services because he had to prove to Carol, to his parents, to the world that he was better than Steve. That if he just had more time, he could beat Steve as one of the top earners at the agency.

It never happened. The wage gap between Steve and Tommy grew with each passing year.

And then the events of the story take place and Tommy does not have a good time.

So when Starcourt washes their hands of him he becomes a teacher.

His first year is tough, but rewarding. Only on the last day Tommy gets told he might not have a job come August. And he just breaks down. A parent of one of his now former pupils comes in because she left her jacket in his class. The parent is a single female alpha whose bondmate died shortly after the birth of their daughter due to complications.

And she just helps him through it. Then over the summer she helps him get a job at another school and they fall in love. Since now he's at different school then her daughter Tommy doesn't feel like a conflict of interest and they bond.

Now that's not to say that all this justifies Tommy's behavior. Because it absolutely doesn't. But I wanted him to find a happier life outside of being an escort as sort of a "this job can chew up and spit out and you still be a person at the end of it all".

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

@wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee

@littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt

@apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr

@ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf

@melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium

@lexirosewrites @lawrencebshoggoth @lingeringmirth

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

What are you fave angsty stories/writers? I love angst, but have a hard time deciding what stories to read!

I always find it difficult to recommend writers as there are so many great writer past and present in the fandom. Plus so many klaine stories have a bit of angst in them.

We do have our angst and blangst tag. So many great stories.

I'd also recommend my other admin Lynne's favorite fics: there's all sorts of fics on there but may are angsty fics.

Also 23 items bookmarked on Klaine fanfic that made you want to reach for a box of tissues, part of our bingo 2023.

Personally, I will name a few, most of these are older fics and come highly recommended in the fandom. These are just a few of mine - people can also recommend in their reblogged tabs, or on the note here. ~Jen

The Awakening by @heartsmadeofbooks

Kurt Hummel has put his perfect life together carefully, making sure all the pieces fit exactly how he wanted them to. But all it takes is one name from his past to make all his hard work go to waste - Blaine Anderson

~~~~~

100 Days by borogroves

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.

~~~~~

Perfectly Imperfect by @catcat-85

Golden Globe winning actor, Blaine Anderson went to prison for a murder he did not commit. After 5 long years, he has escaped from prison, and in a desperate need to get to a safe house before he can leave the country; he kidnaps Kurt, and forced him to drive him to a secluded cabin nestled in between the snowy mountains in Vermont. For Blaine, it’s his last chance for freedom. Falling in love is the last thing on Blaine’s mind. It’s not part of the plan. And for Kurt, it’s a terrifying situation that disrupts the impeccably perfect life he has created for himself. He’s outraged and angry at Blaine, and yet; he can’t help but believe Blaine is innocent.

Will the truth finally come out and Blaine be exonerated? Will the FBI catch him and put him back in prison? Will he and Kurt fall in love even in the most hopeless situation? Will love truly prevail all at the end?

Based on the novel, Perfect, by Judith McNaught. This is a story about two men who are complete opposites from one another; and yet, they complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way.

~~~~~

Chrysalis ‘verse by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

~~~~~

Foundations by gentlereader

After breaking up Kurt and Blaine went their separate ways.

Blaine’s now a successful LA musician while Kurt is a high school counselor.

The creation of the Pavarotti Music Foundation was their dream… and now its a reality.

~~~~~

No Take backs by @rockitmans

Prompt: A year after this father’s death, Kurt is still reeling from the loss. In an attempt to keep holiday traditions going, despite his father’s absence, Kurt meets a guy at a local Christmas Tree Lot who helps him through.

~~~~~

About us by wildhurricane

 It’s an ordinary summer day at the diner where Kurt works, when a new guest enters. He’s hot and flirty and orders coffee and fries, and Kurt. Kurt is instantly attracted and flirts back. When the guy waits for Kurt outside the diner, Kurt decides to go with him for a moment of pleasure. But there’s a spark between them that neither anticipated. Soon Kurt finds out that the guy isn’t who he claims to be and that he’s got other secrets as well. He’s mysterious and exciting and Kurt is falling for him hard and fast, but when the secrets are revealed Kurt finds himself between love and aversion and must decide if he should stay and help Blaine out of an impossible situation or leave him and save his own heart.

~~~~

The Symphony Verse by shandyall

Blaine has spent most of his life feeling like the only thing people notice about him is that he stutters. He’s working hard to overcome his (mostly self created) roadblocks when he meets Kurt in an online class the summer after his freshman year of college.

[autumnapricot]

I wholeheartedly do not believe there are enough words to describe what I want to write to you, but I’ll do my best anyway

I started reading will o’ the wisps because I likes the sound of it, even if I’d never read omega verse before and honestly wasn’t the biggest fan. I was wrong. So wrong. I waited so eagerly for each new chapter update, whenever I saw it had updated I would set aside the BEST time in the night so I could read it, the only time I haven’t read this fic after 24hours it was posted, was when I was struggling through an exam season and i let the chapters pile up so I could read them as a reward for finishing.

I have literally been so obsessed with this verse, and when I was doing my regular scroll of the lestappen tag on ao3 and saw that you were going to start a new fic with little moments from their lives I was so excited, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral reaction to a fic before.

I go back for rereads so frequently, even if it’s not the entire thing, I ALWAYS flick back to the jealousy chapter yswtt (the one w Franco), I do think there are certain parts which I could recite word for word.

The amount of time and dedication you’ve put into this work is INSANE, you have written OVER half a million words. I am so grateful you’ve decided to put all this dedication towards the omega!Max movement, because before you we were SEVERELY lacking, and I genuinely think you helped start a revolution for the lestappen dynamics.

Whilst I am too scared to come off of anon, and aside from a few other Tumblr anons, and some occasional Tumblr comments, I have very much been a lurker, which I know does not present my love for the fic in a very easy to read way, but I need you to know that I LOVED IT even if I didn’t say it as much as I should have

You’re writing has literally inspired ME to start, and I desperately try to mimic some of the ways you write in my own works just because I am so in love with everything you do and how you do it

It feels so weird to me that it’s finally over, but I’m sure it’s somewhat of a relief to you to have it all finished and I don’t know if it means that much to you at all, but I’m proud of you for managing to do it and I hope you have a nice deep breath out and a good sleep because WOW.

In short. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOUR WORKS AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

dear anon, this is most definitely one of theee loveliest asks/comments about a fic of mine ever—thank you so, so, so much.

it means the world to know that you enjoyed this work and this universe setting this much! ❤️ i don‘t think i have enough thank you‘s but please do know i absolutely mean it! thank you! 🥰

tbh i myself never anticipated this to end up with such a high word count haha i didn‘t check until like a little a while ago and i was a little shocked myself—even more so that so many of you continued to read all of it! it‘s definitely the longest work of mine to date and probably for at least a while longer lol. it‘s been a bit of a challenge at times, but one that i‘ve always loved regardless. it is quite nice now, tho, haha, mostly because it‘s somehow always been a thought in my mind like a to-do-list being like omg i need to finish this chapter (but i put most of that stress onto myself because i didn‘t want to leave anyone hanging).

i‘m taking a little time off from writing but i‘m already looking forward to work on some other lestappen fic projects in the future! 🫶🏼 (i actually kind of have to force my brain to stop lol because i have been so used to writing or at least thinking about writing pretty much every single day for the past year, so my brain is like „writing! writing! i‘m bored!“ and i‘m like no you shut the fuck up for a few weeks now😂. let the creativity bloom back and have more inspiration gurl)

aw, that is so sweet, i love that you have started to write too! enjoy it, that‘s the most important part about writing! 🥰

i don’t want to take credit for the omega!max movement in fics but i‘m very happy to have provided a little bit to it! omega!max truthers rise 😌

love you anon, take care of yourself too & thank you very much for your sweet words <3333

[birds--daily]

welcome to birds daily!!

this is my blog where i draw a bird every single day! the idea was completely ripped off from one of my best friends of all time, @fish-daily !! please go check him out :0)

my name is sunny and i'm a wildlife biology major and art minor from michigan. i'm 22 years old and i use they/them pronouns!

i'm here because i love birds so much, and i'm assuming if you're following then you do too!!

IMPORTANT INFO BELOW!!

what to know before you request

please check if i've drawn a bird before you request it! if you don't want to scroll through everything, all my birds are tagged by order. don't know the order of your bird? look it up! the IOC world bird list has a great resource for this.

i tag them by name, but some birds have multiple common names.

i also have a spreadsheet of every bird i've done so far! but i can definitely see myself forgetting to update this, so it's best to double check.

any avian dinosaur archaeopteryx-and-beyond can be requested! many ornithologists consider avialae to be the cutoff for "modern" birds.

i can't guarantee full-accuracy of prehistoric birds as i'm not very well-versed in paleontology.

please keep asks to only one bird! feel free to send multiple asks though. if you include multiple birds in an ask i'll just pick one. when i answer the ask to post it, the other birds will be gone forever...

i will prioritize requests in the order i received them in, but a couple times a week i might draw a personal pick instead.

not accepting duplicate birds doesn't mean you can't request a different version of the same bird, which leads me to…

sexual dimorphism and seasonal plumage!

yes! you can request different plumages and sexes of a bird i've already done! want to see a female ruddy duck? of course! want the breeding plumage of the willow ptarmigan? absolutely!

i have sex, maturity, and plumage recorded on my spreadsheet, but i'm bound to make some mistakes on there. once again, double-checking my blog is your best bet to getting accurate bird info!

if you don't specify anything, i'm going to assume the basic mature male with breeding plumage that you come to expect from a bird.

breeding and non-breeding plumage can also be called summer and winter plumage. some birds also have special names for their plumage forms. just to keep things consistent i'll be referring to it as breeding and non-breeding!

final notes

my main blog is @eggpathy if you're interested in any of my other art! i forget to post there a lot. most of my art is on my twitter under the same name (trying to move here though)

i'm a full-time college student with a job, so some days i won't be able to get a bird out. sometimes i might even have to take a few days to a week off just to keep my sanity. this doesn't mean i'm not having fun and enjoying drawing birds! it just means i'm busy and maybe need time for other things

i'm also still human. this means i WILL MAKE MISTAKES! i have not finished my degree yet and i'm still learning! one of the big reasons i made this account was to help myself learn my birds! i take extra time out of my day to find facts to post with my birds, and sometimes those are wrong. if you see me post misinfo, please kindly correct me with a comment, dm, or tag!

any post that isn't a daily bird will be tagged #not birds. any post that is a daily bird will be tagged #birds.

please feel free to add extra fun facts, info, and generally any other silly comment in the tags. i love reading them and they make my day!

asks don't have to be request-related! feel free to ask me anything :0)

thanks for reading! peent!

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 10. Snow Prints

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Christmas Market in Town -> The Lake -> Dashwood Home (Not exactly following cannon, moving the time to winter and the manner Brandon visits the Dashwoods for the first time.)

A/N: I thought we’d take a little tiny break from the serial fics - I do feel I need a breath as it takes way more to write several serials at the same time than one shots (for me) 😂 Also, Brandon seems to be very loved this year, so thought I’d give him some more screen time so to say ����

I have perhaps spent too much time on this fic but it ended up flowing and turning into this 5k piece - anyway, I really hope you’ll have a splendid time reading this! We are nearing the middle of Rickmas2023 and I feel good about having been able to post at a decent time every day so far 😍👏 (Let’s hope I can keep it up all the way through 👀😂)

Tags/TW’s: Instant Infatuation, Forehead Kisses, Hand Holding, Accidental Meeting, Unintentional Invasion Of Emotional Privacy, Self Derogatory Thoughts, Classicism, Nicknames, Mutual Pining, Confessions Of Adoration/Love, Implied Future Marriage, Slighty Sassy OC, Chivalry, Poverty Hints,

Word Count: 5k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Mrs Jennings laughed by a market stand down the busy street, Margaret squeezed my hand and I could not quite keep a smile from spreading across my lips as she giggled up at me. “She never stops, does she?” Margaret asked with that childlike twinkle in her eye. “I’m afraid not, Maggie,” I chuckled. “She means well, but I do think Miss Markle is quite over her matchmaking attempts, as most of us are.” “Well, you are free of it,” Margaret said with happiness, not knowing the knife it twisted within me. “Indeed, lucky me,” I said as happily as I could. Knowing full well she held little interest of pairing lowly me with anyone at all.

I was an orphan, a mere child-tender for the Dashwoods before Mr Dashwood passed and left the family in ruin - in every manner. Now I was a burden on the kind family, allowed to live with them and dine after them in exchange for not only taking care of Margaret but cleaning and tending to every manner of household chore whenever needed, teaching the child to read and write, to interpret texts as well. No pay given, but a roof over my head and food in my stomach. It was more than I could ask for given the circumstances.

“Mellie,” Mrs Dashwood called, “go buy us some mistletoes and meet us at home!” “Right away, ma’am!” I called back, squeezing Margaret’s hand before ushering her toward one of her older sisters. I trodded off, heading down the market street with vendors filling the space and air with shouts of prices and smells of Christmas. I weaved through the crowd, well-versed in not being in the way.

I found the right vendor and purchased the holly for the Dashwoods, laying them atop the bread and carrots in my basket before turning about. My eyes caught sight of a brilliantly red coat with black and golden details. It stood out in the throng of greys, browns, whites and beige clothes, none as brightly coloured — not even the greens and blues, all in muted saturation. A man of the military? My eyes slid upward only for my breath to catch. He was stunning in profile. Older, with slightly peculiar features — like his hooked nose and thin lips — but more handsome than any other man I had ever laid eyes upon. His grave features and remote manner of looking only made his features shine brighter in the afternoon sun which made the snow glisten on the rooftops.

I stood stock still in the middle of the street, a messenger boy ran right into me, knocking my basket out of my hand — breaking the spell I had been under by the man. I hurried to pick up the greenery, the cloth-wrapped bread, and frost-bit carrots, before scurrying away, throwing one final glance back before entering one of many narrow alleys. His eyes appeared to see me for a second before I turned and hurried away from the market. No matter how handsome the man was, or how my heart had stuttered at his appearance, he was no man for me. I was all too aware of it.

I held on tightly to the basket, the day was beautiful and with the bright sun and lack of wind I managed to keep warm. I sped up my steps as I cleared the town’s border, crossing over a field to take a shortcut through the woods beyond; then it would only be a matter of two more fields to cross, a small hill to hike up, and I would be home once more. I didn’t mind walking through the snow, the boots Mrs Jennings had given me upon winters arrival were far too big but allowed for three pairs of socks which kept me plenty warm as long as I moved about. I was thankful for her gift, even if it were only for them being too small for her but too big for anyone else to wear, and with their shafts reaching nearly to my knees no snow slunk within them even if I pulsed through it at the moment.

I reached the woods, feeling a need to look back toward the town where I had seen the handsome man I was sure to never see again. Even if no man ever finds me to his liking I can at the very least allow the oddity of daydreaming of it to keep me happy, should I not have at least that? I squinted against the direct sunlight as it sank, bathing the sky in orange and pink only making the glittering snow look further magical with the twinkling light of lanterns and candles coming from the town. “A military man, perhaps that would be a grand life.” Not that I shall ever know it for real.

I half giggled to myself, enjoying my little daydream where the man in red would smile sweetly at me and marvelled at the quietly spectacular view. It was interrupted when something came barrelling across the field, someone atop a horse riding at the utmost speed with snow spraying about them yet I could not see any details with the last bit of sun glaring me in the eye and turning them into nothing but a shadow.

I thought little of it, many cut across the field to return home, so I turned and kept walking while wondering what voice would belong to the man in red — a commanding one, an assured one, a powerful one. I could not imagine a man who looked like he had to speak in any meek or bright fashion. No, no a most strong voice ought to belong to such a gentleman.

“Miss!” I spun around in haste at the dark rumble of a call that was somehow heard so clearly. “Miss!” the man called again and I raised a hand to cover my eyes from the sun. My heart stuttered as the man in red came barrelling towards me, his giant black steed’s hooves made the snow spray in magical waves of sparkles all around him.

He halted the horse with great skill, going from a gallop to a near-complete halt in a mere two steps. “Miss,” he said again, his voice a rumble which seemed to shake my insides. “Y-yes?” I asked, bowing my head while curtsying deeply. The thud of feet hitting the snow-covered ground rang out and I looked up. He was a head taller than me, his shoulders stiffly held and his back utterly straight. He looked every bit a stoic gentleman as he inclined his head before reaching out his hand, holding a mistletoe.

“Sir, I— What is this?” I asked while looking between the man who made my heart run rampant and the greenery in his glove-clad hand. “You left this behind, miss.” “Oh… oh!” I rummaged around my basket and indeed, there were only seven when there ought to have been eight of them. “Thank you, sir. I apologize for the trouble you went through for such a small thing.” My cheeks nearly seemed to burn as he handed it over while I spoke and then secured the mistletoe under the towel covering the basket.

The man looked at me, his eyes sweet but his features stoic. “It was no bother, miss. I merely followed the snow prints.” But, I left none behind until I reached the field? “I’m grateful for your kindness and effort, sir.” “Colonel Brandon, miss. At your service,” he said and placed his closed fist atop his chest before bowing slightly. “Melinda Merryweather,” I replied, endeavouring to keep my cheeks from burning up under his stare. “Beautiful Honeybee,” he said in a quiet drone and my eyes widened. “Excuse me, sir?” “Oh, no, miss, your name. Melinda, of Latin origin, meaning sweet. Constructed of mel, meaning honeybee, and Linda, meaning beautiful.”

I was not proud of it, but I gawked at the man. He knew more about my name than me myself. I had been aware of the Latin origin but the meaning of it had never been told to me. “My mother did have a fondness for the buzzing creatures, they fill an important role after all.” “Indeed,” the man said, “there would be little in terms of flowers without them.” “Oh, I was referring to food, Colonel Brandon. Flowers are pretty though.” “Their honey?” “No, they pollinate far more than flowers,” I continued, the education I had been given as a child tender to the Dashwoods far beyond any I would have had in another situation. “You are a woman of education.” “Oh, no, sir. I have merely been most lucky as a tender of children for the lovely Dashwood family.”

I did my utmost to speak calmly, but my entire body seemed caught on fire, the flames growing stronger with each second in his company. Talking is not my issue, remaining silent is. I’m certain he sees me as a know-it-all by now. “Luck plays a grand part in life. I admit, it has not been so graceful to me until now.” “Oh? You appear a most lucky man, sir.” “I shall not ruin said image of me for you, Miss Melinda Merryweather.” What to say to such a statement?

I had no need to think of it though, the man bowed and mounted his steed once more. My heart skipped a beat as he turned the horse about. “Thank you again, Colonel Brandon,” I said and he smiled at me, my skin burned and my breath caught as the last sunlight left the world but it seemed all the brighter when he smiled. “I wish you the best, beautiful honeybee,” he said with a sudden softness to his features and put his horse into motion, setting off in a rushed gallop without looking back once while my heart seemed to race at the same pace as the black horse.

Never had I met a man such as him. He was different, in the most sweet and good manner. I ended up watching him gallop back to town, I simply couldn’t make myself leave before he was gone. Strange sensations filled my chest and the heavy basket in my hand suddenly felt light in comparison to the weight of the newness, or, perhaps it was the knowledge a man such as him were not meant for me. For someone like me. A colonel had little business with a child tender turned into some form of a maid and teacher of reading and writing out of the goodness of my employer of many years. As much as warmth for the man bloomed within me, a sense of hopeless longing grew as well.

***

“I’ll only be an hour!” I called toward the little sitting room where Marianne and Elinor sat, one embroidering and one playing on the forte, while I slipped my boots over the many layers of socks I had adorned. I loved Marianne’s music, and voice, not blessed with either skill myself. Books, poetry, and stories lay me far closer to the heart though.

Reading, writing, and weaving stories of my own were my pleasures. My loves. And the past week my poetry had turned longing and somewhat sappy, to be truthful. I needed a moment with nature, to take a breath and rid my heart and mind of the grand colonel who called me a beautiful honeybee before riding off in a swirl of snow.

I wrapped a second scarf over my shoulders and headed out, the weather was splendid but cold. The midday sun had the world in a sparkle, a winter wonderland to adore and enjoy. I took a deep breath of fresh air and set off down the hidden road few carriages traversed. I followed it down the hill and then began my trodding across the field to reach the ice-covered lake where I was sure the most wonderful view where to be seen.

I had no idea how right I was…

As I came over the little hill, a wonderful view indeed sprawled out before me. But nothing could compare to the man standing right by the edge of the snow-covered beach, holding the reins of his large steed in a loose grip. With the sun shining high I could see him most perfectly, even if he wore no red coat I would have known his posture anywhere. The air about him was that of a single kind. I had spent so many words on the man, writing poetry to expel the feelings I had endeavoured to suppress ever since I had managed to tear myself away from the edge of the forest where I had last seen him galloping away in haste.

I stood still, once more stuck looking at the man from a distance without him being aware, and I felt as if all the feelings I had sought to tamper down and rid myself of through poetry took over completely. Let loose by his appearance where I least expected him. Oh, this is not proper! This is lunacy of the acutest kind. The man is a colonel, for goodness sake. I was about to turn around, play the coward, and run away while my heart ran rampant. “Honeybee!” came the loud rumble of the colonel, stopping me in my tracks (not that I’d begun to actually move).

The sound of boots and hooves walking through snow filled the air as he neared. My mind blanked when his soft gaze landed on me and a small smile spread his lips most sweetly. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtsied while hiding my bare hands behind my back. A bit embarrassed I had no gloves to speak of when he wore such fine ones of leather. “What a wonderful surprise,” he said. “What brings you to the lake, miss?” “Oh, umh, well, I was merely out for a walk to— To clear my head a bit, colonel.” “Perhaps a coincidence, I am here for that exact reason. What troubles you, if I may enquire?” You . Not that I could ever admit to such a thing.

“My troubles could not possibly be of any importance to a colonel, sir Brandon.” “I would take great pride in absolving you of any trouble, honeybee.” His voice was honest, his gaze a bit harsher and his voice once more a line rather than a smile, and that nickname set my stomach into an absolute flutter. “Do not tease me, sir.” “Never,” he said while taking a step closer. “I am not a man who would trifle with a beautiful woman,” he continued, taking another step. He was almost too close, yet not close enough.

My fingers fidgeted behind my back, the ends of my scarf swaying lightly in the soft breeze. A gust of wind blew by and my scarf flew off, tumbling along the snow in soft waves. He was off after it before I had a chance to even react. “Colonel!” I called, feeling like a nuisance to the man. “Colonel! Stop! It’s my—” He bent and snagged the thin fabric, holding it up with the sweetest of triumphant smiles before he jogged back. My icy fingers covered my mouth to hide the giggle, or perhaps to cool the heat flushing my face.

“My lady,” he said with a slight bow while holding out my scarf for me. I suffocated the laughter bubbling within me at his theatrics and reached for it. He jolted and grabbed my hand before I could pull away. “No gloves? In this chill?” he asked, concern written all over his handsome face while mine contorted with shame and embarrassment. “Thank you,” I said and wrung my hand free. “For catching it, sir.” I draped it over my shoulders once more but he only tilted his head to study me closer.

“I ought to return,” I said after a moment of silence, a silence far too intense. “They are expecting me at home,” I continued and curtsied swiftly before turning on my heel. “Miss Melinda,” he called, “stay safe!” “I shall, Colonel. I’m quite capable!” I called over my shoulder before waving at him, picking up my pace while leaving deep prints behind which I knew he would not follow this time.

***

It was the tenth of December, another week had passed since I saw the colonel and my little notebook was by now full of poems all revolving around him, around what he made me feel and wished to expel. My silly little heart had no wits about her, my mind just as snagged on his handsomeness — his kindness a lingering torment when there was no world in which I could be anything to such a fine gentleman.

“Mellie,” Margaret whined, “you’ve been writing for hours!” “Huh? Oh, have I really?” “Yes!” she said with a certain oomph to her voice. I merely smiled at her, mustering up the courage to not show her anything at all. “Is there a reason I ought to stop for the moment?” I asked as she leaned on the desk where I had, indeed, been sitting for several hours as lunchtime had arrived. “Mama asked you to fetch a bird for dinner, it’ll be dark if you don’t go soon.” “Oh, oh right! Yes, of course,” I said while shutting my little notebook and standing. “I’ll head out right away.” “But it’s lunchtime, silly goose.” “Well, there will be no goose of any kind, or other bird, if I don’t get a move on, will there?” “I’ll make a sandwich for you,” she said and scurried off with the usual happy spring to her steps. “With cheese and peppers, how you like it!” she called over her shoulder and I smiled at her sweetness.

I was out of the house a few moments later, hurrying towards town once again to get a bird for the family for the evening. Given how cold it was, one could have bought several and just had them in a box outside - they’d keep for weeks if the weather remained. But, again, I was not one to complain about some walking. I was rather fond of being out like that, truth be told. Truth be told, huh? More like give me something to take my mind of the man in a red coat, with a sweet smile, and soft eyes, and— Stop. Just, do not think of him. Simple as that. It was not , however, simple as that.

All the way to town, then through it, and back home again, I thought of the man. When I went down the hill to the house he was really the only thing I thought of at all. The fact I managed to keep my wits about me enough to see snow prints of male shoes unlike any other prints was a miracle. As the Dashwoods had company, obviously of the male kind, I walked around back and took the small servant entrance almost straight into the kitchen.

“Cook, here, I found a fantastic goose for dinner. It’s missing half a wing but the butcher gave me a great price for it.” “My, my, my, that is a good bird,” Cook replied as I held the naked goose up. Plucked and ready for cooking. She grabbed it and my cold fingers flexed with an ache to them. The thing was heavy and with the evening chill I struggled to get my blood flowing again for a moment while undressing my outside clothes only to put on a new scarf over my shoulders and thicker slippers on my feet rather than the boots and tripple socks.

“Here,” Cook said and handed me a tray of tee with some biscuits on a plate. Four cups on it, but it was the pretty china so the fourth one certainly wasn’t for me and Margaret didn’t drink tea. “Who’s visiting?” I asked. “Oh, some upstanding man, the boring type if you ask me. Tense looking. Too old for any of the Dashwoods too, no idea why the lady entertains him for so long.” “Long?” “He’s been ‘ere since one, came right after lunchtime.” “Well, perhaps he fancies one of them, or one of them fancies him. Is he rich?” “Very much so, Mellie.” “Well, there you have it then, Mrs Dashwood couldn’t send a rich man away — no matter his looks or age when she has two daughters she needs to wed.” “Indeed, but we both know the lady cares too much about what her daughters want to ever force a marriage.” “True, maybe she can force a marriage with a rich man upon me?” I laughed, both cook and I perfectly aware I wished for no such thing and nor would it ever happen either. No, love would be my biggest reason for marriage — riches were good, but love far outweighed it in every way.

As I came closer to the parlour I heard Marianne speak, asking whoever was visiting to read another. I didn’t know what she referred to but I gently pushed open the door, not making a sound as I backed in to not wobble the tray. “Snow prints—” My heart stopped in my chest. “—were followed, a path—” My fingers trembled. “—he ought not have taken. She was below—” The tray clattered to the floor, the china breaking and shards scattering all over the floor as I heard Colonel Brandon read my poetry, about him !

“Mellie, goodness me, are you alright?” said Mrs Dashwood with a shriek. I slowly turned, seeing the man who I had written those words for staring at me with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, Marianne sat far too close to him. He was a captivating reader, I could not fault her for her investment, yet my heart ached at the sight of the two.

“I— That’s—” “I gave it to him,” Margaret said with a beaming smile. “You write so well, Mellie!” she kept going and Colonel Brandon looked between me and the notebook containing my most inner thoughts in his hands. His eyes turned wider, his face paled and I felt my insides twist as he stared at me again.

Tears stung my eyes, the shame and embarrassment, the hurt and fear, the ache in my chest at the betrayal of the child I thought so highly of. “Excuse me,” I blurted out before bolting out the door, not staying to clean up the mess. “Mellie!” called Mrs Dashwood. “Mellie, what—” called Marianne with confusion in her tone but I was out of earshot for her sweet, clear voice. Such a contrast to the Colonel’s, so perfectly matched.

I ran out through the kitchen entrance, past Cook who prepared the infernal bird, and out into the snow lit up by the climbing moon as early evening had arrived. “Honeybee!” came the voice I dreaded to hear. “Stop, please!” he called and I stopped, my hand on the gate at the end of the backyard and my slipper-clad feet deeply buried in the white coldness below.

His running steps reached me, and the crunching of snow and slightly panted breaths filled my ears. Warmth wrapped around my shoulders as he hung his coat over me and I spun around in shock at the action. He was stood in only his vest and shirt, the biting wind tossed about his beautiful hair but all I really saw were the sweet, kind eyes staring at me.

“I never knew,” he said quietly while taking a step back. “Knew what?” I asked, attempting to not inhale deeply as his scent wafted up my nose. The perfect scent, the warmest and most comforting of scents. “That is was your beautiful poetry I was reading, the child gave it to me, asked for me to read something out of it. I thought it belonged to one of the ladies present in the room — and they did not object,” he said while looking most forlorn, nearly distressed. “I was not even aware you resided with the Dashwood household.” “I have for many years,” I said. “Marianne will be a perfect match for you,” I continued while thinking of their voices, the way she sat right beside him on the sofa.

Colonel Brandon stepped closer. “I have already found my match,” he said. “I asked you not to tease me, sir. And you said not to be a gentlemen who trifled with women.” “And I have not,” he said, his eyes hardening while coming far too close, forcing me to look up at him. It was all in my head… Only in my heart, not his. Perhaps, perhaps he is merely a most kind man? I have little experience with those.

“Honeybee,” he said, snagging my attention anew. “I have not, and will not, trifle with you, tease you. I am too old for games and life far too dark as is for me to make it any worse.” “Sir!” “I speak true,” he declared. “A gentleman such as you ought to be more aware of your own handsomeness.” He blanched at that, blinking at me before a timid smile stretched his lips in a manner that looked as if he were unable to control it.

“You find me handsome?” “What woman in their right mind would not?” “Oh, I do believe you may be a woman of singular taste, honeybee.” I gasped, gaping at him. “I beg your pardon? Are you accusing me of something?” “I am not a favourable option for most beautiful women, such as yourself. I am well aware of it. My riches perhaps an aid in seeing past it, or my standing in society.” I gasped anew, a mixture of an exhale and a laugh of disbelief.

“You are terrible, sir. You may wish to know I had no idea who you were until you introduced yourself, even then, I am new to this part of the county and have had little to do with the upstanding citize n so I am not aware of your riches. I do recognize the bravery and skill you possess to climb up the ranks, but any silly nilly knows such things,” I said with both hurt and irritation at the man who twisted my insides with warmth and want. “I apologize, miss,” he said, his face held in some sort of shame at the assumption he’d held of me perhaps. “No need, I am but a servant of no importance or value.” “What a foul thing to say…” “Truth is sometimes.”

Time stretched on while we stood in silence, simply looking at each other. “Miss Melinda, your poetry,” he began while looking at me with something I could only describe as respect, perhaps even admiration, “it is most beautiful, passionate, deep .” The change of subject threw me for a loop, a man such as him ought to hold no admiration of any kind for a woman such as I. “Like your voice,” I whispered before I could stop myself. I had thought of hearing my words in his voice, there was no way not to when his voice was such perfection. He chuckled. “My voice is to your liking?” “Everything about you is to my liking, as far as I’m aware. Sir .” I couldn’t help the sass, or the way my face had hardened while my insides were in an uproar over the man. I had to protect myself from the rejection that was sure to come despite his sweet words. It was only a matter of time, surely.

Yet, it did not.

His hands cupped my face, the gesture most intimate and highly improper. “If you are ever made aware of a trait of mine that is not to your liking, I will be very much obliged to correct it, to your liking, honeybee.” “W-What do you mean?” I asked, my breath tumbling out in a shuttering way. “Would you object to me?” My eyes widened while his finger stroked my cheek. “Object to you? Sir?” “I am beyond happy I caught a glimpse of you, heard the vendor call for you about the holly, and found your prints at the edge of town. I rode around quite manically to find you, you know. Following those snow prints, it was the best decision I have ever made.” “Colonel… Stop, we cannot, it’s not proper.” “Propriety can take flight and be on its merry way, honeybee. I have my heart set on you, my beautiful honeybee who writes the most captivating of poetry and smiles with nothing but honesty in her eyes. I have my heart set on you, Melinda Merryweather.” “It was about you…” I whispered while my skin burned under his touch. “Me?” “Yes… For weeks now, I’ve tried all I can to rid myself of these feelings and thoughts…”

Brandon viewed me with a mixture of torment and joy, I chuckled nervously while he released my face and grasped my hands. His coat slid off my shoulders as he tugged me closer — gently — and the cold December air wrapped itself around me. “Would you allow said feelings to grow? Fester? Become an irrevocable part of you?” “Colonel…” “I am already lost to you, honeybee. Allow me the chance to make you happy,” he asked kindly, his hummingly dark voice nothing but an endless promise of said happiness. “Yes. Yes, please,” I whispered as tears of relief and joy wetted my cheeks. “Honeybee… Beautiful Melinda… My Melinda,” he said before he leaned in and kissed my forehead with force, his thin lips perfectly warm against my chilled skin. “You shall not regret this, I promise you my all.”

We leaned back, my heart was aflutter and my stomach a warm ball of knots, and I could not help but smile at the sweet gentleman who had captivated my heart so easily. “I fear any regret I may have will be only a reflection of your own, Colonel.” “Christopher,” he corrected. “My name, is Christopher, honeybee.” “Christopher.” “How sweet a sound you make it. I shall wish to hear it every day for the rest of my life.” I only nodded at that, too stunned to speak when he so brazenly declared I was to be his for all time to come. I held no objections to that as his hands squeezed mine with warmth, his kind eyes a balm to my soul and his smile a thing of beauty far beyond the sparkling snow all around us…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh how I hope you enjoyed this One Shot with our dear Brandon 🥰 I had so much fun writing this, and it did indeed turn out to be far longer than I had planned but I enjoyed each word I wrote of this 😍👏

IMPORTANT: Tomorrow I’ll be picking up a story from Rickmas2022! You do not have to read it before reading this years parts, but I do recommend it to get the full story. I will do a small recap before diving into the new parts too. The fics I will be continuing is 14. Icy Roads & 15. Frosty Glass (yes, it’s Hans and Anna-Louisa who are making a comback by super popular demand 😂👏). I've yet to start writing it but, well, guess it'll be a late night today 👀👍

Q: You can only choose one hot drink to consume during December: Coffee, Tea, or Hot chocolate? A: COFFEEEEEEEE all the way for me 😂☕

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[dejablonde]

So I had to write a personal narrative for composition class. I wrote about post-ritual depression leading to a career change, and I thought ghumblr might enjoy. It's only 763 words (after padding it out with some extra academic phrasing) but I don't want to clog your feeds too much so it's below the cut.

"Have you ever like something so much that it rewired your brain?"

            Have you ever liked something so much that it rewired your brain? I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first heard the band called “Ghost,” but it was most likely sometime in 2022. I think the first video (from whichever of the dozen algorithms we get our content from today) pushed to my feed was their performance on Jimmy Kimmel, where they played their song Call Me Little Sunshine. I was taken aback by their theatrical look and sound. I listened to a few more songs, became a casual listener, and even bought their latest album when I came across it at Josey Records. What I can pinpoint, however, is the day I turned feral: April 9, 2023, Easter Sunday.

            Being only a casual listener still, I was curious as to what was going on when I saw that Ghost was trending on Tumblr. As I scrolled through the tag, it became more and more clear that, not only had they had dropped new music, but a new music video to match, almost entirely without warning: a cover of Phil Collins’ Jesus He Knows Me. Of course, I had to listen. From the driving intro into the first verse, to the poppy chorus, to the lyrics addressing hypocrisy from the church and its leaders, it was almost like twenty-eight years of religious trauma were healed in four minutes and five seconds, as if it were that easy. I wasn’t cured, but they certainly made a dent. I listened to it on repeat and branched into the rest of their discography.  After two weeks, I finally caved and bought myself a pit ticket to their upcoming Dallas tour date.

            When the day finally came, five months later, I could barely contain myself. I felt if I could leap hard enough, I would jump right out of my skin. I had taken advantage of the fact that I had the previous day off from work and pretended that I was taking a small trip for Labor Day. This allowed me the day off for the concert. My employers already think I’m strange enough; I didn’t see any need to make it worse by asking for time off to line up for a concert by a Satanic rock band hours early on a Tuesday. Despite the 103-degree weather that day, I made it to the general admission line around noon. I chatted with my new line buddies over the next several hours about the band, how we got into them, and a little bit about our lives in general over the water that the venue security provided. For the first time in a while, I was surrounded by people like me.

            They say that concerts can be a religious experience. I’m not sure I agree, but they’re not exactly wrong. It really is overwhelming, or at least can be. Many aspects are similar, if not the same. Between the community and camaraderie with your fellow “congregants” and the feeling of the music all the way down to your bones, there’s certainly something that happens internally. This concert (or ritual, as Ghost fans lovingly call them) was no exception. After all, when you’re a stone’s throw away from your obsession, bathed in light and confetti, you can’t help but feel a little changed.

            Post-concert depression is a very real and powerful force. It’s even stronger when you come back to work after finally feeling happy and rested only to be met with snideness not even fifteen minutes into the day. I was already dealing with years of declining morale. I wanted to be happy again, like I was the night before. I started looking at job postings immediately. I nearly got one in the same field but interviewed poorly. Eventually, I decided to make up for lost time and try to make a move into what my high-school-aged-self wanted. Or at least something close. Unfortunately, even though apprenticeship-type situations are common in the music industry, it’s very hard to break in without any kind of provable experience. I looked into some recording technology schools but didn’t really feel the need to go into debt on a loan for them. I was about to lose hope, but then I had a lightbulb moment and found that Dallas College has a program for Recording Technology. My application and registration were late in the game, but I was able to squeeze in before the start of this semester. Now, I’m finally doing something I want to do, and it’s all thanks to a funky little Swede in black and white makeup.

[rachthepoet]

Fine Line (The Song) Analysis

This song is so special to me and has grown to be such for many, too. The song that gifted the album that it occupies its namesake. Radiant with evocative nature and effectiveness to conclude. But, not an ending, per se, but rather a summarization and culmination. All its six minutes are vehement and all-consuming, encompassing a layered tapestry of adolescence, acceptance, and flux. The beauty in this song is that a singular subject can't be pinned down, but, rather, flutters between many, depending on who's bearing their soul to the listening experience at that moment. An anthem holding many senses, all that can coexist & happen all at once. A chorale to life's nature of duality.

Here's a deep dive into Harry Styles' Fine Line, from a poet.

Terms & Summations

What the hell is a "fine line" anyway? Great question, you in the pink and blue, in the front there! Yes, I admit, that was an unbearably cheesy way to start this section, but I'm itching to just get on with it. So... let's go!

A fine line is a balancing act, a tightrope, a suspension between the extremes. A small difference or distinction. The grey area between the black and white. Finding the right footing on this line is a difficult feat and something that ought to be discovered through time and maturity. With the chronicling through the song, and in the journey taken across the whole album, he's indicated that he's closer to this point than ever before. And, he feels an added sense of euphoria in knowing he'll be alright. And, similar to the preceding "Treat People With Kindness", he's extending his hand, wanting to share this acceptance with any who offer their ears.

A declaration, hope, a promise. Then, bring in the brass and the strings and the building crescendo, as the symphony of movie-credit-worthy emotions sweeps all toward a sense of closure to the art itself, of course — but simultaneously, a closure of acceptance of the duality of life for all who need to be guided toward it.

This guides us perfectly into revisiting that Fine Line is a song tailored to conclude. It's a summation of the sophomore album, a thesis statement, and the concluding slide of the journey — though, one can assume the trip continues indefinitely with some thematics. There have been tests of patience endured and acceptance of being unable to find all the answers to all the questions of life. One thing I find very essential to this song and understanding its impact is how he refuses to sugar-coat his words anymore — a lot of what's said in this song is direct, showing a maturity found through these trials and tribulations, these highs and lows we've seen flux throughout the album in its entirety.

It stands alone on the fourth side of the album, categorized as SIDE D respectfully. In following my own personal theory of the stages of grief, we stand at acceptance, a destination, or maybe the beginning of the travels. As a finale, Fine Line is very poignant, just the listener and one song left to ponder. Room has been left for this — to reflect upon the sadness and uncertainty seen earlier in the album, but also how there's happiness that exists beside and beyond it, with everything interconnected or divided by the fine line.

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] Put a price on emotion I'm looking for something to buy You've got my devotion But man, I can hate you sometimes

Put a price on emotion / I'm looking for something to buy: Imagine this. One walks into a store with all these jars lining the shelves. Get a closer look down each aisle, and each jar is labeled with a different emotion as price tags dangle from the lids. Prices may vary. But... why would one buy something that one already makes? Why go artificial in what was once natural? The answer is in the riddle itself, and there in the first lyrics heard.

The ability to feel naturally has fallen flat, a consequence of the emotional strain of the push & pull that'll be explored in depth soon. And, one can become desperate, begging to feel any emotion, at any price, as they feel themselves falling numb. He would do anything, pay anything, just to feel again. After having rationalized detachment from emotions for so long... what was once naturally acquired (like joy, sadness, love, etc.) can now only be purchased as a tangible, artificial item. He's lost faith in himself, a bit. In addition, a debate surrounding pouring emotions into one's art — especially one's art that's put out on a larger scale — is invited inside here. How much is genuine? How much does one show? How does one stay authentic without giving away too much?

These first lyrics are critical, as they're the second-to-first impression of the song. It introduces us to the headspace the writer was in to start, and preps for the upcoming arc. Cynical with desperation is how I'd describe those first two lines, as we prepare to enter the fluctuation.

You've got my devotion / But man, I can hate you sometimes: Something done very well within this piece is the use of antithesis or contrast. It not only serves as an illustrator but also further emphasizes the fine line notion. And it won't be the last time he utilizes this, for it encompasses both the album and the song. Devotion is such a strong word to use here, but its strength is used intentionally to amplify conflict. A word defined as "love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person" is closely followed by an admission of hate, which sends the listener into the same confusion the speaker must've felt then. The irregularities in love and life are encompassed. In the experiences we all foster. It will never be 100% euphoria, but rather a 50/50 bet between bliss and hell.

But, you know, from time to time, the bliss can outweigh the suffering. Until one hits a breaking point — see the first couplet of lyrics. He's feeling the pressure and melancholia in the haze of confusion stemming from this conflict. Whether external, internal, or a compilation of both. His emotions battle one another, leaving him confused about what he actually feels. This person has his devotion, but at any time, it can cross to the antonym, the threshold of hate.

[VERSE 1] I don't want to fight you And I don't want to sleep in the dirt We'll get the drinks in So I get to thinking of her

I don't want to fight you / And I don't want to sleep in the dirt: Another example of antithesis here. Continuing this push and pull, a lingering sense of fear and hesitancy. He doesn't want to get mistreated, but he also doesn't have the energy to fight anymore, for the constant back and forth has grown tiring. And he's been drained.

We'll get the drinks in / So I get to thinking of her: I believe this can mirror the very first lyric of this verse, in terms of numbness. A representation of falling back on something — here specifically, alcohol — an unhealthy coping mechanism explored in other ways and places in the album, to break down his subconscious walls. He seeks something to ease the pain he knows is coming 'round the corner. The her referred to could be as basic as a past lover, sure, but also the weight of something much more generalized. Something bigger than even the speaker himself. Which I think isn't to be ruled out so prematurely.

[CHORUS] We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line

We have arrived at the beautiful, pivotal phrase, on its first round of repetition. To walk a fine line is to maintain a balance, or to be very close to two different ideas/attitudes simultaneously. One side is often more acceptable than the other, but we must embrace all in balance. Throughout the song, I visualize the speaker balancing on a tightrope, all these concepts bouncing up to his eyesight on both sides, all in rhythmic melody to the sounds behind his words. At times, he might stumble, but he sustains his balance, standing on the fine line.

There's a fine line between love and hate. There's a fine line between happiness and sadness. And etcetera, for one could go on for days and weeks with this concept. But we'll balance on that fine line, as we navigate where we're set to land. And, in this round of repetition for the chorus, it feels as if us, the listeners, are eavesdropping on the speaker trying to convince himself of this.

[VERSE 2] Test of my patience There's things that we'll never know You sunshine, you temptress My hand's at risk, I fold

Test of my patience / There's things that we'll never know: The starting couplet of the second verse, starting with an acknowledgment of the unknown. Further, the acknowledgment of the feelings associated. A waterfall of thoughts he dwells on, and my assumption is that it falls into what could've been. This feeling of dissatisfaction, and, like many other parts of the song, can be construed depending on the glasses worn. But, with said dissatisfaction, there's also an air of acceptance, which returns back to the theme of duality and balance.

In his dissatisfaction of the unknown, he accepts the lack of patience and the growth of frustration that results from these revelations. Acceptance of pain that seeps into devotion that can further blind you. Acceptance that one can't change the what if, but only learn from it, and walk towards perseverance.

You sunshine, you temptress: He's back at it with the antithesis, folks — a bit more subtle than the others, I'd say though. Still hauntingly poetic and reflective of how deep his infatuation can go. Can't go much further without mentioning how it mirrors Woman, and the lyric "You flower, you feast" structurally. The connotation of the first you (You sunshine) is something beautiful, while the connotation of the second you (You temptress) is ominous. It parallels the juxtaposition of care and resentment established in the first verse.

Once more, the theme of duality and life's balance is furthered. In Golden, the opener to this album, the subject is referred to as golden and bright — positive and complimentary. Now, in the closer to this album, it's punctuated with the label of a temptress, slicing through the tenderness with something soul-stirring. There's another similarity to Woman, how they both touch on temptation, but, in Fine Line, he's admitting that neither party is completely innocent or guilty. Rather, they both have a little of each.

My hand's at risk, I fold: Moving on then to this analogy to poker, which I find to be an intriguing choice. The person he's speaking to at the heart of the song has (presumably) found their way past his poker face, past his fronts, and acts and strategies to hide his emotions. Now, his poker face is down, and he's left bare and exposed, more vulnerable before them. He's been brought to this point and willingly folds.

The act of folding, where a player gives up any chance of winning the pot (the money) by sacrificing their hand (of cards) to avoid a loss of what's already theirs (money they still have). In poker, it's all about keeping a straight face and hiding your emotions to prevent the other players from figuring out what cards you have. Switch this into the song's context, and see his hand not full of cards, but, rather, emotions. And, to push further with this metaphor, the speaker is giving up keeping his cards (emotions) close to his chest and decides to fold (open up) to those who are tempting him to do (you sunshine, you temptress). Gambling also can become an extended metaphor in the song, with the mention of marketing emotions in the opening line. Poker itself is a game of high stress and risk, and the act of folding can be done to survive the iterations of poker (regular stress on the fine line).

[VERSE 2] Crisp trepidation I'll try to shake this soon Spreading you open Is the only way of knowing you

Crisp trepidation / I'll try to shake this soon: I adore how he pairs words together, and this bit right here has got to be one of my favorites. Trepidation is a feeling of fear and withdrawal. Crisp preceding it implies that it's perfected, as if he's had a lot of practice (happened multiple times before). A master in hiding his emotions, not communicating his emotions, a common theme explored throughout his catalog. Then, following that with I'll try to shake this soon — that line can act as a summarization of the verse thus far. Trying to shake the feeling of fear when it comes to bearing his emotions. But, also, shaking the fear about the uncertainty that comes with the duality on the fine line he walks and is walking.

Spreading you open / Is the only way of knowing you: One step on the fine line between emotional and physical vulnerability here. And, undoubtedly, it's a part of the song that obliterates my heart. The whole thing. His voice becomes emboldened and stronger when singing this line, such a beauty. It can taken with or without sexual innuendo. And, per usual, I'd like to travel down both roads.

Let's talk without first — the person he speaks of can have their defenses up like he does, making it hard for him to know what goes on in their mind. In this context, spreading them open would be the only way to connect emotionally, breaking down their subconscious bounds, which could've inspired him to follow suit. Now, let's talk with — connecting emotionally is an act of vulnerability neither party allows themselves to do, so bring in the contrasting ease of a physical connection as everything else gets swept under the rug. In this context, spreading them open would be the only way for him to remain in contact with the other person, for conversations of emotions and deeper connections are just too much for both involved.

Through this, another contemplation of the fine line is introduced, the fine line between vulnerability and neediness, and how this is another tightrope he walks on throughout the song, as the listeners, his audience that he has chosen to share this journey with, watches in wonder.

[CHORUS 2] We'll be a Fine Line (x12) We'll be alright We'll be alright We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be alright

Another round of repetition with a beautiful, pivotal phrase. But, there's something different here, a switch in the narrative. To refresh, the first repetition was him convincing himself — but, now, in the second round, he's convinced. He believes in it. This bout of repetition holds acceptance in its hands, the speaker's acceptance of the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, the beautiful and the ugly — the fine line that threads its way through it all. He's reassuring and reminding himself that it will work out, and he will grow from what's learned. And, musically, the poetics grow in companionship with the lyrics.

First, the guitar gets bolder as the strums grow more aggressive, a complete shift to the ear from where the song started. The rising guitar can symbolize the change, in both a relationship but also the person the speaker has become. And, the piano gets reintroduced, and I hear it as hope returning — our beautiful hope has her own melody. And, one can't overlook the strings... pure magic. With this shift in the music, the listener, too, feels the change that he must've felt. This change in outlook — these experiences are painful and feel like it could be the end of all ends, but one grows from them. Now, both he and we recognize this, and accept it. We'll be alright. All these instruments come together to build the anticipation for the switch to We'll be alright. Reassurance, for the listener and the speaker, that it'll all be okay in the end. He validates the lyrics of the song, the chronicles of pain, to whoever is listening — but, more substantially, himself.

[OUTRO] (We'll be alright) (We'll be alright) We'll be alright We'll be alright Oh

Well be alright, we'll be alright, we'll be alright. Repetition in reassurance.

Looking back to when first discussing the song as a whole, this is a song tailored to conclude. This is his way of emitting a small glimmer of hope after going through it all across the album. The honeymoon phase, the connection, the love, the heartbreak, the loneliness, and even self-defeat. All instances explored in the album as a whole, are summarized into a lesson for whoever lends their ear. The fine line! He's now sharing that hope with us, the listeners, giving reassurance he didn't always have, creating an accepting friendship letter to the duality of life and love. Now, he can look out to his audience — whether one person or thousands — and tell what he once only repeated to himself: We'll be alright.

It's a crisp summation of all the places he traveled on the album, and all things laid bare. A song of emotional maturity where he realizes that emotions, life, and relationships — they all have a duality to them, and are all in a balance, one all strive to find. A fine line is balanced, a fine line to walk is inevitable. A windsome culmination of his own self and his own journey. The self in art, the self on its own, the self with another. The travels, the chances, the fears, the passion. Hope. Reassurance. Confidence. Acceptance. Flux. And, most important to take with you as you go — promise me that you'll keep it close to your heart — is the knowledge that everything will be alright at the end of things.

dedicated to this anon <3

Thank you for reading, you’re absolutely incredible! If there are any songs you’d like me to make an analysis of, please send your request to my inbox! along with any questions or insights you might have yourself!

[aquadestinyswriting]

Writing Exercise 3

Ok, so I was looking through this post again to see if I wanted to do any of the other writing exercises on it and I came across the "Shuffle a playlist on your music player of choice. For whichever song plays, describe what you “see” with your imagination." exercise. Needless to say, since I have at least 4 different playlists just for my many WIP series, I needed to give this one a shot.

I'm just gonna go with shuffling my 'Emotional Songs' playlist since that's the most extensive one I have and I use it to plot with. Placing the song and my thoughts about it under a cut to save everyone's dashes.

Tagging: @davycoquette (as requested), @druidx, @lexiklecksi and @sparrow-orion-writes because you guys might get a kick out of this.

And shuffle chose the following song:

Oh man. Ok, so let's get into this.

I feel like I'm losing hope In my body and my soul And the sky, it looks so ominous And as time comes to a halt Silence starts to overflow My cries are inconspicuous

OK, so for this part of the first verse, I typically see Elowyn staring up at the ceiling of the cavern she, Meredith and Enezeage are shivering in after almost drowning trying to swim through some flooded mineshafts to get to some Bad Guys(tm). I think it's pretty accurate to say that at least the girls are feeling a bit hopeless since the other two members of their party have just drowned and Merri and Elowyn had just about followed suit not that long before.

Tell me, God, are you punishing me? Is this the price I'm paying for my past mistakes? This is my redemption song I need you more than ever right now Can you hear me now?

The scene in my head for this part skips ahead a little bit to when Elowyn dies for the first (or was it second?) time thanks to being ripped to shreds by a Dire Dire weasel (the thing stood about 4 feet at the shoulder, which is a bit taller than Elowyn). Elowyn's sitting in the waiting room when she suddenly gets pulled through a portal by a clawed, reptilian hand and is then told that she's now Kurtulmak's Vassal before she wakes up back in the real world pretty much naked and covered in ick. Bear in mind this takes place waaay before Elowyn finally gets ordained as a paladin, so she's a rogue at this point in the story of the campaign.

'Cause we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless It's like I'm carrying the weight of the world I wish that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl Maybe if I keep believing, my dreams will come to life Come to life

There are a couple of scenes that flash into my head for this first chorus honestly. All of them involving Elowyn standing up for herself, her beliefs or others that are less fortunate than herself. The first one is when she's standing up to King Storri and Captain Bloodvein about the kobolds that the party ended up taking on as companions after that whole resurrection by Kurtulmak thing. The next one that comes to mind is quite a lot later when she's up on a box trying to calm a riotous mob that's trying to get into the Temple of Moradin in Toreguarde.

After all the laughter fades Signs of life all washed away I can still, still feel a gentle breeze No matter how hard I pray Signs of warning still remain And life has become my enemy

Now, I tend to switch POV over to Meredith for the second verse, only because this song is a definitive fit for both girls, for slightly different reasons. For this first part of the second verse, the scene that comes to mind is always one where Meredith is sitting in her room in Acacia Avenue after the celebrations for Darkhide's defeat are over and the party have been chucked out to go home and sleep. The scene is not a happy one, since she's trying to pray to Moradin and not getting an answer and is slowly realising that her people are still in grave danger, despite the defeat of one of the most powerful necromancers Allansia has seen in about a decade.

Tell me, God, are you punishing me? Is this the price I'm paying for my past mistakes? This is my redemption song I need you more than ever right now Can you hear me now?

For this second half-verse, I tend to visualise Meredith sitting in her cell waiting for her trial and likely execution date after she's discovered and arrested in Fangthane upon her return there. To be fair, she doesn't believe her gods are punishing her so much as kicking herself for getting caught because she has no evidence with which to exonerate herself, so she's spending herself praying for some sort of miracle.

'Cause we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless It's like I'm carrying the weight of the world I wish that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl Maybe if I keep believing, my dreams will come to life Come to life

Like with Elowyn above, I tend to see various scenes for this chorus. Most of them involve Meredith standing up to the various enemies that her party met during their adventure. I also sometimes visualise a few scenes where Meredith is trying to keep her party or her people safe from some sort of danger, even if it's not immediately visible.

'Cause we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless Like I'm carrying the weight of the world I wish that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl

For this chorus I visualise short flashes of both Elowyn and Meredith trying to talk some sense into their people as matters in both Toreguarde and Fangthane start to fall apart. Mostly it scenes of Elowyn trying to stem the corruption in the Council and the Brotherhood of Cleaving's reign of terror in Toreguarde and Meredith trying to talk some sense into the leadership of her Church as a full-on Schism starts erupting.

Still, we're gonna shout it loud Even if our words seem meaningless It's like I'm carrying the weight of the world I hope that someway, somehow That I could save every one of us But the truth is that I'm only one girl Maybe if I keep believing, my dreams will come to life Come to life

For this last chorus, I tend to visualise the lead-up to the final battle of the campaign. The first scene I visualise tends to be Elowyn getting ganked on top of a sea stack and Merri having to ress her mid-battle. However, the main scene I tend to see is Elowyn trying to talk Ionah (the Big Bad) down in attempt to, potentially, save what's left of the woman's soul. There was a whole heartfelt speech about understanding why Ionah followed the path she did and the fact that there was second chance still available. The body language I can see for both women in my head at this point is just heart-breaking, because Elowyn tried so hard, only for Ionah to turn around and basically murder her son (and Meredith's husband), who is off-screen and on another plane of existence at this point.

[acrobaticcatfeline]

If you didn't know I'm a die hard epic the musical fan and in the tag I've seen people saying that the interaction with Athena and Ody in I can't help but wonder was out of character, or that it was just used to show the "monster" that Ody became but like. I so disagree.

Here's the lyrics:

[ODYSSEUS:] Show yourself... I know you're watching me, Show yourself. You were never one for hellos

[ATHENA:] I can't help but wonder What this world could be If we held each other with a bit more empathy I can't help but feel like I led you astray What if there's world where we don't have to live this way?

[ODYSSEUS:] If that world exists It's far away from here, It's one I'll have to miss For it's far beyond my years. You might live forever So you can make it be, But I've got one endeavor There's a girl I have to see

[ATHENA:] Very well

To me, this whole interaction is so so important. The two of them have not spoken in a decade. They left off on bad terms, saying things that were hateful and that they both regret. We get it spelled out for us about Athena but you can just tell with Ody that he regrets how they ended their partnership so badly. He takes her scolding to heart. He still calls out to her when he needs help. He cares so deeply for her and we know it.

Ody starts with a call back, a reference to his very first meeting with Athena. Comments on her habit of not greeting people before going into quick thought.

Athena's verse is soaked in guilt and apology, though she'd never directly say it. This is not actual mythological Athena but she's still a prideful goddess and I doubt she would ever speak the words I'm sorry to a mortal, even her favorite.

She sings about the world that polites saw the world that polites had shown Ody and that she had shunned him for believing. She finally understands why mortals behave like that. Yes of course they lived by open arms, because otherwise you end up spiralling so far that you can't possibly pick yourself back up. It's what happened to her before she had finally decided to check on Telemachus in her guilt.

Telemachus lives by and large the same way as polites and Ody when she had first met him. He's sweet and innocent and joyful and believes in goodness and protecting people. He wants to be her friend, and for the first time she not only accepts that but calls Ody her friend too. She found out he was right. She was lonely, she did want friends. She wants to make a difference to protect people and make the world a better place and she offers to Ody that he can join her in this. This is an offer.

But odys too old. He would've joined her on that quest a long time ago but he's an old man now. It sounds wonderful but he's walk himself through hell and back and sacrificed so much of what mattered to him about himself to make it home, and he can't put that off anymore. His priority is his wife and son.

I also don't think it's unreasonable to assume in epic that after the events we see here that Telemachus goes with her and does that instead. He's a warrior of the mind now too after all. I think Telemachus and Athena have many wonderful adventures to go on together :333

[cristalknife]

2024 fic round up game

Ok let's go, thank you @littlechameleonguy for the tag

What fandoms do you write in?

Lately Dead Boy Detective, Kinnporsche, Love in the air, Shadowhunters, Glee there're other fandom I've few words jotted down but nowhere near finished stories

How many words have you published in 2024? around 96K as of today which is better than last year so I'll take that as a win, also on the bright side the year is not over yet...

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Surviving another year? Possibly not committing murder actually starting getting through the process and subtly send a FU to all of my mother's hopes of ever making a cute porcelain doll in gowns and frills out of me

What are your top three fics you’ve written this year? Every change you make (it's one small act of destruction) (Dead Boy Detectives, Payneland, canon divergence) marked as incomplete despite previously being marked as complete due to me caving into the wish of expanding this scenario even more, namely the NN didn't open a portal to Hell for Charles, no deal was made, so Charles ended up meeting most of the Endless on his quest to get to Edwin Put those glasses on, they'll see us as we have never been (Dead Boy Detectives, Charles & Edwin, pre-canon) The origin of their disguises and my take on why Edwin's is a woman and Charles' is a white man The next steps in the same old and dark world (Repo! The Genetic Opera, Graverobber/Shilo, post canon) Only het pair I've ever written, it was an assignment but I actually loved all the research and the final result. Basically what happens to Shilo after the end of the movie and how she ends up and grow in a relationship with the Graverobber

What have you learned? That spending time with chosen family helps me recharge. That I can get very attached to new friends especially when their freaks matches my freaks that most people will always see what they want to see, no matter how much a person is sweet kind, if they have a different idea of them that's what will stick. That love doesn't equal trust, I know my parents love me, but I've finally accepted that it doesn't mean I can actually trust them

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

At the moment historical/reverse verse where Charles is the one from the early 1900s and Edwin is from the 80s

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I do not beta for others, mostly because i'm a vibe checker/plothole poker kind of beta and the majority of beta needs fall under the spelling and grammar checks. In reverse most of my words are not betaed unless they are gifts or assignments (namely if I'm taking part in an event and want to make sure the receiver gets something they can enjoy with minimum amount of human errors)

What ideas are percolating for next year?

Hmmm difficult question the one, I hope to return to the mood of writing more in the SH Winged Protector series, there's lot of worldbuilding and lore going on in there and I love it, though I'm having trouble returning to the SH fandom. I have some thoughts of playing around with more rare-pairs in the DBD, I'm enjoying playing with cricketcat I would like to see more D/s themed stories so probably that will be something I'll dabble in Next year's Kadam week (even if I haven't yet posted this year's stories T_T)

Who do you want to thank? First of all my chosen family for being there for me, spending time with you is the best time I had in forever, can't believe it was only few months ago The Besotted Brats, rowdy bunch the lot of you, please never change you're amazing tag you're it ( but only if you want though): whoever else want to play! @unknownwritersblog @angelonpoison @highpriestessofjogan @cloudburst-ink @coleslaww @accal1a