#also I inexplicably seem to be writing but don't tell anyone

[babykittenteach]

Some Ed studies for the evening.

[harrysmmm]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 - 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚

Fanfiction:The Relics of Hogwarts (CLICK THE LINK BEFORE READING THIS)

Draco malfoy x Y/N Riddle (f!reader)

A/N: I wrote this in a day (once again hihi) chapter 5 will be up tomorrow. Hope you enjoy this one. Don't forget, if you want to be added to the taglist write me through an inbox or put it in the comments! love you x

W/C: 3.2K

Warning: swearing, verbal violence.

Taglist: @jay-isgay @butterflyreads

masterlist here

Cloudy days had been passing by at Hogwarts. Classes were following each other; lunches were eaten one after the other; nights were slept through soft rain. There was a week left for Christmas break and it could be sensed that students were eager to unwire from schoolwork and get to relax for a few days.

Within the Slytherin main friend group, things were a little tense. Draco and Y/N barely talked to one another after the Chamber of Secrets’ incident. Blaise had subtly tried to cool the air between the both of them a few times, but it would make the situation far more tense – he eventually gave up on it. Y/N felt far too embarrassed to make any move. There was no explanation that could be made because she didn’t understand her feelings herself. She didn’t know she had that desire for Draco so strongly in her.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on the situation either because exams took place that week. Y/N had spent most of her time studying at the library or at the Great Lake when snow wasn’t hitting so hard. She wouldn’t really study with Pansy because the latter was not very academic – in fact, most exams she would attend unprepared. Y/N knew that it didn’t matter that much the grades she had but for some inexplicable reason she fondly enjoyed the act of studying. Besides, it would also distract her from the incident with Draco.

“Hey Y/N.” A girly voice interrupted the silence of her study session. She was sitting by herself under the shade of a tree, next to the Great Lake. She turned around and recognized Mary Rookwood, from the Slytherin-Gryffindor quidditch match.

“Hey Mary, what’s up?”

“Not much. Are you studying Potions?” Y/N hid the book of the Half-Blood Prince in case she knew about it.

“Yeah, got the test tomorrow.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard you don’t really need to study. You’re like the best at Potions, Slughorn won’t shut up about it.”

“Trust me, it’s not enough,” she replied.

“I think you need a break. I’ve seen you come here almost every day for the past week. Why don’t you join me and my friends? I can’t tell you what we’re doing, you’ll have to see it for yourself,” she playfully said.

“That sounds intriguing, hum…” she meditated the answer for a few seconds. It wouldn’t be counterproductive to join some Hufflepuff’s gang, taking into consideration that she had to get the cup of Hufflepuff. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Brilliant,” she replied. “Come on, hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

They both walked through the Forbidden Forest. They made some small talk about the school and their interests. Y/N came to really enjoy Mary’s company – she was a social girl who seemed to have little preoccupations; a half-blood that grew up in Manchester, her mother being a researcher on cures for fantastic animals’ diseases and her father being a baker, whatever that was.

“And we’re almost there,” Mary said.

“You still won’t tell me what we’re doing here?”

“You’ll see it in…now!”

Y/N looked ahead and saw a crowd of Hufflepuff students and one Gryffindor. They seemed to be cheering someone in the air, but Y/N couldn’t see anyone.

“Who are they cheering, Mary?”

“Look!”

Y/N looked up again and saw two giant animals flying, with one student on each of them. They were white winged horses that were fiercely soaring through the sky. One of them drastically landed on the ground, a few seconds later the second one followed it.

“And Finnimore wins the race! Woo-hoo!” A Hufflepuff boy shouted, while a Gryffindor got down from the winged horse.

“Fair race, Pince,” said the Gryffindor guy to the Slytherin.

Pince didn’t shake his hand, rolling his eyes at Finnimore.

“Hi guys,” Mary greeted everyone. “I brought someone today, this is Y/N Diggory. Y/N, this is everyone.”

“Hi,” she said.

Some of them said “hi” back to her.

“You’re Cedric’s cousin, am I right?” the Gryffindor guy asked her. A silence lingered in the air.

“Yeah, I am, you knew him?”

“A relative to Cedric is a friend of ours. Will, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Will.”

“Alright who’s next?” said a Hufflepuff guy. “Finnimore, you won. You can choose your opponent.”

“Very well.” He looked around at everyone, lastly his eyes meeting with hers. “Diggory, you up for it?”

“To ride a winged horse?”

“Yeah, that’s the basic idea,” Will added.

“I’ve never ridden one before, I thought they were forbidden at Hogwarts.”

“Well, they technically are,” added Mary. “We keep them as a secret here. This is not something you want to tell around the school.”

“I see,” Y/N replied.

“The horses do technically ride themselves, and if you do fall, you’ll fall into the Great Lake which is not that terrible, speaking from a guy that has fallen,” said Will to convince her.

“Alright, why not?” she finally gave up and approached the two horses.

“One last thing, Diggory,” Will added. His eyes were deeply staring into hers while a smirk was seen on his face. He had a sort of curly dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was objectively good looking. “We have to bet on something.” He looked back at the Hufflepuff guy that spoke earlier. “What do we have left, Logan?”

“Amortentia.”

“Who wins, gets a jar of Amortentia, deal?” She knew what Amortentia was: a powerful potion that could make someone fall in love with someone else. Tempting.

“Deal,” she said.

Both riders got on the horses.

“What breed are they?” Y/N asked.

“Granians. The fastest of all of them.”

“On my mark!” shouted the Hufflepuff boy.

“May the best win, Slytherin” Will said.

“You got it,” Y/N replied.

“Three, two, one, go!”

Both horses flew up to the sky so fast that Y/N couldn’t tell why she hadn’t fallen from hers yet. They were flying so vertically that she had to hold very tight the reins, her feet almost hanging loose if it wasn’t for the stirrups attached to the animal. Both horses were gaining on height, getting at a certain point above the clouds – Y/N’s sight being all blurry. Once she was six thousand five hundred feet above, the horse started to spin around, like if it was dancing ballet. Y/N thought it would’ve been a beautiful sight to see in hindsight. Suddenly, the horse stopped and went all the way down again, getting Y/N scream so loud she could’ve sworn it was therapeutic. Once they were a few feet above the lake, the horse started to speed up in a horizontal direction. Y/N couldn’t see where Will was, she didn’t know if she was beating him – she just wanted to enjoy the ride at that point. The horse got really close to the water and Y/N took a risk to leaf her hand through it – the experience was really liberating. When she got to one of the trees, the animal took a run and propelled itself straight ahead, to get to the finish line. Y/N caressed the animal’s head to cheer it to get to it. That seemed to work, and it fastened, landing next to the other students in the Forbidden Forest. Will wasn’t there just yet.

“Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!” the students were cheering.

Will landed a few seconds later.

“And Diggory wins the race!” Logan, the Hufflepuff boy, exclaimed.

“Woo-hoo!” Y/N screamed.

“Well done, Y/N! It had been a while since someone beat Will,” said Mary, hugging her to congratulate her.

“The proper Slytherin had to come to do it,” Y/N said, teasingly.

“You have it in your blood, Diggory, I reckon,” Will said, shaking his hand with hers.

“There you go, Y/N,” Logan said, handing her the jar of Amortentia. “Use it wisely.”

She took the jar, a pink liquid bubbling inside. She smiled at him.

“Who is up for a butterbear, guys?” blurted Will.

For the first time in weeks, she forgot about why she was at Hogwarts in the first place, and felt young, carefree, and happy.

ྀ࿔

“Who would you shag if you had the chance?”

Y/N was in bed. It was eleven p.m. and she was making small talk with Pansy.

“Never really thought about it, to be honest with you,” Y/N replied.

The brunette startled in bed. “Come on Y/N, that’s rubbish. It’s still valid if it’s not a Slytherin, won’t judge. There are some fine Gryffindor guys I wouldn’t mind fooling around with.”

“Pansy,” Y/N laughed. She did the same. “You start,” Y/N continued.

“No, I asked first, you start.”

“I won’t start.”

“Why won’t you start?”

“Because I don’t want to! You start!”

“Merlin’s beard, I’ll start! You’re mental, you know that?”

Y/N just laughed.

“Okay, it’s someone we both know,” the brunette started saying.

“We’re playing guessing now?”

“Yes. It’s a Slytherin.”

“Blaise?”

“No! That one is for you!”

Y/N was the one that startled then. “What?! Why?!”

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

“No!”

“He’s totally into you, Y/N. I thought you knew!”

“I told you, I don’t really focus on those things!”

“You’re so odd.”

“Well, who’s your guy then?”

“He’s friends with Blaise, though.”

Y/N started to get the hints.

“He’s quite tall, and lately rather mysterious too. He has a dark sense of humor, quite childish if you ask me.” She started ranting. “He, for some odd reason, is always bringing around green apples with him. He loves black-”

“Alright, we got who he is, don’t need to further explain.”

“I love him, Y/N.”

Something stopped within Y/N.

“No way,” she said.

“Since first year, actually. He was always so childish I never really thought he looked at girls any differently, until this year. He’s matured so much over the summer; I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I think it’s the perfect moment.”

You knew what had gotten into him. He was not dealing with kids’ problems no more.

“I don’t know. Haven’t really noticed.” Of course she had noticed but she wasn’t up to talk about that with Pansy.

“You notice nothing, Y/N,” the brunette said.

Y/N ignored the comment.

“What is that?” Pansy asked, pointing at something Y/N had on her open bag. “Is that Amortentia?”

Y/N proceeded to close her bag. “Yeah, no big deal.”

“But it is a big deal. How did you get it? Did you steal it?”

“For Merlin’s beard, no. Slughorn gave it to me, for the good grades.”

“He gave you Amortentia? That’s so twisted.”

“Yeah, well… You know Slughorn, he lets himself carry away quite a lot.”

“Be careful with that. It’s very powerful.”

“Won’t use it.”

“Right.”

Both students got silent. Y/N noticed Pansy was ready to go to sleep, so she turned off the lights, the thought of her and Draco still lingering in her mind.

ྀ࿔

Exams had finished that very same day. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the last exam of the term – Y/N was feeling like she hadn’t really aced that one, but she was grateful that Snape was the one grading them.

She had also been invited by Slughorn to a Christmas party, only exclusive to the best potion students. She had to bring a plus one but she hadn’t asked anyone yet. She had thought of asking Blaise in the first place, but after Pansy’s revelation of the latter’s liking on Y/N, she had thought it was not appropriate to ask him. Draco was, of course, out of the picture, the two still not talking to the other. The only person that came to mind was, against all odds, a certain Gryffindor boy.

“Would you go to this Christmas party with me?” Y/N asked.

“The Slughorn one?” Will asked back.

“Yes, is there any other one in place?”

Will laughed. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

“Cool!”

“Isn’t it odd that a Slytherin is asking a Gryffindor though?” Will asked.

“It just is if you want to make it that way,” she replied.

“Alright Diggory, pick you up at six thirty?”

“Sounds good.”

ྀ࿔

Will went down to the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was located. He was wearing a black suit, and a light blue tie. He was waiting for Y/N outside the stone wall. His thoughts traveled to quidditch, how the next day he had a match against Ravenclaw. He was one of the chasers of the Gryffindor team since his year three. He had been recruited by Oliver Wood when he was still the captain. He loved sports, that’s why he was also quite natural with winged horse race. Among the school, he had gained quite the reputation of social, popular boy. In fact, that same night he had been invited to a Hufflepuff party - party that he had politely declined to go out with Y/N to Slughorn’s. He didn’t really know what was in her that attracted him; he also didn’t know if it crossed the limit of friendship just yet. But he did know he liked her, in what way? He was still unsure of that.

Y/N appeared from the stone wall.

“Hey you.”

“Hey! Shall we?” Will asked.

“Yes.”

Will noticed Y/N’s attune. She was wearing a silk silver dress, paired up with white high heels. Her hair was partly pinned so her face was fully uncovered. She was wearing light, glittery makeup that accentuated her high cheekbones. Will thought to himself that she looked gorgeous.

They walked through the castle gaining some looks from almost every student they crossed path with. It was already rare that a Gryffindor had something to do with a Slytherin, but especially if that Gryffindor was the popular Will Finnimore and that Slytherin was Cedric’s cousin, Y/N Diggory. They arrived at the seventh floor, where the party was located.

“Drink?” asked Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor student, to the couple.

“Neville!” said Will.

“I didn’t get into the Slug Club,” said the white-dressed boy. “It’s okay, though. He’s got Belby handing out towels in the loo.”

“Oh well, you want a drink Y/N?”

“Sure.” Will grabbed two drinks for the both of them.

“Thanks, mate,” said Will.

“Sure.”

Will looked around the place, seeing if he could find someone he knew - it seemed like he actually knew everyone in the place. His hand waved at some Gryffindor girl named Sasha.

“Y/N, could I talk to you for a second?”

Will turned around and bumped into Harry Potter talking to Y/N.

ྀ࿔

“Y/N, could I talk to you for a second?”

Y/N was confused as to why Harry wanted to talk to her, after the stolen book accusation. She looked over at Will.

“Do you mind, Will?”

“No, go ahead. Hi mate!”

“Hey Will,” replied Harry.

Will went over to talk to a certain girl. Y/N focused on Harry.

“What is it, Harry?”

“I just wanted to apologize to you, for having accused you about the book.”

“Oh,” Y/N wasn’t expecting that. “That’s alright. Have you found it yet?”

“No, but it was wrong from me to accuse you, just because you seemed to do good in Potions.”

“Alright,” replied Y/N. “No hard feelings, Potter.”

Harry smiled at her. He seemed to look behind her at someone. Y/N looked back and saw Hermione hiding behind some curtains.

“I might’ve to go check on her.”

“Yeah, she seems wanting to avoid someone.”

“McLaggen,” clarified Harry.

“Oh yeah, that guy is the worst,” added Y/N.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He went over to her rescue.

Y/N stood there alone when Slughorn joined in.

“Y/N, you made it!”

“Of course, Professor. Wouldn’t miss it!”

“Good, good… Oh the photographer!” A girl with a camera flashed at them. Y/N didn’t even have the time to pose. “That might end on the shelf, Y/N… Oh, Professor Snape, what a surprise!”

Y/N was alone again until Will approached her.

“Lively party, innit?”

“To Slughorn’s taste,” she replied.

The room was covered with green curtains hanging from the ceiling. A cozy fire was warming up the place.

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?”

“I came this year. I was homeschooled before.”

“Oh, you lived with your parents?”

“No, I lived with my uncle and aunt. My parents died in an accident.”

“Oh, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” she just replied, not wanting to have to further explain her fake story.

“I was raised by my mom, my dad died when I was a kid,” he continued.

“Oh, are they wizards?”

“Slytherins always so focused on blood. No, I’m a muggle-born, does that change something?”

She had been taught that changed everything but never really understood why. “I don’t know,” she replied.

“Well, Cedric was a half-blood, and he was one of the brightest guys I’ve ever met.”

“You were close?”

“Yes. He was two years older than me, but he never made me feel younger.”

“You’re a year seven, aren’t you?”

“Hadn’t I said that before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I am. I remember being in year five when he passed away. He was actually in year seven. I had always looked up to him, everyone loved Cedric. In fact, during the commemoration act almost everyone in the school came to say goodbye, even Slytherins.”

“What did you do?”

“You don’t know?” Y/N shook her head. “We honored the house of Hufflepuff and threw their more possessed item into the Great Lake, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

“Their relic?”

“Yes. It is now in the deep water, probably the Grindylows own it now.”

“The Grindylows you say?”

“Yeah, they are some vicious little demons that live in the lake. You don’t wanna mess with them.”

Y/N was going to ask further questions until someone interrupted the party.

“Take your hands off me, you filthy Squib!” Draco and Filch abruptly entered the room.

“Professor Slughorn, Sir,” started saying Filch. “I just discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party.”

“Okay, okay, I was gatecrashing. Happy?” his eyes looked into Y/N’s and moved towards Will. Her heart escaped a beat.

“I’ll escort him out,” Snape said, getting in the scene.

“Certainly, Professor.” They exited the room.

“Alright, everyone. Carry on, carry on,” Slughorn laughed the incident off.

Y/N’s look went back to Will’s. “Will you excuse me for a second?”

“Sure,” Will said.

Y/N found her way out of the party. She bumped into Draco outside, Snape already having left.

“Draco,” she called him.

Draco turned back, looking at her. “What?”

“What were you doing out there?”

“What do you think I was doing?”

“Are you angry at me?”

“Piss off, Y/N. None of your bloody business,” he violently replied.

“But it is my business, Draco. You know that, and don’t you dare talk to me like that!”

“I talk to you as I please!” He got closer to her, a very angry look on his face. “You leave me the fuck alone from now on, I don’t need you to be asking sneaky questions. I don’t love you.”

Y/N held back her tears, never having been talked like that before. “This is all because of the vision, isn’t it? Isn’t it?!”

“I couldn’t care less about your pathetic desire.” Just like that, he left, leaving Y/N with the sourest heart she had ever had to bare. She didn’t know a certain scarred one had been eavesdropping their conversation.

[mdverse]

teehee you told me to drop by so i'm asking the most important question of them all.... of the main new directions who do they bias in bts and how much do they like bts 🤭

hi u are so real for this sorry this has taken me a while to get to!! been trying to organise my thoughts but i'm still not fully set on things. i guess ill do this from like. most to least likely to enjoy bts? (also i will say i have thoughts on the vb au squad specifically! i don't remember them in detail and they're probably similar to what i've written here but i def remember talking about it with mist)

tina: 100% most likely to be an army also def a once and a sone but that's not relelvant here! girlie has taste and i love that for her <3 she has jimin stan energy to me, i think she'd see the similarities between him and mike and she'd have a major soft spot for that

sugar: not technically one of the main new directions but i wanted to include her anyway bc i bet she loves bts. she has that vibe. she'd have all the merch and could very easily spend hundreds of dollars on concert tickets for herself and tina and anyone else who wanted to come. idk how she'd feel about the older eras but she'd def be a fan of the more poppy songs (maybe hyyh-onwards? def enjoys the LY/MOTS eras). probably a big vocal line fan, specifically jin and possibly jungkook as a bias wrecker

brittany: i think she'd enjoy bts a lot tbh! idk if she'd dive deep into fan theories or keep up with stuff like run bts but she'd def vibe with their music and i would kill to see her do the dance challenges or even full dance covers. i'd say she's hobi-biased but also just a big fan of 3J/sunshine line

blaine: i think he'd enjoy their more recent eras! mainly LY/MOTS-onwards i think? he has boy with luv/dynamite vibes. major jungkook stan in my head but i think he would really enjoy joon's lyrics/writing style

mike: def introduced to bts through tina dkfjgh but i think he'd get sucked in by the dance practices and the live performances even if the music itself isn't necessarily stuff he'd listen to! probably a 3J stan, if i had to pick one i'd very hesitantly say jimin

santana: idk if she'd listen to them regularly but. i do think she'd vibe a lot with agust d's albums? and i also think she'd find mono and indigo really soothing. epiphany would alter her brain chemistry and no one can tell me otherwise! i know for a fact that she would cry at that song. namgi fan

quinn: casual bts listener i think? def a joon stan tho i don't make the rules here!! i do also think she'd enjoy jin's voice a lot

artie: i feel like bts would be a guilty pleasure for him? idk if he'd be super invested but he would enjoy some of their music and he would def have an appreciation for the mvs! musically i'd say he enjoys tae the most but he def thinks jimin is ridiculously pretty

sam: hmmm sam is one i feel much less familiar with. mist said u guys have talked about blamtina being armys together and i can kinda see that? he does also kinda seem like he'd consider them a guilty pleasure to me tho. jin or jungkook stan energy

mercedes: secondhand fan through tina! idk if she'd listen to them on her own but if tina is around she doesn't mind listening to them. there's bound to be at least one song that hits hard for her but idk what it is rn. i think she'd appreciate tae's voice the most?

kurt: also introduced to them through tina! idk if i see him being much of a kpop fan but i do think he'd appreciate the aesthetics and the artistry of it all. i think he'd like jungkook bc he gets blaine vibes from kookie? alternatively there's sth about him that makes me think jimin stan

puck: bts doesn't really have much rock music so i guess puck wouldn't be super interested in most of it but i feel like there are probably a few songs he might enjoy just vibe-wise? maybe stuff like stigma, house of cards? i also inexplicably get a hip hop fan vibe from him despite that not being a thing in canon so i could potentially see him vibing with their earlier eras and stuff like the cyphers and being biased towards the rap line? but i'm not very set on that

finn: doesn't strike me as much of a kpop fan tbh but i think there are a couple of songs here and there he might like (fake love rocking mix!). idk if he'd actually ever remember any of their names tho kdfjgh he'd probably pick a different bias every time he's asked bc he never pays enough attention to recognise any of them

rachel: does not have kpop fan vibes to me at all but i find it hard to read her so i could be wrong there? idk i don't think she'd really listen to their music since she is so showtunes to me. that being said i think if she had to pick a fav it would be jungkook if only bc of the gold star/golden maknae association

[lookwhatyoudidithasanxiety]

Hi, everyone! I wanted to make an announcement while I was thinking about it. This isn't directed at any one person in particular, but I felt that I needed to say something. I don't want to come across as mean or disrespectful towards anyone, I just want to come out (heh 🏳‍🌈) and say this because I know I've gotten some asks where people tried to tell characters things that won't be happening in my story. That way people are aware. ((This gets long, so feel free to skip the TLDR!!!))

Please everyone, be mindful that my story isn't in line with canon at all. Some things that happened on the show I won't be using in the story/am ignoring for the story's sake. If I haven't explicitly stated something happened in the story, it's likely that: 1. I'm changing that part of canon for my story. 2. I'm ignoring it and not using it in my story. 3. I haven't got around to incorporating it yet.

For instance, the Creator isn't a character in my story. Moon was built with the Kill Code, yes, and left a piece behind in Sun that became Eclipse. But Kill Code won't be forced by anyone to have heightened urges to kill like in the show after he tries to change. There are other things that won't be happening like they did on the show my au is based on. Earth isn't a character because I already have so many (that and since the Creator isn't a character, it wouldn't make sense for me to have her randomly show up).

I made this story before Monty realized they were genderfluid. I will be making them genderfluid in my story too, but I haven't found a good way to incorporate it yet. That's why they still use he/him pronouns here. I'm not trying to erase their identity, I'm working on trying to make it a part of my au too.

If you ever wonder if something on the show will be happening in the story, please feel free to ask. If it won't, I'll say so. If it may/will happen, I'll say that as well (without giving too much away, ofc).

Also, when I say 'continuity's sake', I'm talking about the storyline that I have in mind for the main story. I have a timeline of events that I'm following, so I may not let certain asks through, or I may close asks for a character in favor of opening them for another one. This is also helpful for me because I'm one person and it can be hard to keep track of so many characters at once. Sure, I'm not drawing asks out, but I still have to try and write responses in character. And since I'm playing all of the characters here, it can get hard to do that for everyone all at once. That's not to say I'm complaining or don't want to! I'm just trying to stay within my abilities so I can make the most content for you all, as well as make sure it's decent content.

~~~~

TLDR; Please be mindful that this story is my own still. Things won't follow the canon source material and while I draw heavy inspiration from both the characters and storyline of The Sun and Moon Show, this isn't exactly that. It's an au. I'm also one person, so that's why asks aren't available for all characters at the same time. If it seems like I'm closing them for someone inexplicably, it's likely because I have a plan for that character in the future and can't have things spoiled and/or I need to limit the number of available characters so I can provide good quality responses.

Thank you all so much for interacting and enjoying my silly story, your support means a lot!! ❤

[pancakehouse]

#9 for the Siken asks please

hi friend!! have been dying to write them as little babies on the train, hope you enjoy xoxo

9. you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for. 

“James! There’s no one- Oh. Hello.” 

The voice is high, and posh. The boy it comes from regards Remus curiously, head tilted, dark hair falling to his jaw. His dress robes are perfectly tailored, a deep black velvet material like something a member of Wizengamot might wear. It’s something that ought to have looked silly on an eleven-year-old boy, but somehow, Remus thinks, this one makes it look rather cool.

“I didn’t realise anyone was in here,” the boy continues. He’s smiling now, not seeming to mind Remus’ silence. “Do you mind if we join you? All the other carriages are full.” 

Remus blinks, suddenly nervous. He’s never been very good at this - this conversing with kids his own age thing, especially not ones with shiny shoes and a sharp-voweled accent. But, for a reason he can’t quite tell, the words “Er- Okay," are already stumbling out.

It's said quieter than he'd meant, but the boy seems to have understood, and immediately throws himself across the opposite bench. "James!" he yells (screams, really) and within seconds, another boy - this one with dark skin and round glasses - pops his head in.

“Oh! Hi!” His grin is wide and gap-toothed and Remus finds himself, inexplicably, grinning hesitantly back. He plops down next to Remus and sticks his hand out. “I’m James. Thanks for letting us join you."

“Uh. Sure.” Remus shakes his hand awkwardly. Then, “Remus. I’m Remus.” 

It all feels incredibly silly. Shaking hands and grinning and nodding seriously like they are grown adults, and not smudged-knee boys; like these same hands aren’t just twenty minutes removed from their parents’ tight grips. 

A throat clears. Remus drops James’ hand, and they turn. The long-haired boy is watching them, brows pushed together, the barest hint of frown on his mouth. The sight of it makes something in Remus’ throat feel weird. Oddly, he feels his own mouth mirror the movement. 

"Well, my name is Sirius Black," the boy says, and Remus wonders if they are going to shake hands next. The thought makes his stomach go all twisty, so he decides to sit on his palms to avoid any problems. "And since you, Remus, found this lovely compartment, and I, of course, found Remus, then I say James here should be the one to go get us snacks. Don't you?"

He watches Remus expectantly, and Remus’ cheeks burn. “Erm,” he murmurs. “Well, I suppose—”

“Exactly! Off you go, Potter!”

James snorts, and uses a knuckle to push up his glasses. “Alright, fine,” he says easily. “Back soon, lads.”

Once he's gone, the compartment gets a bit warmer. Remus fiddles with the hem of his jumper, suddenly conscious of its ratty holes and weird green color and loose threads spilling out. He's not sure what to say, and hopes - a bit desperately - that James won't be gone too long.

That hope gets stronger when the boy - Sirius - decides to say, quite out of nowhere, "You have very long eyelashes." And then he follows this proclamation by leaning in, and peering close.

Remus feels his cheeks heat more. It really is a bit warm.

"So does my little brother,” continues Sirius. “He's also quiet, too, like you. I think you'd get along." Sirius seems to think about it. "Or- actually...well, maybe not. He's a bit of a prick, you see."

Here, Sirius begins to stumble around his words; like maybe he's unfamiliar with cursing, or else unfamiliar with speaking badly of his brother. Remus can't quite tell which.

“Oh, that’s…” Remus picks at his cuticles, the dry skin at his knuckles, “-erm. Sorry about that?” 

“Yes, well-” Sirius’ voice goes softer now, like maybe he’s sharing a secret, one meant only for them and the quiet space between their foreheads and knees. “It’s my mother’s fault, anyway. She's awful.” 

They’re so close now Remus can see two freckles on Sirius’ neck, just under his ear. It makes his stomach twist again, which is strange, because he has plenty of freckles of his own, so it’s not like they’re a new discovery or anything. Even though it sort of feels that way right now. 

Sirius nudges their shoes together, and reaches out, touching a raised scar on Remus’ wrist that is still bright pink and angry. Three moons old.

“What’s your mum like?” asks Sirius, and he keeps his eyes on that scar, finger trailing lightly around the edges. He’s frowning again, and so is Remus, but this time Remus thinks he was maybe the one doing it first. It’s getting harder to tell. “She’s not—Well, is she like mine?”

“Oh.” Remus looks out the window. Trees are flying past, blurs of greens and browns, and the rhythmic chug of the engine drowns out all other noise. He can’t hear anyone in the other carriages, and maybe that’s what makes him brave enough to say: “Well, no. My mum…she died, actually. Last year.”

Sirius’ fingers still and he looks up, eyes going wide. “She- oh my god, Remus. I’m-” He cuts off, and they're both silent for a minute. And then, softly, he asks, “What was she like? If you- I mean, we don’t have to talk about it.” 

He removes his hand, and Remus tries to smile. "No, it's okay," he says, and it doesn't hurt so much to do it. Sirius' shoe is still knocking into his and the train is loud and they're just sharing secrets right now, so it's okay. "Her name was Hope," he says. “And she was- she was really beautiful. Everyone always said so.” He traces his thumb around the scar, still warm from Sirius’ touch. “And she taught me how to ride a bike, how to read. She was—” Eyes stinging, he blinks rapidly— “my best friend.”

My only friend, he doesn’t say. The words seem out of place here, in this compartment.

“She sounds lovely, Remus,” murmurs Sirius. He has rather long eyelashes too, now that Remus thinks to look.

“Yeah.” He nods. “She was.” 

They look at each other. Sirius smiles, and Remus smiles back - or maybe it's the other way around. Their shoes nudge and their knees nudge and Remus is starting to feel strange again.

"Well," says Sirius, and his voice is still quiet. Still a secret. "You have us now. Me and James. And we...everything will be good. I promise, alright?"

Remus breathes in, then out. Presses his thumb harder into the scar. "Okay," he replies. Are you sure? he thinks. Why? "Yeah. That sounds nice."

[bmacreadz]

"Daisy Jones and The Six" by Taylor Jenkins Reid

"Daisy Jones and The Six" is one of the most inventive books I think I've ever read. I admit I am a little lost for how to write this review about it.

"Daisy Jones and The Six" is written as an oral history, which took me pleasantly by surprise. Maybe I'm the only one who didn't realize it was going to read the way it did when I first picked it up, but it's what makes the story so unique. I've never read a book like that, but it was such a unique reading experience that I'm glad I didn't know. I probably wouldn't have read it otherwise.

The first half of the book focuses on the separate lifestyles and startups of Daisy Jones and the members of The Six. The second half focuses on who they all were together. They tell their own histories about each of these moments, which leaves a lot up for interpretation by the reader. We start to get a clearer view of what might have been actually going on by the end, but there's still so much left unsaid and we really don't get those questions answered. The personalities of each character really jumps off the page, though, because of this. We're getting a firsthand account of their own experiences and it's easy to understand who they might have been and what role they played in their group. It was honestly fascinating.

Was this a love story? I would say yes, I think. Just not a conventional one by any means.

CAUTION: POTENTIAL SPOILERS

This book was about Daisy Jones and Billy Dunne, but it was also very much about Camila Dunne. Though she wasn't in every scene or every bit of the story, she was the center of it all. At least in my opinion. She was the reason behind the songs (even the ones Daisy wrote and you know why), Billy's inner struggle, and Daisy's ultimate undoing and salvation. Camila was the reason for everything. It was so unique in that way. It wasn't a conventional love story, but it was definitely a love story. It was about Billy and Camila's family, and Daisy's love for herself. It was about Karen and Graham, Warren, Pete, and Eddie - even Rod and Teddy. It was about all of them loving this moment of their lives that they were in together. It wasn't normal, but it wasn't weird. It was beautiful in its own way, enjoyable, and inexplicable.

Would I read it again? I don't know, honestly. But I'm glad I did read it. Now, I'm anxious to see what Prime Video has done with the show. I'm a little hesitant because so much in the book was left up for interpretation. So much was left for the reader to decide what did and did not actually happen, especially at the end. I've seen the previews and it seems as though the show did a lot of filling in those blanks, which I don't think was supposed to be the point.

"Art doesn't owe anything to anyone."

"The truth often lies, unclaimed, in the middle."

[2jaeh]

hi! here’s my request, i hope im doing this right😌 ive never sent a request before

08. Same soul by pvris, taeil, genre is insignificant to me, it’s up to you😚

i hope you’ll consider writing this:)

same soul | taeil

"i think we've loved a thousand lives, i try to find you every time"

genre: smut, tiniest bit of angst

content: soulmates, fem!reader, dilf!taeil, aged up!taeil, soft dom!taeil, daddy kink, praise kink, fingering, unprotected sex

word count: 2.2k

so um... this was meant to be a sappy soulmate au, but then daddy issues came on and this mess happened 🥴

- LIN

♡ prompt list

You always had dreams about the lives you lived before your current one. They were vivid and when you were old enough to go see an expert, all she could tell you was that you were a divine soul and you had the privilege of being so aware of your past lives. You had to admit it was quite cool knowing you could recall all the different bodies your soul resided in, from an 1800s housewife to a rebellious teen from the 90s. You started to note them down once you were in high school as you became more curious about the spiritual side of your life. In your research you discovered one common factor; your soul always had a lover.

A young rich girl that lived in a Victorian mansion, a middle class guy who worked as a mechanic; the lover was always different but also always the same. The same gentle, loving aura engulfed you whenever you saw them. You always wanted to hold them, kiss them, make love to them. You loved them. You told that to them in countless dreams and the lover would just smile, but no words were needed. They loved you too.

"It seems to be a fated soul you keep meeting in their different bodies," the tarot reader explained to you in excitement, "a soulmate, Y/n."

No one believed you when you explained your dreams or what the tarot reader insisted to you. They were just very vivid dreams. That reader was just trying to make a quick buck, don't be naïve. So you ignored the dreams for a while too. You started college, dated a few people here and there, not a single soulmate in sight. The dreams stopped for a long time. Maybe everyone was right about them being… insignificant.

And you would've fully come to terms with that if it weren't for him.

When a single dad and his son moved into the apartment next door and you shared the elevator with them, something shifted in you. It was as if all those nights of sleepwalking and vivid dreams came rushing back to you all at once when you locked eyes with him for a brief second. Physically, you couldn't recognise him at all. But his aura, his presence, seemed all too familiar to you. It was that same feeling in your vivid dreams, when your soul spent time with their lover. It was as if he was the soulmate you were finally supposed to meet, just like your soul had done thousands of times before. But it wasn't that easy.

For starters, you were only just a few years older than his son. Jisung, Mr Moon's son, went to your college and you passed him a few times when he was rushing to class, books and pens flying out of his arms. Your father grew close to Mr Moon, they watched soccer, shared recipes and your father even gave Jisung a lift to school every time Mr Moon was running late for work. Mr Moon was always kind to you. He'd send leftover desserts with Jisung to give to you. He always gave you that adorably polite smile and asked you about your studies whenever he was over at your house, having drinks with your father.

You don't think anyone noticed, but your eyes tended to lock with him a tad bit longer than anyone else, and he never looked away. He always stole glances at you, smiling sheepishly when you caught him before returning to the conversation with your parents. Perhaps he was just as intrigued with you as you were with him. Did he also feel that inexplicable pull towards you? If he did, he didn't do anything about it. It stopped at kind gestures and suggestive looks, but he could never really act on what he was thinking and neither could you.

"You don't like mushrooms right?" Mr Moon hummed from the kitchen, never peeling his eyes away from the stove.

You lifted your head up from your notebook, shifting in your seat at the dining table. Your parents had gone out for a business dinner and Jisung was visiting his mother for the weekend. You were more than capable of holding down the apartment by yourself, but your parents insisted you go over to Mr Moon's apartment to eat something since you weren't exactly a maestro in the kitchen. And you weren't going to argue with them. You would take any opportunity to spend time alone with Mr Moon.

"Yeah, I don't." You replied in a small voice.

"Alright, dinner is almost ready," Mr Moon dusted his hands on a cloth before he made his way to you, leaning himself against the table as he folded his arms, "Sorry Jisung isn't here, I'm not the most entertaining company, right?"

"No, it's alright." You chuckled awkwardly.

Sure, to everyone else you were just his new friend's daughter, but to you it was way more intense than that. He was definitely the soul that your own soul was destined to meet, as crazy as it sounded whenever the fleeting thought crossed your mind. You couldn't convince yourself otherwise, not when he was in your vicinity and that familiarity from your dreams was so painfully distinct. You needed to do something about that.

And it didn't help that his work clothes, a white dress shirt and a pair of navy blue slacks, didn't leave much to the imagination. He drove you insane.

"Mr Moon?"

"Hmm?" He lifted his eyes away from gazing over your notebooks to make eye contact with you. Your head was spinning and you almost forgot what you were trying to ask him.

"Do you… believe in soulmates?" You asked hesitantly, twirling your thumbs absentmindedly.

"Soulmates?"

"Yes…"

"I believe that… people always enter your life for a reason," Mr Moon nodded in thought, "souls that are on the same path, I believe in that."

"Do you think we're on the same path? The two of us?" Your glassy eyes peered up at him and he cleared his throat, adjusting his posture.

"I find you very interesting, Y/n," Mr Moon smiled softly, his chocolate brown hair hanging over his forehead, "I think that you are in my life for a reason."

"And do you know what that reason is?"

"I'm not sure yet…" Mr Moon leaned forward, holding up his weight with his hand pressed against the table.

He inched closer until his face was level with yours, just two or three fingers spaces away. You could feel his breath on your skin and you took in the strong smell of his cologne. His dark eyes peered down at your lips then looked back towards your line of vision. You nodded in silent confirmation and he immediately closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours. His tongue glided over your bottom lip and you gladly opened up for him, letting out a whimper of excitement into his mouth.

Mr Moon broke the intense kiss to push away from the table and take a seat at one of the dining room chairs. He sat with his legs spread apart before beckoning you towards him by patting his lap.

"Come here baby girl." He cooed and you excitedly left your chair and took a seat on him, straddling his thighs.

His hands came up to rest on your thighs, his fingers ever so gently picking at the waistband of your jeans. You shyly placed your arms around his shoulders, your actions bringing a smirk to his handsome face. You ducked your head down to kiss him again, the feeling sending sparks throughout your body, eliciting a sweet moan from your throat. Mr Moon hooked his fingers through the belt loops of your pants and jerked you closer, making you gasp in surprise. He took your slightly ajar mouth as an invitation to slip his tongue inside, letting you taste the pineapple sweet he'd been chewing on when he let you into his apartment, a grin on her face.

He ushered your hips to grind your core down on him, a series of pornographic sounds escaping your lips when you felt how hard he was through the many layers of clothes. Your whimpers only egged Mr Moon on as he grabbed a hold of your ass and trailed his lips down your neck, littering you with cheeky open mouthed kisses.

"Baby, we have to be fast," he groaned against your skin, "your parents will be back in the next hour."

"Yes daddy." You mewled. 

Mr Moon's ears perked up at the term used to address him and it only made him more aroused. He sucked one last hickey onto the tip of your shoulder before leaning back in his chair, hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs.

"Can you show daddy how wet you are?" He tilted his head to the side, a smirk adorned his swollen lips.

The heat immediately rushed to your face, but you nodded enthusiastically and climbed off his lap. You stood with your back to him as you unbuttoned your pants. You slipped them off, bending over to give Mr Moon a good look at your ass. Judging by the low groan that he let out, you knew he could clearly see the arousal dampening your underwear. You turned to see him with his hand over his crotch, his eyes hooded and devouring every inch of you.

"Take that off baby," Mr Moon hummed as he began to undo the first few buttons of his shirt, "then come sit here."

You obliged, tugging off your underwear and slowly walking over to him in nothing but your cute crop top. By the time you were back to straddling his lap, Mr Moon had already placed his belt on the table and undid the button of his pants. He tucked a hand behind your neck and pulled you in for another kiss, his other hand trailed over your thigh until his fingers were ghosting over where you needed him the most. You unconsciously bucked your hips forward, looking for any sort of contact.

"So needy…." Mr Moon chuckled, but as usual, he was always kind to you.

So he ran a finger over your folds, teasing you a little before he began circling your clit with his thumb, the sensation making you moan out in pleasure. Still rubbing your sensitive bud, he slowly snuck two fingers into your entrance. His lips swallowed your moans as his fingers stroked the walls of your core, bringing you closer and closer to your high.

"D-daddy… I want you…" You wailed as you clung onto his shoulders desperately.

"Of course baby girl, anything for you." Mr Moon cooed gently, removing his finger from your core only to bring them up to your lips to lick them clean.

You sucked on his fingers, his lustful eyes zoned in on you. You unzipped his pants and tugged down his underwear until his length was finally revealed to you. Both his hands held onto your waist as he guided you closer, lining up your entrance to his member. You sunk down on him, his length filling you up completely. You whined in pleasure, ducking your face into the crook of his neck while he brought one hand up to stroke your hair.

"Ride me, darling." He murmured, massaging your ass cheek gently.

"Yes, daddy."

You began to slowly bounce up and down on his length, rolling your hips as you hugged him close. Mr Moon cupped your face so he could lift your head and give you an intoxicating, desperate kiss, your whimpers getting caught in your throat.

"Daddy… you feel so good."

"Yeah, just like that," he sighed, his hips beginning to grind against yours to match your rhythm, "good girl..."

The praise was enough to send you over the edge and you came undone, your body twitching and falling weak against him. Your walls tightened and clenched around Mr Moon, making him reach his climax not long after. Once you caught your breath, you quickly climbed off him and pulled your clothes on in silence. You heard the rustling of Mr Moon pulling his pants back on. You turned around to look at him, his clothes neat again as he pushed the hair out of his face. He smiled when he made eye contact with you and the butterflies began raging in your tummy. He walked over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead, softly petting down the strands of hair that had gone rogue.

"Let's have dinner," he hummed casually, "your parents will kill me if they find out I didn't feed you."

"My parents will also kill you if they find out you fucked their daughter." You replied with a light laugh.

"And I'll gladly do that again." He mused, so confidently and effortlessly, before pecking your cheek and disappearing into the kitchen.

Mr Moon was interested in you, no doubt about that. But, obviously, it wasn't what you expected. Your dreams nor the tarot reader were able to confirm that your fated soul knew that your soul existed; that your soul was waiting for them. To you, Mr Moon was your soulmate that your soul had loved forever in thousands of different lives. To Mr Moon, you were just a girl he met and thought was cute. But you didn't mind. You would happily let your soul fall for him again. And again in the next life. And the life after that.

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[bi-demon-ium]

could you do 21 for jackson and jillson?

21: wild card!

hmmmMMMM once again too broad but i'll try i'll try

part of the fun of jackson and jillson is it's entirely impossible to tell what they are. siblings? lovers? partners in crime? friends? queerplatonic partners? married? inexplicably, twins? dating? friends with benefits? best friends? acquaintances who just love fucking with people but don't actually personally care and are more work friends? who knows!

although personally i don't buy that they're not close

if i were to choose i'd probably go with QPR but i think really the fun comes from the ambiguity of it all

anyway i do think they're very close to each other and don't really have anyone else. and while they're very loyal to curtain...

probably out of like. well, serious reason: he "took them in" and gives them approval, power, reassurance (even if it's manipulation), because he's very good at making kids feel like he's an authority figure they can and should trust, look up to, and work for--but still respect and defer to. he's charming, he's manipulative, he's slimy as hell, and if we're to think of the "special recruits" as show canon as well, not to mention just vibes, it's very likely jackson and jillson have been in this kind of environment from a very young age. and while curtain very specifically fosters and environment of not trusting other kids, no friendships, etc., particularly to promising students he wants to make messengers/executives, they ended up falling into each other as like. partners? almost as One Person, still isolated from everyone else, but now they're like. very close. they only have each other, and their loyalty for dr. curtain.

funny reason: they respect that he's an enormous petty bitch so much .sure the phd is cool but my god is that man the meanest weirdest fucker and they love it. anyway

BACK TO THE PREVIOUS POINT while they're very loyal to curtain, they only actually have each other to rely on with little things, or with "weaknesses"/vulnerabilities.

that being said they're not just like. innocent victims entirely either, i mean, they are, but they also very much enjoy being weird and bitchy/mean/almost if not straight up cruel, and using their power over younger students. but they were, you know, trained to be that way. so.

that being said unlike book j&j i don't think show j&j are necessarily sadists who love pain or whatever. they're more like high school bullies or mean girls or like. someone who does take joy in being an asshole and having power but like, probably wouldn't be laughing if someone got actually seriously really badly hurt. i mean, there's a limit. they'd probably still laugh far after they should tho

this is all vibes though don't ask for receipts

that being said (lmao ive said that so much this post for some reason) i do think they're not like. Literally The Worst, and i do actually love them they're so weird and mean

but i think a lot of the institute kids we see are like that, like martina, kind of. emulating curtain and those are the kids that succeed. like obviously not every kid is like that, lindsay seemed fairly chill and isaac was sweet, but i do think it's at least a pattern and shows that specifically that kind of behavior is rewarded

anyway i love jackson and jillson and i feel like they really rely on each other and no one else and are genuinely loyal to curtain

they're weird and mean and probably brainwashed

also i think they should hold hands. it doesn't have to be romantic. i just think they should hold hands as a general thing

and yes i am writing a fic about that

[le-loup-et-lion]

I know I talked about this on Discord once ages ago but did I ever tell you guys about my absurd harvest-mouse!Javert au?

Basically it's brick canon until Javert says to Valjean "I will wait for you here", at which point due to inexplicable fairy tale-esque 'you told a lie for the first time in your life' magic curse bullshit Javert is transformed right in front of Valjean into one of these lil guys:

Conceptually it's completely ridiculous, but what makes it funny is that's it's played completely straight.

"Autumn, you seem like a fairly serious person when it comes to this fandom so why on earth would you come up with something this silly" you say? well. you see. it literally came to me in a dream (no, seriously).

I imagine it as a very terrifying and painful transformation, which starts out almost like the pangs of a heart attack, with Javert clutching his chest and doubling over with a grunt as Valjean is walking away, causing Valjean to turn back around and kneel down with him, grabbing him by his shoulders and trying to assess what's wrong with him, ending up bewildered as Javert begins to glow with an eerie golden light which eventually engulfs him (but not before Javert can look up and meet his eyes one last time with an utterly petrified, vulnerable, pleading look). Then this blinding luminous form shrinks in Valjean's grasp until it is naught but a small floating orb, at which point the light begins to fade and whatever is left of Javert starts to fall. Valjean catches it in his hands and, somewhat horrified and awestruck, opens them to reveal the tinest little mouse he's ever seen curled up in his palms within the faintest fading golden glow.

Javert goes unconscious during this transformation, leaving Valjean to trudge back to his apartment in complete confusion with him (very gently) in hand, highly questioning his own sanity the entire time until Javert is able to wake up again and respond to basic yes/no questions.

(Javert of course absolutely loses his mind at first and tries to run away as soon as he begins to process the situation, but is unused to his new body and runs right off the edge of the table without thinking, forcing Valjean to panic lunge across the tabletop and grab him midair to prevent him from falling and hurting himself)

Anyway they are both very rattled and perplexed by this and Valjean keeps him at his apartment because they don't know what else to do.

Their whole hunter/prey antagonist/protagonist relationship gets pretty immediately and completely derailed by this, but not in like, a neatly resolved way, because they can't really just have a conversation about it at first, leading to ... a pretty weird mental state for both of them for quite awhile.

It also levels the playing field between them in a way because Javert was the only one who "knew" Valjean, and now Valjean is the only one who "knows" Javert.

Javert can't talk obviously but he CAN dip his little tail in an inkwell and write with surprisingly humanlike penmanship. (Also harvest mice have prehensile tails which they use to climb around vegetation; so it's more useful than he initially realizes—I wonder if they would be dexterous enough for him to write with just the tail itself, without having to grasp it like a pen in his front paw?)

His top hat fell off while he was transforming so it didn't transform with him (thereby remaining the only real proof of the situation, sort of) and Valjean sat it on his bedside table and filled it with bits of fabric (I like to think they're different colored cravats) for Javert to use as a hiding place/bed, which is just. the cutest thing ever if you picture it.

People on Discord were laughing about the idea of him wearing, like, a little waistcoat from a doll or something bc he's nakey and embarrassed about it lmao

I was thinking that shortly after this Valjean might fall ill, perhaps due to some wounds he received at the barricade (bullet grazes?) becoming infected by all the sewer muck he was wading around in, leaving him bedridden and unsure of the future (hmm, just like Marius). This would give him plenty of time to talk openly with Javert without anyone seeing, but also mainly force him to worry about Javert's immediate future as well, perhaps in his own absence (though he doesn't die in the end, of course). And then, their overwhelming mortality would probably make Valjean start talking about things he wouldn't otherwise have brought up.

Eventually after a long time of living with Valjean and watching him interact with others, and realizing the kind of person he is/that people can change/that the law and justice are two separate concepts/that he has spent his life helping to oppress people who often didn't deserve it, Javert manages to tolerate/accept and even appreciate Valjean in a sort of backwards Beauty and the Beast type au, and would turn back into his old human self again. But I haven't figured out exactly what the specific caveats of this "curse" (and therefore the breaking thereof) would be yet.

Like. Is it about being honest with oneself and others? Is it about learning to love? Is it about how seeing the humanity of others and treating them humanely is fundamental to what makes us human? What would break the curse, exactly? A kiss? A confession of some kind? A selfless act? Certainly it is more about him learning to love than it is about him becoming loveable; but then, are those two concepts not inseparably intertwined?

And why did he turn into a mouse, specifically, to begin with? (The real answer here is that my subconscious picked it while I was asleep, so I'm not sure; but) I feel like, in a metaphorical sense, Javert is a mouse who wholeheartedly believes himself to be a lion.

By which I mean, he was born into a position of powerlessness in society due to classism, racism, moral persecution, and economic inequality, and because of this he sought respect and power; but instead of trying to gain these things by fighting against the oppressive system he faced (as he believed it to be an unwinnable battle), he caved into it entirely and chose to become a servant of it, in return for a scant amount of personal security and the illusion of authority.

At the end of the day, however, he is still impoverished, disrespected, and distrusted. He is lying to himself in that he believes that through his self-sacrificial and self-stifling choices, he has fulfilled his goals to rise through the ranks of society, becoming his "morally best" self—but the reality is almost exactly the opposite. He has become the self-same monster that would gladly oppress people like him and his family. And he makes the choice to continue being that monster every day, because at least now he feels powerful; at least now people fear him enough to pretend they respect him.

Perhaps it is fitting, then, that his illusions finally break around him as he chooses to knowingly lie, not just to himself this time, but finally—and for the very first time—out loud. And in the admittance of his dishonesty to himself, he transforms physically into what he truly was all along—meek and small, voiceless and powerless; an inconvenient and easily forgotten pest in the eyes of society.

Would the acceptance of this truth, and the embracing of true humility, be what breaks him of the curse then; restoring to him his physical humanity at the restoration of his spiritual humanity?

I never fully figured out the plot direction for this au but I still think about it now and then and try to add to it in my head. So possibly, one day longggg in the future, you may see. a very silly little fic on AO3

[underworldreaderinserts]

Hello may I request Charon falling in love with a God reader, that is able to walk on the earth and the underworld? You know like Hecate.

Also I don't know if you do genders but if possible could reader be male? If not gender neutral is eine :)

I am so happy that you made this blog :D

HONESTLY I’M JUST SO HAPPY I HAVE A CHARON REQUEST, of COURSE you can have Charon falling in love with you, my dear. I will gladly write this little piece for you♡ I hope this is to your liking!♡ I did have the intention of making this a male reader insert, but I think the direction I took made it more ambiguous than that, so I hope you’ll forgive me! -- Ryan

     Taking your first step off the bank, you watch as the current engulfs your foot, and there’s a particular warmth that follows from the frigid cold of it. Along with it, a sense of nostalgia that differs from the routine acclimation. Some have said that the River is poison, that the River will devour all that doesn’t belong. But... Should you not belong, would the Styx be this welcoming?

     Each step into the River Styx takes you deeper into your thoughts. You’d been wandering the surface of this Earth for centuries, shunned from Olympus, despite being the Thunder God’s own progeny. To discover yourself, as you were told, though this felt more like a punishment than an adventure.

     Clueless as you are about your identity, you find yourself with a gift that not many other Gods can call their own; A tolerance to the Styx, of both its curses and its blessings, and the Underworld itself. But still, nowhere near any answers as to what that could mean about you.

     The cool water licks at your hips now, and you feel it tug you further yet, to its depths. Like it’s calling to you. An Olympian God in Chthonic favor. The irony in that was enough to make anyone sneer, and believe you had been forsaken. But... images pass through your mind of the cool, damp dungeons in disrepair of Tartarus, the unforgiving flames of the River Phlegathon that meandered Asphodel, and the Shades who lived lofty, luxurious lives in the promises of Elysium. A flash of smoke, and an eerie purple glow floods you with an elated emotion, and you would disagree with any who would say that you had been ‘forsaken’.

      That hypnotic lull indicative of crossing the border to the Underworld bogs your mind, as the water of the River Styx now comes up to your neck, crashing over your head. You’ve done this enough to trust it, giving up your center of balance and all footing you’d had before to tumble into the Underworld.

     “Hhrrraoooohhhn...” Coming to your senses, the first thing you were receptive to was a very particular groan. Pulling yourself out of the River Styx, you shake your head of excess water. A familiar prod in your mind told you that your company wanted to make conversation, and a quick image of a dock passed your vision. 

     Adjusting your laurel crown and smoothing your robes down your torso, you give the Boatman a lighthearted glare, “Yeah, I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s a bit expired.” Charon chided his airy groan in retaliation, and your laugher followed suit. 

     “I mean, if it’s an offer valid to take me home, I won’t say no, either. Any time with you, Charon, is time well spent.” There was a brightness to the smile you gave him that had the Boatman take a moment of silence to himself. To see such radiance was comparable only to his trips among the surface, of which he didn’t have long to enjoy.

     “Rrrhaaaohh hhnnrrraaaghh..” Charon’s voice graveled out the languid sound, and you hadn’t known what he’d meant until you’d felt that same prod in your mind, allowing him in. This time, you were filled with inexplicable sensations of a warm spring breeze and the faintest scent of daffodils. You shake your head, this time that smile turning to one of disdain.

     “The surface is nice, but... There are no opportunities there that I can’t find here.” Pessimism wasn’t your forte, and you still had a deep belief that there must have been a reason you could traverse both the surface and the Underworld unscathed. You couldn’t tell what the Boatman was thinking, per usual, so you decided to continue.

     “Besides, if I stayed there, who would be the one to take this to you, huh? Zagreus?” Knowing that the Prince had done so with ulterior motives to lower prices, you’d presented Charon with Nectar in a way that swayed his heart a different manner.

     Taking the bottle out from the pouch in your robes, you take Charon’s hand, slipping your gift into his palm. At that moment of contact, there was no prod for approval, but rather an image that lingered in your mind, of a space in Tartarus you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. "Charon?” You blink up at him, and his breath hisses through his teeth, the fog surrounding him seems to lick over your skin, and the mere suggestion lead a shiver down your spine.

    The other gives his trademark groan, one of appreciation as he pockets away his contraband. He directs a hand out, gesturing to his boat in a way that offered a ride, but this hadn’t the same intention as his earlier suggestion. An image of the nectar you’d just gifted him said more than enough. Giving a smile, you nod. Hades didn’t have to know that Charon would take a few minutes off the clock.

     And Charon wouldn’t admit easily just how much he’d begun to enjoy these moments with you. Cradling the bottle close, he’d committed yet another image of you to memory. This one encompassing all your hope, your optimism, and your vitality.

[flowerflamestars]

I'd just really like to say this. Be it Daylight, Starlight, Efflorence, the books itself, Rhyd is an ass. An absolute ass. He is so blinded in ways, so stubborn he refuses to listen to another side.

All he cares is his benefit, or Feyre's. You've hurt her, hidden things away from her? You have done her and Me wrong. And because of so, I will hear nothing of what you may try to say or explain, if the Archeron sisters give any at all.

And Azriel and Cassian knowing everything before him, I love that. Because in all honesty, it serves him damn right. For his refusal to listen, refusal to understand.

And to be frank, I've though about this for the past few days, of Rhys as a ruler. I just find that he would not be a good one. There are many meanings, definitions to be a ruler. Personally I find that to be a ruler, your people will always come first. Their wellbeing, over your own. Their life over your own. And I just don't believe Rhys will be able to do that. He was willing to let the world burn, just so to protect 4 people. And he'd be willing to do the same for Feyre. If it comes down to a choice between Feyre and his people, in no doubt, he would pick her. Not the people who rely on him, the people who he is supposed to protect. He would pick a girl, who is in all forms, supposed to do as he does as his high lady, who is in no way experienced in any way of ruling. Who cares not for the people of his court, who has taken what that some of his people have had stolen from birth. It all comes down to love, and Rhys will always pick his love for her over his love for a court which will never compare.

Goddammit, I just really can't like him at all and well, my apologies for a rant on Rhys 😂

But I must say this, Efflorence? I'm in love with it in so many ways, especially the politics 😂

Thank you!! Effloresce has SO much going on and I love that people are on board for the nonsense.

Not to call really heavily on my own fic- but in Starlight I give Rhys the backstory that he wasn’t meant to be High Lord. That his father had chosen his sister as heir- for pretty much the exact reasons you talked about!

Rhys rules with his heart. With sounds great, and is a lovely theme for like...a romance, a fairytale. 

But the books try to come at VERY heavy themes along with the romance- assault, racism, ect- and that’s where it falls apart at the slightest poke. 

And I think honestly, making Feyre High Lady is one of the best examples. I’ve talked before about how I genuinely doubt he could transfer a magical destiny to anyone, but let’s ignore that she probably just has the title.

It’s these deeply romantic moment right? This immortal king wants to raise her up on the throne- he’s called her his salvation and he’s making true on that- he wants her beside him in everything.

But.

Great moment of love!

But. then two things happen: Feyre starts throwing around her power like its a god given destiny AND Rhysand sort of...stops questioning any of her bad decisions? I mean they argue, but ultimately Feyre does exactly what Feyre wants and Rhys does exactly what Rhys wants without much bridge between.

Like, Feyre tries to order around ANOTHER HIGH LORD IN HIS OWN TERRITORY and Rhys...backs her? with the comeback that she can do ANYTHING she wants?

Rhys starts betraying their own friends and making fucky secret deals and Feyre is pissed, but ultimately? it just happens?

And that’s a terrible way to rule a country, particularly at war. He doesn’t empower her and then give her all the information! He doesn’t even tell her like: these are our cities, this is how big our army is, this is what I think we should do but what do you think?

And this is Rhysand’s pattern, right? To make the big emotional swing and have how that feels justify the means.

For example: Velaris. 

There is the obvious, important point that Rhys made a desperate, impossible choice in an equally impossible situation. 

But that narrative treats it like- it was for love. Rhys saved Velaris because Velaris was a secret (which remains...doubtful to me. Keir knew about the city, which means probably so did plenty of people), and more importantly, the home of all his friends. Because it’s the city of his heart. The place for dreamers. 

What we’re supposed to get is: Rhys saved the only city he could, did his best for his people.

WHICH IS TRUE, but the story puts the emphasis on: he saved his friends. 

He saved those he loved, and that becomes the justification for everything. Not, Rhys has to save innocent Night court citizen lives. Every choice he makes is justifiable because it a) directly is For Love, or keeps him personally powerful so he can further b) directly protect Who He Loves.

Can you imagine being a person who isn’t lucky enough to live in Velaris??

When his decision making gets particularly hard to swallow (see the inexplicable loophole of needing a Keir alliance to use his own army) the idea is, war makes us make difficult choices. But the emphasis, the execution is: Rhys, the most powerful, most loving, most always right High Lord who is Right, because he did this Shitty Thing because (spins wheel) It Will Ultimately Mean he can keep Feyre safe.

It’s never about duty. Or about whatever being a High Lord means, in a mystical, magical land.

The real flaw, for me, is that the story from the end of acomaf on refuses to allow Rhys to be wrong. To have flaws. We just stop experiencing in a real way, while it’s still happening, Rhysand pulling the bullshit that makes him Rhysand: being That Asshole, keeping secrets, double-dealing.

Rhys has to be the hero- so, suddenly, everything is washed away.

He’d seem like a lot better leader if we saw any kind of struggle that wasn’t so...personal? Or, say, what I would have done if Rhysand were mine to write: I would have made him genuinely bad at magic.

He talks about struggling because he’s half Illyrian? 

Well, Illyrians don’t use High Fae magic. Maybe Rhys barely can. Maybe he’s so secretive and difficult because he has to be, maybe he sacrifices himself because he feels like that’s all he has to give, maybe Keir is a real, dangerous adversary.

That’s a reason. 

There’s only so much that can simultaneously by justified under the nebulous: Feyre Cannot Be Hurt By Anyone Ever, I must wreck the world and/or Control Everything, when we’re also supposed to believe that Rhys is a) the Most Powerful High Lord to ever High Lord, b) beloved?? by? his people?, c) Totally able to do his job while coming back from, with no break, five decades of torture, and 

d)somehow, just like, the Very Best at being a leader in every way

[awesamblr]

PART TWO OF GHOSTBUR!!! Since you seemed to like the first one! :D

They all pause for a moment to take in what they just heard.

Wilbur...? Doesn't remember them...?

Tommy is the first one to speak up, sounding more hurt and confused with just an edge of anger to the words. "We...We're your family, Wilbur!! Wil- ...Wil are you-" Tommy doesn't want to believe that Wilbur doesn't remember them, he doesn't want that... "Wil, you better not be fucking with us-" he starts again, sounding more angry, fresh tears beginning to fall. "Cause if you are, I swear to god-"

And he stops as he finds a hand on his shoulder. Tommy turns and finds Techno.

"Tommy...he doesn't remember us Tommy..."

Wilbur shifts around, floating around slightly and awkwardly. "Y-you all seem to care a whole lot..." his hand moves to his chest. "I can't remember how I died...I can hardly remember anything...I'm so sorry if you knew me well..."

Tommy gets angry again- calling it anger is a disservice to the emotional turmoil, he was upset and scared and happy and so so sad- and Techno gets ready to hold him back again when another voice interrupts them.

"Knew you...?" It was Phil... "Knew you??" He pulled up his hanging head and tears ran freely. "Hell, Wilbur- I RAISED YOU!! I know you better than I know myself!! Wilbur, don't you recognize me? Recognize us?" He takes a step toward Wil and so much pain and hurt reflects in Phil's eyes- it hurt to look at them. "Wilbur we're your family! Those are your brothers...!! And I'm-" he remembers the explosion, the pleading of his son- kill me, kill me, please kill me- and takes a shattered breath. "And I'm your father."

Wilbur looks around at the broken family.

A boy who looks as if he once held his entire world in his hands, only to have it melt through his fingers and spill to the floor.

A man who looks like chaos incarnate, now heavy with guilt and shame, a horrible tiredness running through him endlessly.

A boy who looks as though he'd been through hell and back with a smile on his face, still trying to be happy for others around him.

A man who looks as though he had the world. As though he had absolutely everything. And now his everything was gone.

And Wilbur speaks. "Was..." he gulps in a breath at the teary eyes, almost not wanting to know the answer to the question on his tongue. "Was I a good brother?"

Memories flood the minds of the family.

Tommy recalls times of when him and Wilbur would make huge pillow forts when they were younger and of how whenever Tommy was upset, Wil would come up behind him and lay himself over his shoulders in a lazy gesture- not quite a hug, but something that felt the same.

Tommy also remembered Wilbur, eyes alive with insanity and agressive cruelty. The Wilbur that would scream at Tommy and pound his fist against the wall and tell Tommy that he was hopeless.

Techno remembers times in his life where him and Wilbur would sneak out of the house together to go hunt mobs- Wilbur never really wanted to be there, but Techno would never have gone without him. He remembered how when Techno would lock himself in his room and quietly panic, only to hear the calm strummings of a guitar from the other side of the door until Techno calmed down.

Techno also remembered the Wilbur that wanted to blow up Manburg, that wanted Techno's help in it's destruction. The Wilbur that craved chaos and hurt and pain. The Wilbur he had helped to destroy good.

Tubbo recalls times after he was adopted into the family, times where he would struggle with reading and writing and Wilbur would silently walk over and help him. He remembers times when he feels lost and Wilbur would pass by him humming a tune Tubbo would recognize, and soon the two of them would be singing loudly in the livingroom and laugh when Phil came down and yelled at them.

Tubbo also remembered Wilbur, actions shaky and plagued as he spouted on and on about Manburg and L'manburg and would sing stuttering and manic lyrics to a half-finished song and scribling them to a wall of his insanity.

Phil remembered Wilbur, the moment he came into Phil's life, the moments that he would have to wrangle the pure-hearted chaos of the boy with eyes that sparkled with neverending wonder and curiosity and passion. He remembered moments when Wilbur would begin to cry or leave the house telling the others he was "going for a walk" when they all knew he would break down the moment the house left his sight- he remembered the way he once cried for an injured bird when Phil told him the animal wouldn't make it, and remembered the way that Phil wasted a health potion on the little bird that night, just to see him smile again.

And Phil remembered the Wilbur in the control room. His eyes, his voice, his actions- a shattered and twisted version of what Phil had known him to be. The way his voice cracked and the way his eyes were alive with pain and madness and the way he fell to his knees as the home he had built was blown to bits. Phil remembered the way that on his knees still, Wilbur grappled onto Phil's coat and begged him over and over to end him, so much pain and hurt and trapped craze in his voice it shattered Phil.

"Was I a good brother?"

They were silent.

And then a small word from a small boy- a boy now president of a ruined land. "You were the best big brother anyone could ask for, Wilbur." They looked to Tubbo, who hadn't spoken a word the entire time. His eyes still dripped tears, but he had the most wonderful smile on his face. "You were the coolest big brother in the world. Why do you think we're so happy to see you again?" He gave a wet laugh. "Hell, you were amazing! Did you know that you used to help me with my english homework cause I couldn't read? A-and you would sing songs with me when I was sad!! You were the kindest brother a man could ask for."

"For real, Big Man!!" It was Tommy's turn to speak as he tried fruitlessly to dry his eyes. "You don't remember, but you and me made the most massive forts and we would hide there for hours and scare Technoblade!" Tommy laughed fondly. "I remember one time Techno was carrying a stick and hit me on the head when i scared him. You sat down with me and told me that I was okay and that we were gonna whack Techno with a billion sticks when I felt better."

"You..." Techno was hesitant for only a fraction of a second. "You used to help me sneak out of the house and we'd do all sorts of crazy things. You always said you were watching after me to make sure i never got hurt." He gave an amused chuckle at the memories. "You would play guitar in the hallway when i was upset, no matter what time it was. You got in trouble a lot for that, but you never stopped."

"Wilbur..." They turned to Phil as he adressed his son. Phil remembered and remembered and couldn't stop remembering and everything he remembered was good and every single memory was filled with thoughts of Wilbur- that's my son!- even in his last moments, and even the moments after when Phil had known he was long gone but held him closely anyway, he remembered the way he felt. Wilbur had never stopped being his son, Phil had never once stopped loving him. "Are you proud of me, Phil?" And the blonde man let more tears roll down his cheeks.

Phil tugged the ghost man into his arms and held on as if he ever let go, Wilbur really would disappear and be gone forever. "I'm so proud of you, Wilbur..." He spoke into the ghostial yellow sweater his son wore. "You were and still are the best son a man could ask for...i know you forgot that. But you know now and that's all that matters. I'm sorry i wasn't a better father, but know that i am so proud of you...so so proud, Wilbur..."

And Wilbur hugs him back.

It's hesitant, but it's there.

And Phil's other sons will know that as Wilbur embraced his father, tears rolled down his face in an unstoppable flow of emotion that Wilbur himself didn't understand completely, but his brothers did.

Wilbur doesn't know why he was crying. He didn't remember these people. But their emotions and connections were so so strong he felt the hints of distant memories flood him.

Someone giggling as they stacked things together.

Someone singing loudly with him as they danced around a room.

Someone chatting and joking with him under the stars.

Someone there, always always there. They never left...and they loved him so much.

"So..." Wilbur tried to keep his voice even, but found he could not. "I was a good brother?"

He was flooded with more arms- the embrace of his siblings, all shouting and telling him he was wonderful.

Tubbo...he remembered the name and he felt emotions attached to the name and the face, but he couldn't remember why.

Tommy...he could recall emotions attached to that name and was flooded with involuntary emotions when he looked at his blue eyes.

Techno...he could recall the name like an old friend and knew immediately that he was a comrade- a friend- a brother? He knew that name but couldn't understand why.

And Phil...he knew Phil. The memories were so blocked and so fuzzy and he could only just make out a smiling face, but it was Phil. He didn't know why and he didn't know how but he loved that name.

He loved all their names, and was overcome with inexplicable emotions when he saw them.

"...Dad...?" Wilbur finally let the word fall from his lips.

Phil held him closer.

"You were the best son I could have ever asked for..."

(I can keep the story going if you want! I really like drabbling this it's so much fun lol! But for now this is a good stopping place cause the ask is hella long.)

MANNNN I AM IN L O V E. THE WAY YOU RIGHT IS SO NICE AND FLOWY AND IT ALL JUST WORKS SO OERFECTLY TOGETHER! AND THE PARALLELS??? MMMMMMM

PLEASE KEEP GOING IF YOU WANT IM BEGGING

[iam93percentstardust]

I'm bombarding you with those prompts, so I fully understand if you just ignore all those you don't like, lol. Would WinterIronFalcon be an OT3 you're intrested in writing? Some established WinterFalcon with Tony pining helplessly after them, not believeing he could have a chance? With a dash of angst in it? Thank you ♡

There isn’t much angst in this but there is hopeless pining so yay?

Also on ao3 here

~

“Share Bear, it’s not fair,” Tony whines into the phone.

“What isn’t?” his cousin asks, sounding patient but also kind of amused. He takes the phone away from his ear and squints at it. Is she making fun of him? She probably is, Sharon always makes fun of him. She’s mean like that; he’s pretty sure she gets it from Natasha.

“They’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh. Them again. Seriously Tony, didn’t you used to have better taste?”

“Excuse you,” he says, offended. “My taste is perfect.”

“They think arguing is foreplay.”

“It’s bickering! And it’s cute!”

“Gross,” Sharon says cheerfully.

“God hates me,” Tony says dramatically, flinging his hand over his eyes. “That’s why he cursed me to work with two such beautiful humans who are already dating each other.”

“Tony—”

“I know Bucky stays up to date with the fandom,” he continues, going a little quieter. “He’s gotta know that tons of people ship the three of us. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Share Bear, why doesn’t he say anything?”

“Probably because for every person who ships all three of you, there’s twice as many who ship just you and him,” she admits. “I know that if someone were shipping Maria and Nat and ignoring that I even exist, I’d be pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he says glumly.

“What’re you filming today anyway?” she asks.

“True Crime. We were supposed to be doing an episode of Supernatural at the Odinson Mystery House, you know, over in Norway where the son found out he was adopted and then got super into Norse mythology and supposedly disappeared into a rainbow?”

“Oh yeah, that guy was crazy.”

“Wasn’t,” Tony insist stubbornly. “There are three different eyewitnesses and they all saw the same thing.”

“All three eyewitnesses tested positive for meth.”

“It was trace amounts and ruled irrelevant to the case. Anyway, there’s some sort of blizzard so our flight got canceled. We figured we’d get a jump on this season’s True Crime episodes instead.”

“What are you doing this week?”

He scowls into the phone. “Fandom episode. They voted for Captain America.”

He can practically hear Sharon wince. “I’m sorry. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not least because both of them know exactly what happened to Captain America. He was recovered from the Arctic back in the 50s and went on to live a very happy and fulfilling life with Aunt Peggy. But that’s a very closely guarded state secret; the U.S. government can’t let it get out that Steve Rogers survived nearly a decade in the ice. Technically, Tony and Sharon aren’t even supposed to know but Aunt Peggy had insisted she be allowed to tell them after she took custody of Sharon and Tony moved out of Howard’s and into her home. It’s kind of cool actually, knowing that Uncle Steve is really Captain America. He’s a pretty great guy. It just kind of sucks that he can’t tell anyone about it and now he has to do a whole episode about it when everyone knows he’s a shitty liar.

He’d talked it over with Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy when the results of the vote had first come in. Aunt Peggy’s advice had been to act more manic than usual, throw even more outlandish theories into the mix, and really make this episode about the banter between him and Bucky. “Direct their attention away from Steve,” she’d said. “They’re already going to be looking at you. Just make sure they’re doing it for the wrong reason.”

He kind of wants to kiss Bucky. That would definitely draw attention away from the episode. But that’s not fair to either Bucky or Sam, who are very happy with their relationship and don’t need a homewrecker like Tony throwing a spanner into the mix.

“Good luck,” Sharon tells him before they hang up. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters but she’s already gone.

~

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Now they have a fandom and merchandise and actual fanfiction written about them, which is the craziest thing. They both have several often-quoted gifs floating around the Internet and Bucky has somehow become the poster child for being unimpressed by literally everything (he actually makes some of the best faces when something genuinely scary happens but they always end up editing those parts out—he has an image to maintain after all).

They brought Sam on once they started gaining in popularity. Tony, by that point, already had a pretty well-established crush on Bucky. He’d even thought that he had a chance with his co-host, small as it may be, and at first, it hadn’t seemed like Sam was going to change anything. He and Bucky argued all the time so Tony had been absolutely stunned when he’d stumbled upon them making out like it was the end of the world.

They had just finished filming their second season. Sam had suggested going out to a local bar. He’d suggested it for all three of them but Tony had, inexplicably, felt like a third wheel all night as Sam and Bucky bickered. At one point, Sam had disappeared off to the restroom and a couple minutes later, Bucky had followed him. Tony doesn’t know how long he had sat there waiting for them but he’d eventually gone looking for them only to find Sam pressing Bucky up against a wall.

And that had been that.

Three years later, Sam and Bucky are still going strong, Tony is as smitten with Sam as he is with Bucky despite knowing how hopeless both crushes are, and the fandom seems convinced to either write Sam out of Tony and Bucky’s relationship or write Tony into Sam and Bucky’s. He wishes they would stop. He stays pretty up to date with the fandom as well and they have all these meta posts about the way Bucky looks at him or something. It just keeps giving him hope but, well, it’s been three years. If Bucky wanted him, or if Sam did for that matter, they would have done something long ago.

~

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asks him as they’re setting up.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He avoids meeting Sam’s eyes, focusing instead on adding creamer to the coffee. Marvels had presented them with these mugs last year to congratulate them on four years of Unsolved. They’ve got their most iconic quotes printed on them, Bucky’s with “Obviously I killed JFK” and Tony’s with “I’m the dramatic bitch your mom warned you about.” Sam has one too with his one and only line in the entire show printed on it (“Why did I agree to work with you?”) but since he’s always behind the camera, he doesn’t have to use the same mug for each episode.

“You just seem a little off.” The worst part is that Sam genuinely looks concerned. If they didn’t care about him, he thinks his crush might be easier to manage but they do because they’re just nice guys like that. “I know you weren’t too thrilled when we announced this week’s case.”

“Howard worked with him, practically hero-worshipped the damn guy. Of course, I’m not excited.”

Sam winces. They know all about Tony’s shitty relationship with Howard after his dad called Marvels furious that his son was hosting a webseries instead of coming home to grovel at his feet and take over the business. The whole team had been brought in to listen as Fury tried to placate him. By the end, Bucky had been furious on Tony’s behalf and Sam had berated Fury for twenty minutes for making Tony listen to the vitriol his dad had spewed. It had cemented his crush on Sam, then just a passing fancy, into something real and permanent.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine. Might be a little off today but I would have said if I didn’t think I could do it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but he agrees anyway. Tony sits down next to Bucky and passes him his mug. Bucky shoots him a grin and murmurs, “Thanks, doll.”

Tony doesn’t blush but that’s only because he has five years of practice. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sam counting them down and he turns to face the camera, settling his hands in front of him.

“This week on Marvels Unsolved True Crime and in celebration of our 100th episode,” he begins, “we asked you what you’d like us to investigate and you came back—”

“—overwhelmingly,” Bucky interjects.

“Many, many times,” Tony agrees, “with a topic near and dear to my own heart: Captain America.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, sounding surprised though Bucky had been the first to point out that maybe they shouldn’t do this episode because of Tony’s connections to Project Rebirth. “Your dad helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, didn’t he?”

“And he never let me forget it!” Tony says cheerfully.

“One hundred episodes,” Bucky says slowly, enunciating each word. “Can you believe that, doll?”

Sometimes, he wonders why the fans ship them when Sam is right there. Other times, Bucky says things like this and he understands completely.

“Not even a little bit, Bucky Babe.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t help.

“One hundred. The big one zero zero.”

“We tried to do something extra special and get Sam in front of the camera for you guys—”

“—so you could see what a hunk he is—”

“—but Sam said that he didn’t trust anyone else to film us properly—”

“—which makes sense because Tony? If you put him in the wrong light, he’s practically a gremlin—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling the facts.”

“Well, the facts are wrong.”

“They’re facts, sweet thing, they can’t be wrong.”

“Can too. Anyway, since Sam refuses to join us—”

“—and that just breaks my heart because Sam, he’s one of my favorite guys, you know?”

Tony pauses. It’s not like Bucky to say anything nice about Sam. Usually, it’s all good-natured insults and bickering. He must really be fed up with the Starkbucks shippers to say something like this when they’re still this early in the show.

“Only one of?” he asks curiously.

Bucky shoots him one of those filthy grins that their audience loves so much. “Well, it’s hard not to include you on that list,” he drawls.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to—

Damn it.

Whatever. It’s no big deal, that’s what editing is for. So what if Sam has never edited out one of Tony’s blushes yet? Maybe Tony will get lucky and he will this time.

“You know, I was actually named for Captain America’s sidekick?” Bucky asks, getting them back on track.

“Wow, that is deeply unfortunate,” Tony deadpans.

“Yeah, Dad’s a fanboy. His whole troop was pinned down and rescued by the two of them. He tells the story all the time—kind of like your dad.”

“Except my dad goes straight past into fanboy and directly into obsession territory.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky shrugs and takes a sip out of his mug. “I’ve been inside your house. I’ve seen the Steve Rogers shrine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Tony thinks about that for a moment. “It is kind of a shrine, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff for you today. We’re going to crack open this cold case, show you some never-before-seen footage courtesy of my mom sneaking my dad’s old war tapes out of the mansion, and then we’ll talk a little bit about the theories out there.”

“How many of them are going to be ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible?”

Tony glares at him. “None of them. I have never once presented a ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible theory.”

“Right because alien abduction is a valid—”

“Aliens are real!”

“You said that crabs might have eaten Amelia Earheart!” Bucky shouts over him.

“It’s a valid theory!”

“I take it back, you’re not one of my favorite people anymore.”

“That really hurts me, deep inside,” Tony says sarcastically, trying to cover up that maybe that does send a small pang shooting through his chest. He likes the thought of being one of Bucky’s favorite people. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“How deep?” Bucky asks and winks.

“Very deep. Way, way deep down. Practically in my—”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his coffee. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Let’s get into the facts.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

~

“With a missing plane and pilot and so much redaction in the files, we’re lucky to even have a name, let’s get into the theories.”

“Actually, wait, before we do that,” Bucky says, “I want to ask if you’ve ever noticed that your voice changes when you’re doing the voiceovers.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks. He glances at him, to one of the cameras, then back to Bucky. “What do you mean?”

“You know, it gets all deeper like you’re trying to voice movie trailers or something.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.”

Tony shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Told you!” Bucky says triumphantly.

“You’re such a child,” Tony sneers.

“Yeah, that’s why you like working with me so much.”

Behind the camera, Sam silently snickers and Tony glares at him before telling the camera, “If you’re watching, let us know in the comments. Is my apparent movie trailer voice okay or does it need to go like Bucky clearly thinks?”

Bucky goes paler. “Hey, wait, I didn’t say it had to go.”

“It was implied when you brought it up,” he argues.

“No!” Bucky insists. “I was just wondering if it was on purpose.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Aha!” Tony says triumphantly.

“Traitor,” Bucky mutters into his coffee.

Sam signs, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home tonight.”

“And that was more than I ever wanted to learn about Sam and Bucky’s love life,” Tony lies through his teeth. “Let’s get into the theories. I only have two for you today, one of which I think Bucky will particularly like.”

“Oh no.”

“Our first theory is that Steve Rogers died in a plane crash on December 16, 1944. Winter months in the Arctic are known to be particularly stormy. There would have been low visibility due to the high latitude and time of year and with the waters and surrounding land being well below freezing, it’s possible that, even if Captain Rogers survived the impact, he would have frozen to death in the stormy seas.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, that seems plausible.”

“In addition, Howard Stark, a known Captain America aficionado and the father of Marvels Unsolved’s best host—”

“You lie like a rug!” Bucky howls.

Tony snickers and then when Sam signs, “He’s really not,” bursts out into full-out laughter.

Once he’s recovered, he continues, “Howard Stark has spent the first fifty years after the crash of the Valkyrie and the last twenty funding searches in the Arctic in the hopes of recovering Captain Rogers’ body. He has found no evidence that Captain Rogers survived the crash although he did find part of the remains of the Valkyrie and has since stated that, ‘No human could have survived that crash.’”

The expeditions are a scam and have been since Howard first found the Valkyrie crash site and Uncle Steve along with it. He hadn’t been planning on continuing the expeditions—too costly, as he claims—but when Aunt Peggy had told him that Uncle Steve’s survival had to remain a secret, he’d kept them up for pretense’s sake.

Bucky is saying something about how it sucks that the first superhero is gone and when he finishes, Tony grins and says, “Then you’ll like our second theory.”

“Somehow, every time you say that, I end up completely hating it. Wonder why that is.”

“Our second theory is that Steve Rogers survived the crash and is still alive but cryogenically frozen in the ice. There—”

“Bullshit!”

Tony starts laughing but he tries to continue on over Bucky shouting that it’s complete nonsense. It’s hard and he knows that Sam will probably have to do some editing and maybe make Tony do some voiceover work in order to make the theory audible but he thinks he manages to do a pretty good job.

Bucky is pouting by the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. “What fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

“The supersoldier serum—” Tony starts to point out.

“Isn’t a miracle drug.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“No, it just made him big and strong. It doesn’t just magically keep people alive when they should have died.”

And then they’re off into familiar territory, arguing about the merits of either theory. Tony’s actually feeling pretty good about himself, convinced that he’s doing a decent job of steering the conversation away of anything classified, right up until Bucky says, about halfway through the episode, “I’m surprised at you, Tony.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Surprised?”

“Usually, you have some absolutely batshit, off-the-walls crazy theory but these have actually been pretty normal for you.” He pauses and then adds for effect, “And you’re usually much better at your research than this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, even I know that there’s one more theory.”

He starts tapping at his chest nervously, almost wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses. Aunt Peggy always said that his lies are in his eyes, that they’re too expressive to hide the truth. When he was living with Howard, in the spotlight, he always had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes but he hasn’t wanted to use those since he moved out. He wishes he had them now.

“And what’s that?” he asks, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel.

“That Steve Rogers lived and came out of the ice at some point and has been living out his life in anonymity.”

He barks out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mention it because even I know that that theory is completely impossible.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Sam nods agreeably. Bucky nods back at him and adds, “Even Sam agrees with me.”

“He’s your boyfriend, he’s practically required to.”

Both Sam and Bucky laugh at that one and yeah, okay, it was a pretty ridiculous statement. Anyone who knows them knows that being boyfriends is less likely to make them agree with each other.

“Look, Steve Rogers didn’t come out of the ice alive. Howard would have known for one thing and if you think, he could keep something like that quiet, then you don’t know him very well.”

“Maybe the government insisted it be a secret,” Bucky suggests, shrugging. “There have been plenty of people who have claimed over the last couple decades to be Captain America.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh come on, by that logic, anyone could be Captain America.”

“Maybe they could be.”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “It’s like that crazy conspiracy theory guy over on Reddit who’s convinced that Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Maybe Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Ooh do the butts match?” Tony says mockingly. “I mean, really, Bucky Babe, if we’re going off of lookalikes, then my fucking Uncle Steve is secretly really Steve Rogers, which is ridiculous because the guy’s like practically ancient and faints at the sight of blood in PG-13 movies.”

That sets off another round of arguing that lasts the rest of the episode until finally Tony wraps it up with, “Whether Steve Rogers died in 1944 or is still alive today is a mystery that will remain unsolved.”

They both pause for a moment to provide time for Sam to edit in the theme music and closing title. Usually, there would be some lighthearted bantering afterwards, maybe a joke about something they said earlier in the show. This time though, Bucky says thoughtfully, “The thing is, though, I’ve met your Uncle Steve—”

Tony goes cold.

“—and he really does kind of look like—”

Tony panics. That’s the only explanation that he has for declaring, “I’m done waiting,” reaching across the tables and grabbing hold of Bucky’s shirt, and yanking him forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to do anything but then he melts into Tony, mouth opening under his, tongue pushing forward to meet his. Bucky’s arms come around him, pulling him up and out of his chair and settling him into his lap. Tony makes a small greedy sound, swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and then they’re both pulling away. Bucky’s lips are very red; Tony can’t stop staring at them even as he’s filled with dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“You—Sam—” He glances toward the camera but Sam isn’t standing there anymore. His heart drops into his stomach—has he just ruined Bucky and Sam’s relationship? But then he hears someone drop to their knees behind him and when he turns slightly, Sam’s fingers are on his chin, gently turning his head.

“How long?” Sam asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have we been wasting our time when we could have been kissing you instead?”

Three years, two months, and fifteen days. “Too long.”

Sam kisses him then, mouth gentler than Bucky’s but no less consuming. Bucky is a hard, hot line against his front; Sam is warm against his back and Tony? Tony loses himself in the storm that is the two of them, sparks shooting through him as Bucky’s hands find their way to his hips, as Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth, as Bucky whispers into his ear, “We’re not wasting any more time.”

~

Marvels Unsolved’s 100th episode shoots to their most watched, most liked video in less than a day and when asked, maybe the smallest handful of viewers could have said what it was about.

The day after it posts, only a week after it was filmed, Tony’s phone rings.

“Kill it with fire,” Sam says sleepily.

Tony, however, recognizes Aunt Peggy’s ringtone and he rolls over to grab it before Bucky can throw it at the wall. “Hello?” he asks groggily.

“Congratulations on not blowing Steve’s cover,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” Tony mutters. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“One more thing, duck.”

“What’s that?”

“Congratulations on the new boyfriends.”

[mccnglade]

many reasons; dazai osamu

DAZAI OSAMU X READER

In hindsight, you should have realised that running after Dazai was not a good decision on your part...

WORD COUNT: 1.8K words

WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, abuse (not reader's), angst (if you squint), fluffy ending. MILD SPOILERS FOR BUNGO STRAY DOGS SEASON 3

(e/c) - eye color

A/N: sorry if the formatting is a bit wonky!! i'm posting this on mobile because tumblr doesn't work on my stupid, old laptop.

this fic is really super, self-indulgent because dazai is my favorite in bsd and i love when situations like the one in this one shot happen in anime, so i combined the two things and wrote this. this was actually going be a scene in a dazai fic i'm thinking of posting on my wattpad, but i decided to scrap it and write it as a oneshot. i hope you all enjoy reading this!!

Also shoutout to @neonghxst who wanted me to finish this one shot hehe. thanks to her, i got the inspiration to actually write this and finish it.

"Are you sure we should have left him like that?"

You fiddled with the ends of your coat sleeves. Upon hearing about Atsushi's new case and the end result, you immediately wanted to give the boy a hug and never let him go. He had been through so much these past few weeks and hearing about the death of that abusive headmaster of his old orphanage must have been incredibly painful.

But Dazai had promptly pulled you away, after saying exactly what needed to be said. (He always knew what to say in any kind of situation and that made you feel jealous a lot of times)

"Things like that are meant to be dealt with alone. Atsushi-kun will manage," Dazai answered with a cool tone. "You worry too much, (Y/N)-chan."

He tried to ruffle your hair but you slapped his hand away with a huff.

"I have every right to worry, you know," You crossed your arms, angrily staring at the ground. You and Dazai had already left the port area and now were back in the city, walking next to each other. "He and Kyouka just...I just wanna give them both a hug and adopt them as family."

This time, Dazai successfully managed to ruffle your hair."You are very funny, (Y/N)-chan."

"I'm not being funny! I'll actually adopt them, just you wait and see."

"As amusing as that would be, I'm gonna stop you there."

"Why?"

"Well, it's nighttime now. And we are almost near the river. The moon's pretty bright today. Which means one thing and one thing only."

"What, Dazai?"

"It's the perfect time for a double suicide!" 

Dazai suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you around. You felt your face grow warmer as he kept his hands on your waist, meanwhile going on about the benefits of a double suicide.

"D-dazai! Let go!" You physically tried to struggle out of his grip, knowing that your Ability was useless in this situation. "Just let go, dumbass!"

"Nope, not gonna." 

Dazai let go of your waist, but then immediately grabbed your hand. But you managed to pull it away. He stuck his tongue out at you. "You are no fun, (Y/N)-chan."

You glared at him. "How many times do I have to tell you no, you bandage squandering idiot?!"

"Ahh!! You sound so much like Kunikida-kun! Why didn't you tell me you were so great at impersonating others?"

"Huh?! What's that supposed to mean?" You went to shove his shoulder but he dodged it,  jumping aside with his annoying (endearing) laugh. You tried to hit him again, but he dodged this time too and started running.

"Oi, Dazai! Come back here, you idiot!"

You ran too, trying to catch up to him so that you could, at least, flick his forehead before slapping him. Why was he so annoying, you always wondered. 

'Isn't this why you like him?' Your heart whispered to you.

'Shut up,' You told it.

You kept on running. Even as you did, the sun had almost set, taking its red and orange hues and replacing it with the dark, navy blue of the night sky. The running brought you to the river bank, a spot where both you and Kunikida had to drag Dazai out of. For some reason, he declared this spot and drowning as his top favorite for a double suicide.

It was incredibly annoying, but at the same time, also incredibly saddening and you wished you knew more about why he was like this.

Finally, you caught up with him. 

In hindsight, you should have realised that running after Dazai was not a good decision on your part. 

Both of you stumbled down the river bank, holding onto each other because there was nothing else to grab onto. The slant river bank ended and they were on flat ground again.

But...but, both of you were in a rather compromising position. 

Usually, you were a pretty confident and self-assured person. But when it came to situations like these (or any romantic situations)…well, you were still pretty inexperienced. So inexperienced actually that you hadn't kissed anyone in a long while, almost two years to be exact. Relationships had always seemed like a waste of time to you, but being in such close proximity of the man you currently yearned for was doing wonders for your heart. (In a good way and a bad away)

Dazai's arms were on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground. He loomed over you, his brown eyes staring right into your (e/c) ones. 

You swore you could detect something there before it was hidden behind his mask again. 

No longer were you able to keep the warmth away from your face. You knew you probably resembled a tomato right now. You wanted to get out of this position quickly, but deep down, your mind and your heart both resisted. And you felt like agreeing with them this time. You wouldn't get a chance like this ever again.

So you decided to speak.

And immediately regret it.

"Your eyes are pretty," The combined forces of your heart and mind make you say something stupidly embarrassing and you immediately want to cover your face. But you can't. So you continue.

Even the darkness of night couldn't keep the redness of your cheeks hidden. 

"I mean, they're not just an ugly brown color. They have this amber-like quality to them. And everytime light hits them, they almost shine and it makes them more beautiful than I ever thought. Like seriously, you have really beautiful eyes. Personally, your eyes are your best feature and they're one of the many reasons I fell for you."

(You wanna crush your own stupid heart for that last bit.)

"Oh?" That was all Dazai said, that stupidly endearing smirk on his face. "Many reasons? What are they again?"

"Um, uh," You hesitated, turning your head to the side. This was more embarrassing than any other situation you had ever been in. There was nowhere else to go and while you could have kicked Dazai away with ease, truth be told you really didn't want to do that. How many chances like this would you ever get? "I don't even know when I started liking you. And maybe it's a stupid thing because nothing is ever going to come out of it, but yeah. I have feelings for you, Dazai Osamu. Truth be told, I can sort of understand why you ask women to commit a double suicide with you. You want someone to be by your side, right? You don't want to be lonely when you die. I guess I can understand that, though I wish I could show you the joy in living. But I don't think I'll ever be able to change your mind."

You laughed nervously, looking anywhere but at Dazai's face, where his smirk had been replaced by a more serious look. "I went on a totally different tangent there, didn't I? You can forget that last bit but to sum up everything, I have feelings for you. I don't expect you to return them anyways so...yeah."

Now, you looked at Dazai. His expression was unreadable. You couldn't understand what emotions were written on his face. You didn't even know what he would do next. Would he reciprocate your feelings? Would he reject them? What would he do? You wanted answers and you weren't getting them.

Then again, it was partly your fault also. You suddenly sprung these feelings on him. You shouldn't expect him to answer quickly. 

(Secretly, you also thought that Dazai wasn't the type of person who'd ever truly  love someone. It was just your stupid luck he was the person you fell for.)

Unexpectedly, Dazai suddenly moved off you, giving you the opportunity to finally sit up and contemplate your next moves.

'Should I just run away?' You thought, thinking about the pain of rejection. You'd deal with it. Somehow. 'It's the coward's way out. But what more can I do?'

"If you're thinking of running away, don't," Dazai suddenly said, meeting your eyes with a stare so intense that you swore he could read every single thought in your mind. 

"That was not what I was thinking," You clearly lied, crossing your arms. 

"You know, I can tell that you're lying, my Belladonna," Dazai put his hand on your cheek, his slender fingers brushing away the stray strands of hair on your face. "You are not a very good liar."

"D — wh-what?" You froze up completely. Because as much as you would like to deny, even an action like this left you wanting more. His hands were inexplicably warm and strangely soft. You couldn't even think about running away now. Dazai put his other hand behind your back, pulling you close to him. Close enough that your noses were almost touching and you could see the little flecks of amber in his pretty brown eyes. 

"D-do you also h-have feelings f-for me?"

What the hell was wrong with your voice? You wanted to ask your question again, but your words died in your throat. 

Instead, your heart chose to speak. You tilted your head slightly, barely brushing your lips against his. Even this small action sent volts of electricity coursing through your body. But then, your courage fizzled out and you tried to move back. 

Key word; tried. 

Dazai put his hand at the back of your head and pulled you closer, finally,  freaking finally, kissing you. 

You wished you could describe what you were feeling, but you really couldn't. Your mind was completely shut down and all you could really think was, that you were floating. And since it was your one of the few kisses you had in your life, you didn't know what to do. So you kept on pressing your mouth against Dazai's, trying to have more; trying to feel more of him. 

It was strange, it felt so strange. But kissing Dazai felt incredibly…amazing. Yeah, amazing. Just him and you and nothing else. You felt like you could touch the stars now and you didn't want it to end. You wanted to keep on doing this forever, or as long as both of you could. 

But then, Dazai suddenly ended the kiss, pulling back with a lazy grin.

You stared at him, breathing heavily. And then, you let your head fall onto his shoulder, grabbing onto to the front of his cream-colored trench coat. 

"Does that answer your question, (Y/N)-chan?" He asked with a sing-song voice, suddenly hugging you. 

"So you do like me?" Your voice was muffled by his coat, but you knew he heard you clearly. 

His lips were pressed onto your neck, moving with his answer. You understood it immediately. Releasing his coat from your hands, you hugged him back.  

You knew this moment wouldn't last very long, but you would revel in it for now. 

It was going to be the only thing on your mind for a very long time.

a/n: i hope this was a fun read! with this quarantine, i've been thinking of attempting to write more character x readers because they are good practice for writing a multi-chapter fic. so you might see more bsd, haikyuu and bnha content on here. I might also post about DC so let's see.

My wattpad

[anamarialujan]

I was mentioned to make a list of 10 things about me, therefore here I am, even if nobody cares.

1. My name is María Luján but my friends call me Ana for some inexplicable reason. I don't complain, Ana seems to me a more beautiful name than my real names.

2. I study Italian, and Russian and Portuguese (these two only with Duolingo haha!)

3. I live in Argentina, I left the country three times but only for one day and to neighboring countries (Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay).

4. I am 28 years old, I haven't brothers or sisters.

5. I study History at the university.

6.I write fanfics since I was 18, I started with one about a series of cowboys (yes, you can laugh) that I never finished, then I went through the beatle fandom in forums, Blogger, and Wattpad, and now I write only for Call the Midwife because they stole my heart.

7.I also write original things and my dream is to publish a book even if nobody reads it.

8. My favorite animals are cats, goats, ducks, horses, otters and elephants.

9. I don't know how to drive cars or motorcycles because they scare me.

10. Post a picture of you:

(I won't mention anyone, you're free to do it and tell us about yourself)