#so underrated to begin with so I wanted to start writing for him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pyract0 · 4 months ago

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╰┈➤Angst scenarios with Mha movie men

☁︎Includes: Giulio Gandini, Rody Soul ☁︎I absolutely love the movie characters and feel they're so heavily underrated when it comes to being written, so wanted to write for them :) ☁︎Warnings: death, Betrayal/ heartbreak, Description of injuries/ weapons, Heavy angst/ no comfort, lowkey made myself sad writing parts of this. Spoilers for movies 3 and 4 ☁︎gender neutral reader/ no specified pronouns, referred to as "you".

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╰┈➤🎕🥀Giulio Gandini

Whether he chose to admit it, you were always there in his new life, since the very beginning. You started off as something akin to a ghost, a passing figure within the halls of the Scervino family's mansion. Someone like him, taken in with the task of caring for the long since isolated daughter, the girl who seemed right out of some twisted fairy tale. Giulio had heard of you in passing, between the whispers of servants within the walls that praised you for your power. You made two, the two people who could make contact with the girl without risk of harm if you happened to be incompatible. He was a neutraliser while you were simply immune. Suddenly his burden was not only his to bear, another person who was able to make the girl feel normal, to feel human. Even if in the end he was the only one able to cure her, to lessen the inflictions of her own quirk, you still held more of an impact on the both than you could have imagined. He watched the simple things you did for the girl, braiding her hair in the early hours of the morning when requested before a long day, doing something as simple as holding her hand to remind her she wasn't alone. It was small, but he grew to admire you either way.

The shift in her mood was almost immediate, the girl who once cowered away from any form of contact now seeking out your touch. Even if it meant more work was loaded onto his schedule, he never found it in himself to complain as he watched you sit together on the balcony overhanging the garden. And soon Giulio began to care for you as well, pouring an extra cup of tea when he was to serve the younger girl, pushing the saucer towards you with a gentle smile. It was slow from there, the exchange of short spouts of words as you passed in the halls, in a world the two of you ruled on your own. It then became something more, hushed words lingering in the halls becoming long hours under the moonlight, sharing the tea he had diligently prepared in a comforting silence. Even if he couldn't read your mind, couldn't determine how much these meetings mattered to you, they meant the world to him.

It may have been something so simple, yet you never complained when he requested your presence in the late hours of the night, the only time he truly felt free. You spared him time each night, sitting in the dimly lit dining area and enjoying your warm drinks, away from the worries of the seizures that wracked the girl under his care. You were no longer a stranger, no longer a spirit in the back of his mind, instead you were a friend. A figure in his life that he could rely on for comfort, that he could rely on outside the Scervino family he had grown to love like his own. You were different. You never pitied him, never looked down on him and instead helped him move forward in life. Over the years of companionship, watching you remain ever so kind to everyone, Giulio started to fall for you. You had managed to break down the walls he initially piled up after the loss of his family, never becoming overwhelming despite the constant presence of you around him. It started as something small, a shift in his demeanour when you got a bit too close to him, heat rising to his flushed cheeks watching you interact with the people around you. To him you were like an angel, someone who felt so out of reach that he couldn't help but admire. He felt love, he loved Anna but for you his feelings were different, a need to have you close over simply being your protector. He never expected for his feelings to be reciprocated, but as you stood before him with a shaky hand offering him a single rose, he couldn't have been happier. It was rocky at times, your relationship struggling with his inability to leave the mansion at the risk of failing to fulfil but contract, but to him it was still perfect. You made it work, refined it over the months of affection, and it became something just as special. Instead of spending days out, walking together you both found comfort in each others brace under the night sky. Sharing the tea he had freshly prepared on the balcony, enjoying the distant shine of the stars. And after everything, he never gave up on you. A single night was all it took, a single night to collapse everything he had built in his life. The house he had grown attached to, the house that became his home, crumbling down in a matter of minutes. Flames surrounded the whole area, blood splattered across the rubble as he laid helpless, succumbing to the pain of his injuries.

Giulio could only watch helplessly as the girl he swore to protect was taken, her power taken advantage of as he couldn't do anything but promise to find her. To save her. After what felt like hours had passed, he finally managed to pull himself to stand, leaning his left against the crumbling wall as his remaining foot grew weak. The first body he recognised was that of his employer, Mr Scervino laying lifelessly amongst the ruins of his own home. He forced his body to move, forced himself to call out to you amongst the crumbling structure of the mansion. He could feel the warm rivers of crimson running down the right side of his face, eyelid screwed tightly shut as he struggled through the rubble, trying to find any signs of life. To hear the sound of your voice reply to his cries. But in the end it was hopeless, never finding you like you had simply vanished. Now it all made sense.

The sounds of a drawn out battle echoed throughout the enclosed walls of a false sky, his blood seeping into the blooming field of artificial flowers. His figure remained hunched, kneeling weakly before the person who shadowed over him. He ignored the calls of his name from the young hero who had helped him to this point, ignoring the mocking voice as Dark Might as he sat motionless. The blue light of his prosthetic eye had long extinguished, the orb falling dark as his crimson fell loosely around his shoulders.

His remaining eye met yours, yet you didn't spare him a second thought as you pressed the cold metal of the muzzle against his forehead. You still looked the same, your features matching the face he had long since burned into his memory, yet you weren't the same person he had grown to love. Your eyes held no remorse at the loaded weapon you pointed at him, vision hazy under the control of some cruel woman who found using you as a pawn amusing. There was no tremble in your hand, no hesitation in your actions as you remained trapped within a daydream. You had the power to end his life at the snap of a simple command, and you couldn't stop it. Giulio could feel the build up of tears as his vision began to blur, the sting in the back of his natural eye as his gaze never fell from your face. Your eyes no longer held the kind person he grew to love, simply being a husk of who he once knew under the manipulation of some sick woman.

The sound of movement within the gun fell upon his ears, his pleas failed to snap you out of the daze that trapped you, you remaining unwavering. Nothing left you, no apology, no declaration of hatred for his very existence.

And that made it hurt even more.

His right arm began to feel unnaturally heavy, the prosthetic limb he had grown accustomed to burning as a reminder that he could still stop this. it would only take a moment for the metallic limb to transform, to pull the trigger at you and finish the mission he had set for himself. He could still pull through and save Anna. Yet as he remained kneeling, his once upkept three piece suit that you had gifted him ripped beyond recovery, he couldn't bring himself to aim something that could harm you towards your figure, much less pull the trigger. Instead he sat awaiting his impending doom, the fate chosen for him at your hands as the mastermind behind your control uttered your next task. Memories began to surface in his mind, your first real interaction, your first kiss to your final night together spent under the stars. Giulio could hear the distant screams of the young hero who accompanied him, telling him to move and to finish his mission. To save Anna like he promised. Yet as he remained focused on you, focusing on the face he learnt to love, he couldn't help but accept that he had failed the contract entrusted to him. Meeting your eyes for the final time before the trigger was due to be pulled, he chose to give you a final loving smile, his sharp teeth glimmering in the artificial light of the construct as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes fell closed, leaving the saving of Anna to the future heroes that brought him this far, accepting the end of his own possible future at your hands.

If this was his destiny, he was willing to wait for you in his next incarnation. Choosing to die with a smile, the very smile you loved until the end.

╰┈➤⚝🐤Rody Soul

You were his first friend, the only friend to stick by his side through everything. You were there as early as he could remember, a family friend about his age who he was forced to interact with. At first he didn't like you, didn't get why he had to play with some kid because his parents were friends with theirs. It started with you two in a room, staring at each other for different reasons. Distaste and curiosity. You had offered him something, a small toy he saw you enter the house with, taking it into his hands before dropping it and turning away. He could hear the small gasp you let out, the sound of your rushed footsteps to grab the plushie before brushing off potential dirt that corrupted the otherwise pristine fur. You watched him walk out, huffing something about how he didn't wanna play with some baby despite being the same age. All you could do was frown before following him out, moving to your parents and asking to go home blaming it on being tired.

Because even if he was mean, you still wanted to befriend him, as he was the first person your age that spared you a second glance. Even when he tried to push you away you stood strong, following him and trying to get though to him. He only opened up about one thing, his dreams of becoming a pilot, yet that was enough for you to stay encouraged. You wanted to befriend the boy who caught your interest, because at the end of the day everyone needed someone.

And you wanted to be that person.

Your friendship truly started around the age of 11, helping him care for his siblings after the loss of his mother. Your parents were more than happy to let you visit the boy each day, knowing he'd be lonely with the long hours his father worked and the stress of watching the little kids each day. Rody never wanted to admit it, but he appreciated your constant attempts at forming a friendship, never giving up even when he acted like he hated you. He was just scared, and you never gave up on him.

He could remember the times when you were both younger, running around the front garden of his house with the neighbourhood kids, the small girl strapped to his back as he held his toy plane up high. To the sky as he would say, like he would be one day flying a plane of his own.

He remembered watching you sometimes, holding his younger sister so he could play without fear of hurting the girl if he was to fall, the small bundle sleeping in your arms as you sat in the grass. Sometimes he found himself joining you, talking to you as the other boys ran around continuing their own little game. It clicked to him how that was the first thing that made you closer than anyone else.

Rody had eventually opened up about his quirk, finally explaining the small pink bird that clung to him, the very bird that often nuzzled against your cheek after a long day together. He didn't have to be the one to say it, but you realised how he truly did care, even if he struggled to show it himself.

From then on you never left his side, even when your parents told you to stop associating with the children of a monster. You didn't understand what he did wrong, hearing in passing rumours that his father was working for a bad group of people, for villains. Yet unlike the rest of the kids, you still chose to play with him because in the end, he was innocent through it all. He couldn't chose the actions of his father, and he was still your best friend no matter what. He could recall each time you knocked on the door of the caravan they were forced to live in, always bringing something for the three out of your own money. Sometimes it was food, other times pieces of clothing you thought they might like, and even if you never knew what you were doing it was the thought that mattered to him.

In the end even if he lost everyone else that he could rely on for help, you never left. You would sometimes spend the night there, against the wishes of your parents, helping the boy but the two younger children to bed. he never forgot the way you treated them like your own siblings, reading them bedtime stories and being a shoulder for them to cry on.

Really it shouldn't of been a surprise when he developed a crush on you at the young age of 15. He really never deserved you, never deserved the upmost love you gave him like he was worth the world, and he made sure he would never take you for granted again.

You helped him when he took up sketchy jobs to help provide for his siblings, staying back and watching over them as you cooked for them and kept to his schedule for when they were to go to bed for their 8 hours of sleep.

Rody could remember coming back, roughed up from a long day of work to you asleep on the couch, never leaving until you were sure he was back safe. Multiple times he sat through your scolding's, letting you bandage up the scrapes he obtained throughout the day, never failing to pull him into an embrace afterwards and tell him to be more careful next time. Each and every time, Pino did what he could never convince himself to do, nuzzling against your cheek and pecking it in something akin to a kiss.

Your relationship had started one night, late after he returned from a job that took most of the day. You had been sat on the couch, a normal occurrence yet he couldn't help but feel sorry that you were stuck raising his little siblings when he failed to be there. You had awoken when he tried to move you to somewhere more comfortable, asking him on a date in your sleep deprived state. He had accepted without a glimmer of hesitation, not expecting you to remember the next day, but you managed to and got your date in the end.

But even the best things must come to an end eventually.

Strands of his auburn hair fell from it's signature ponytail, falling over his eyes as he held you against him. He ignored the cheers through the screens of the dimly lit basement of the humanise facility, having defused the bombs at the cost of something much more valuable.

He ignored the feeling of a growing dampness on his hoodie, hand firmly pressing against your lower abdomen as the blood smudged his otherwise clean attire. Your eyes began to fall out of focus, tears brimming your eyes at the burning pain in your stomach from the laser that tore through your body. He wanted to be mad, to yell at you for taking such a critical hit for him when he was the reckless one, but he struggled to let any words escape him as his throat tightened. Your grip began to waver on his arm, your hold loosening as your body grew weaker from the blood that pooled onto the smooth floor from your body. You chose to ignore your own injuries in favour of his, trying to wipe the blood from his face but in turn smudging move of your own against his soft skin. Your body jolted as you coughed up more of the crimson liquid, a metallic taste burning the back of your throat.

Rody could feel the shake in his hand as he came to the realisation he couldn't do anything, only being able to hold you close as you struggled to breathe, pulse weakening as seconds turned into minutes. He ignored the green haired boy who sat in the same room, watching terrified at the blood that poured from your body without any sign of stopping, knowing he couldn't save everyone even if he tried. your vision began to blur further, eyes dropping closed for longer before struggling to open them again. You felt tears that weren't your own collide with your cheeks, the warm liquid mixing with the blood on your face and running down your cheeks. Yet this time it wasn't Pino, the tears falling from Rody instead as he struggled to hold himself together. A weak smile formed on your face, lifting one of your hands to face before placing two fingers to your lips, moving your shaky hand to his cheek in some form of a kiss. His hand moved from your open wound to take your hand into his own, holding it against his cheek as sobs wracked through his bloodied frame.

He couldn't lose you, being the person who meant the world to him, and someone who his siblings still needed. He could imagine their faces, the hurt and tears that could come from learning of your passing. Yet the longer he held you the more he realised that despite you calling him your hero, he couldn't save you.

He forced his otherwise numb body to move, hand wrapping around the bandana he wore to pull it away, carefully wrapping it around your head similar to how he wore it. It was an item that brought comfort to him, and he could only hope it would do the same for you.

Pino flew down one final time, landing on your chest before nuzzling against your bloodied face, pink feathers staining crimson as her beak pressed against your cheek in a final gentle kiss.

A/n: I don't know why I did this to myself, Next one will be happier cause I can't handle it :( Actually love them so much.

#mha x y/n #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #rody soul x reader #giulio gandini x reader #giulio x reader #rody x reader #my hero academia x reader angst #mha x reader angst #bnha x reader angst

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slytherinshua · 10 months ago

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MY HEART RETURNS

summary. your love is pursuing his dreams as a violinmaker in italy, leaving you to wait for his return. genre. slight angst. fluff. based on whisper of the heart. warnings. some crying. reader feels lost and alone and like she's not good enough :( not proofread. pairing. zhanghao x fem!reader. wc. 1.3k. request. no. a/n. tiánxīn = sweetheart btw. ofc hao is already perfect for the role of seiji cause he plays violin (also he looks like seiji fight me). for all the other writers out there (even tho i don't ever plan to get properly published) we all relate to shizuku so much :') her struggles are so relatable and i just love whisper of the heart so much i think its such a beautiful and underrated ghibli movie. divider by @/aquazero.

The night air nipped at your cheeks as thoughts swirled in your head. Hundreds of worries, feelings, and uncertainties followed you wherever you went, and all you could wish was to be back in high school when everything felt a bit easier. Back with Hao to occupy all your thoughts and in turn take your mind off of everything.

Sometimes you wondered if waiting was really worth it. You were doing your best to pursue your dreams, do well in your final year of university, and throw yourself and your work at different publishers, hoping that one liked you enough to give you a chance. But you felt like a constant failure in comparison to your boyfriend. You’d always thought opportunities were more beneficial than school. Hao only seemed to prove that to you.

He was working in Italy, getting valuable skills from the masters. You were still stuck in your hometown, going to the same university everyone else in your family had gone to, trapped in the same system. You wanted to get out, prove yourself, do something meaningful with your life. But did you even have the talent to? Were you even worth it?

On nights where your thoughts just wouldn’t leave you alone, you grabbed a handful of Hao’s letters and walked up the hill back to the spot where you used to watch the sunrise with him. You missed him more than anything. Without his presence, you felt lost. There was no one to ground you, no one to reassure you, no one to believe in your flimsy dreams.

You hadn’t received a new letter in a while, and you were starting to wonder if it was a post issue, or if Hao was too busy to write. You hoped you would get one soon. It was the start of Winter already, and a breeze blew past you, causing a chill to run up your spine. You hugged Hao’s old jacket closer on your body. It must be even colder in Italy…

You slid one of the old letters out from its envelope. You were always careful to keep everything intact. From the colourful wax seals to the elegantly written address, to the coarse texture of the fancy paper, everything about it was precious to you. Hao was always meticulous, and his presence could be felt from every detail of the card.

Tiánxīn, how are things back at home? Lonely.

How is your writing? Did you finish the last 3 chapters you were struggling to write? I finished the final draft last Saturday. Are you proud of me?

I’m doing well here, although I never stop missing you. At least one feeling is mutual.

It’s the beginning of Spring as I write this, and the flowers are starting to bloom. Every pink bud reminds me of you. How are you always so romantic, Zhang Hao?

I taught some kids how to hold a violin properly the other day— one of them almost dropped it. I swear my life flashed before my eyes. If they had broken it, I could’ve gotten kicked out. They don’t know that they’re handling a piece of wood worth thousands of dollars. As much as it scared me in the moment, spending time with the kids cheered me up. Childhood innocence is an endearing thing, don’t you think? It is. Is it bad that I wished you had gotten kicked out just so I could see you sooner? I want you to tell me everything about Italy with your own voice.

I’m starting to find beauty in things that used to annoy me. It’s a strange feeling, but I think I could get used to it. The flowers used to only make me sneeze, but now they’re a gentle reminder of who I’m living every day for. Children used to get on my nerves, but now I can only think of your baby pictures. I keep working hard every day hoping that I’ll get a break to come visit soon. I’ve been saving up for tickets. Hopefully before Winter, I’ll be back in your arms. It’s Winter now… I miss your arms around me.

Ever yours,

Hao

You could only sigh and blink back the tears that had formed on your waterline. Why did he make you miss him so much? You sniffed, from the emotions and from the cold. It was getting even later in the night, and while you didn’t want to leave your special spot, you also needed sleep.

When you got back to your cheap apartment, you sprayed some of Hao’s perfume on your pillow and changed into pyjamas. It was funny how much time went into hunting for the exact fragrance he wore; but you had been thankful for it every single day since you bought it. Any way you could to bring traces of him back to your home was worth it. You fell asleep hugging the pillow tightly and hoping that he would grace you in your dreams.

A soft puff of air hit your nose making you scrunch it up. It woke you out of your slumber, but not enough to open your eyes yet. You were in a confused bleary state trying to figure out where it came from. You definitely didn’t leave the fan on in the middle of Winter, so why…?

“Tiánxīn, wake up.”

You blinked your eyes open slowly, furrowing your eyebrows as the view came into focus. Light from the morning sun shone through the window, cascading down until it hit the side of a face. Hao’s face.

“Am I still dreaming?” You whispered. A lump formed in your throat at the thought that you were— you must be. How could he be right in front of you? He was still far away in Italy.

He shook his head, a smile splayed on his lips. He moved closer, his weight dipping down on the bed. You could only stare, memorising everything about him. His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to your hand and he reached to hold it. His hands were warm and the skin of his palm was soft, although his fingertips were roughened by calluses after years of playing strings. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, brushing his thumb against your skin.

“I missed you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come visit.” He frowned slightly as he saw tears start to build in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, as if still deciphering whether he was actually real. It had truly been years since he had first gone for his apprenticeship and then got accepted full time to make violins and teach. Although you had communicated through letters, it could never compare to being with him like this.

“It’s okay.” You tried to steady your voice, force the lump in your throat down, blink back the tears. But you couldn’t with him right there.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped your tears carefully, his touch soft as always.

“Kiss me. Please?”

And he obliged. He would always do anything within his power to see you happy. If you told him one day to fly to the moon and bring you back a piece of it, he was sure he would find a way, just to see you smile. The feeling of kissing him again was indescribable. You’d forgotten how it felt to be kissed by his soft lips, how they melded with yours like a dream. As if you two were meant to be.

You knew you always were. Your love story, although it sometimes felt tragic, was like something out of a fairytale. You would never forget the lengths Hao went just to get your attention. How ambitious, determined, and caring he was. He was your constant motivation to keep striving to be better.

It was hard to live for your dream while being so far apart from him. Part of you knew that he would have to go back. Maybe in a month, maybe in only a week. Maybe sooner than that. Your heart would break once again saying goodbye to him.

But, for now, as he kissed you in the morning sunlight on your bed, you felt your heart healing from his touch. The long years away from him were a small price to pay for moments as precious as these.

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

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Since you told me to write this in the ask box, i think this is it. Bucky x fem reader harry potter AU? Also i didn’t know you were still updating your writing is so incredible. Thanks!

TOURNAMENT

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, a little angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky Barnes never thought getting picked by the Goblet of Fire would win him more than eternal glory — like, say, a Hufflepuff girl who smells exactly like his favorite love potion.

ᯓ★ TW(s): Bucky loses his arm in the last task of the tournament so injury, limb loss, recovery/rehabilitation, self-worth struggles, light angst, tournament-related danger, mild blood mentions

ᯓ★ guys oh my god, thank you so much for 700 followers!! I love you all so much <33 I want to do something to celebrate, like my usual requests games and stuff like that, but I really dont have any idea, was thinking something like blind trope choosing (want me to elaborate this more?) but Idk if you would like it, so my lovelies if you have any idea don't be shy and suggest it in the comments or in the ask box!! love you xoxo

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The Great Hall hums with excitement. Golden plates shine under floating candles, and the enchanted ceiling above reflects the stormy sky outside. You sit with your fellow Hufflepuffs, hands wrapped around a warm mug of pumpkin juice, trying not to glance over at the Gryffindor table again.

But you do. Of course you do.

There he is.

Bucky Barnes, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, robes slightly crooked like he threw them on while running late. He always looks like he just stepped out of trouble, and you’ve heard enough stories to know that’s probably true. He’s laughing at something Steve Rogers said, pushing him lightly with his shoulder. The rest of their little crew—Sam, Nat, and Clint—are there too, all decked in Gryffindor red and gold, shining brighter than the candles above them.

You’ve never really talked to him, not properly. Maybe exchanged a few words during Herbology when Professor Sprout paired your groups together for a cross-house project. But he’s always looked at you like he wants to say more. And maybe you do too.

There’s a buzz running through the entire school tonight. Even the professors are struggling to keep their usual stern expressions. The Goblet of Fire ceremony is about to start. You’ve seen the older students whispering and speculating for days now—who will be chosen, who might enter, who’s foolish enough to think they’ll survive.

Your best friend nudges you from the side. “You think they’ll pick someone from Hufflepuff?” she whispers, eyes gleaming.

You smile, sipping your juice. “We can hope. But you know how it goes.”

She groans, half-laughing. “Don’t say that. We’re not that underrated.”

But your gaze drifts again, instinctively, back to Bucky. And for a fleeting second, he’s already looking your way. You blink. He doesn’t look away.

The Hall goes quiet as Dumbledore steps forward, arms raised in a welcoming gesture. His long silver beard nearly brushes the hem of his robes, and his eyes twinkle as they sweep across the rows of students.

“Welcome, one and all,” he begins, voice warm. “Tonight marks the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, a tradition that has united magical schools across Europe for centuries.”

You try to focus. Really, you do. But the way Bucky’s jaw tightens when he listens, the way his hand drums lightly against the table—he’s nervous. Or excited. Or both.

The Goblet of Fire sits atop its pedestal now, flickering blue flames dancing from the rim. It looks alive, like it’s waiting, hungering. Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons watch it with quiet awe. Their uniforms are immaculate, their posture proud. You’ve caught glimpses of them around the castle the past few days—foreign magic practically clinging to them like perfume.

“There will be three champions,” Dumbledore continues. “Each chosen by the Goblet to represent their school in a series of dangerous—yet noble—tasks. A test of courage, intellect, and heart.”

You whisper to your friend, “You think anyone from our year entered?”

She shrugs. “Probably someone from Gryffindor. They’re all obsessed with glory.”

Across the room, Bucky leans forward, lips pressed into a thin line.

He did it. You don’t even need to ask. You can feel it.

One by one, names are called. First, a boy from Durmstrang, tall and broad-shouldered, with a scowl that seems carved into his face. He walks up to the front as his school claps, restrained but proud. He barely nods at the applause.

Then a girl from Beauxbatons, with silver-blonde hair tied in a ribbon, strides forward as though gliding. The entire hall watches her with admiration.

Now it’s time for Hogwarts.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

The flames turn red. Sparks shoot out.

A tiny slip of parchment bursts upward, floating gently into Dumbledore’s hand. He reads it. And then:

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

Silence.

It feels like the whole world holds its breath.

And then the Gryffindor table explodes in noise—cheers, hollers, people pounding the table. Sam whoops the loudest. Steve claps him on the back. Bucky doesn’t move.

You can see it. He’s frozen. His face is a mix of shock and disbelief, like he hadn’t thought the Goblet would actually choose him.

He stands slowly.

Your chest feels tight.

He looks around the hall. His eyes pass over the crowd—past professors, students, even his friends. And then, for the briefest second, they land on you.

It’s not your imagination. He really sees you.

And then he walks.

The applause follows him as he moves toward the front, each step measured, like he’s trying to convince himself this is real.

You realize you haven’t taken a breath.

He disappears behind the door that leads to the champions’ chamber.

Your friend grabs your arm. “Can you believe it?”

You can’t speak.

Because somewhere deep in your chest, something shifts. Not just fear, or nerves, or surprise. Something else.

---

The excitement from the Goblet’s selection doesn’t die down for days.

It weaves itself into every conversation, every whispered exchange in the corridors, every scribbled note passed behind textbooks. Bucky’s name is on everyone’s lips, and you start hearing it so often it begins to sound strange. Detached. Like it doesn’t belong to a real person. But he is—he’s as real as the glance he gave you before walking into the champions’ room.

It’s weird, seeing someone you’ve known from a distance suddenly become a school icon. Not that Bucky wasn’t already well-liked, but this is different. Professors stop him in the hallway. Younger students trail behind him like shadows. Some girls—Ravenclaws mostly—have started smiling extra brightly when he passes.

And then, one evening during dinner, Dumbledore stands again.

You’re mid-bite into a slice of roast pumpkin when the room quiets around him. You set your fork down.

“A moment of your attention, if I may,” he says, smiling with that twinkle in his eye that means something good is coming. “As you know, the Yule Ball is a tradition long associated with the Triwizard Tournament. A chance for celebration, unity, and, dare I say, a bit of mischief.”

Laughter ripples through the hall.

“The ball will take place on the night of the twenty-fifth of December. It is, of course, a formal event. Dress robes will be required, and dancing is encouraged… though not, I assure you, mandatory.”

He pauses as more laughter echoes through the room.

“And as tradition states, each of the champions will open the ball with a dance—accompanied by a partner of their choosing.”

There it is.

The sentence that changes everything.

Immediately, all eyes flick toward the champions. The Durmstrang boy looks unfazed. The Beauxbatons girl tilts her chin higher, already receiving several interested glances. And then there’s Bucky—staring down at his plate like he’s suddenly trying to disappear into it.

You don’t look at him.

You absolutely don’t.

Okay, you do.

Just a little.

Your friend leans in so fast you nearly knock heads. “He’s going to ask someone. Of course he is.”

You swallow hard. “Yeah, probably.”

“Who do you think he’ll pick? Maybe that sixth-year Ravenclaw, the one who keeps complimenting his hair?”

“She compliments everyone’s hair.”

“She’s nice!”

“She’s strategic.”

Your friend eyes you for a second, her gaze narrowing. “Wait a second. Do you want him to ask you?”

“What? No.” You grab your goblet and drink way too fast. “I don’t—why would I even—no.”

“You didn’t say it very convincingly.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just curious.”

She smirks. “So’s the rest of the school.”

And she’s right. Because the next few days feel like a contest of who can get Bucky’s attention the longest. Girls linger by the Gryffindor table. Even some boys have been working up the courage. It’s not just about who he’ll ask. It’s about being asked.

You try not to think about it.

Which works, right up until Thursday afternoon, when Potions becomes far more eventful than usual.

Professor Slughorn walks in with his usual flair, rubbing his hands together like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share.

“Today, my dear students, we will be brewing something a little… fragrant.”

You’re already half-bored, jotting the date in your notebook, when he continues.

“Amortentia.”

That gets your attention.

There’s a collective hush.

The love potion.

“The most powerful potion of its kind,” Slughorn says, clearly delighted by the reaction. “It smells different to each of us—according to what attracts us most. A dangerous little brew, to be handled with care.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks.

“And,” he says, smiling broadly now, “you’ll be working in pairs.”

Here we go.

You sit up straighter, already bracing to be paired with someone tolerable. Slughorn starts assigning names, moving across the room quickly, and you listen with half an ear.

“Miss Coles with Mr. Avery… Miss Greene with Mr. York… ah, Miss Y/L/N with—”

Please not someone awful.

“Mr. Barnes.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“James Barnes,” Slughorn repeats, peering at his parchment. “He’ll need a capable partner, I think. And you’ve always done fine work, Miss Y/L/N.”

You look across the room—and sure enough, Bucky is already standing, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he starts heading your way.

Great. Just great.

You try not to look like you’re panicking.

He drops into the seat beside you, setting his ingredients down with a quiet sigh. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

He glances over at you, eyes calm and a little curious. “Guess we’re partners.”

“Guess so.”

A moment of awkward silence stretches between you.

“Are you good at Potions?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “Are you not?”

He gives you a sheepish grin. “I’m better at stuff that explodes.”

“That’s encouraging.”

He laughs softly, and it’s surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry. I’ll follow your lead. You won’t even know I’m here.”

You raise a brow. “That’s unlikely.”

But it’s not tense. Not weird. Surprisingly, not even awkward. The space between you starts to feel easy, like the sharp edge of formality has melted just a little.

You start gathering the ingredients. “Okay, Amortentia,” you murmur. “Pearl dust, rose thorns, mint leaf, crushed moonstone—”

“You memorize these?”

You shrug. “I like structure.”

He nods. “That makes sense.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Does that mean I seem like someone who likes structure?”

He grins. “You seem like someone who knows what they’re doing.”

That catches you off guard.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “What about you? What do you smell in the potion?”

He blinks. “It’s not done yet.”

“Yeah, but just wondering. What do you think you’ll smell?”

He leans back, looking thoughtful. “Maybe leather. And pine. I dunno. Something old, like the Gryffindor common room.”

You nod. “Sounds cozy.”

“What about you?”

You pretend to focus on stirring. “Not sure.”

“Come on. You’ve thought about it.”

“Fine. Freshly baked bread. Books. That smell after it rains.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “That’s… nice.”

You glance up. He’s watching you again.

It’s not a flirty look. Not like the ones people keep throwing at him lately. It’s something softer.

“Did you really put your name in the Goblet?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He snorts. “Is that what everyone’s saying?”

“Just wondering.”

He exhales, fingers tapping the side of the cauldron. “Yeah. I put my name in.”

You’re surprised. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Felt like I had something to prove, I guess.”

“To who?”

He looks at you. “Myself, mostly.”

That answer lands somewhere deep in your chest.

“You know you don’t have to prove anything,” you say before thinking.

He watches you for a second longer. “Not to everyone.”

The potion bubbles gently. A pale mist curls upward, and a sweet, sharp scent hits your nose.

Bread. Books. Rain.

And something else.

You freeze.

“What is it?” he asks, leaning in.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He breathes in, frowning a little. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I smell… spearmint. And cinnamon. And…” He hesitates. “Something I can’t place.”

“Maybe it’s a bad sign,” you tease. “Unplaceable mystery.”

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could smell like burnt toast.”

You laugh, more loudly than you mean to, and a few students glance your way. You don’t care.

“You’re not as bad at Potions as you think,” you say, nudging him gently. “This is decent.”

He grins. “It’s because I have an excellent partner.”

“Flattery won’t improve your grade.”

“Worth a shot.”

The rest of the class goes faster than usual. You forget to be tense. You forget that he’s Bucky Barnes, Hogwarts champion and everyone’s favorite Gryffindor. Right now, he’s just a boy with inky smudges on his sleeve and a crooked smile, leaning too close over a cauldron that smells like secrets.

When class ends, you start packing your things, trying not to rush.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, before you can stand.

You look at him. “Yeah?”

“I, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “If I haven’t asked anyone to the ball yet, does that make me slow or considerate?”

You blink. “Um… considerate?”

He smiles, half-shy. “Good. Just checking.”

And then he grabs his bag and walks out of the room, leaving you blinking after him with your heart thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

You sit there for a moment longer, dazed, while the last of the potion simmers quietly behind you.

---

You don’t think about the Amortentia potion after class.

Except… you do. Constantly.

It’s not like you meant to analyze it. It’s just that the scent lingers in your memory, as real as if it followed you out of the dungeon and into your dreams. You remember the smell of fresh bread, yes, and rain. But it was the last note that unsettled you—the one you couldn’t place. Warm and a little woodsy. A little like—

You pause mid-step in the library two days later.

No. No, it can’t be.

You shake your head and keep walking, heart tapping nervously against your ribs.

It’s a coincidence. You’re overthinking it.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Bucky leans back in a worn red armchair and stares at the fire.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Sam tosses a throw pillow at his face. “If you sigh one more time, I’m pushing you out a window.”

Bucky shoves the pillow aside. “I’m not sighing.”

“Bro, you’ve sighed like—ten times in the last five minutes. What’s going on?”

Steve looks up from his Charms essay. “Still haven’t asked anyone to the ball?”

Bucky groans and drops his head back dramatically. “It’s not that simple.”

Nat, curled up on the rug nearby, doesn’t even look up from her book. “You’re a champion. You could ask literally anyone and they’d say yes.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

They all pause.

Clint, from where he’s upside down on the couch, says, “Wait… do you like someone?”

There’s a silence too sharp to ignore.

Then Bucky mumbles, “Maybe.”

Sam leans forward with a gleam in his eye. “Who?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. His mind is full of Amortentia again—mint, cinnamon, that something he couldn’t quite name until two nights ago.

He was walking through the Hufflepuff hallway after hours—definitely not allowed—when he smelled it again. That exact scent. Light, warm, comforting.

You’d passed by him without noticing, tugging your scarf tighter against your neck. And the moment you did, the air shifted.

You smelled like Amortentia.

And that’s when he knew.

Things between you and Bucky don’t change overnight. You still see him in class. Still sit near each other during Potions. You’ve had a few casual conversations in the corridor—one about broomstick charms, another about how bad the new History of Magic sub was at staying awake during his own lectures.

Normal. Easy.

But the awareness is there now. Every time he laughs. Every time he nudges your elbow with his when he makes a joke. Every time his eyes find yours across the Great Hall.

You can’t help but wonder if he knows. If he figured it out too.

Because you figured it out. Eventually.

After one accidental brush of your shoulder against his during a group meeting for Herbology, the scent hit you so clearly it made your head spin.

Leather. Cinnamon. Something calm and steady that you hadn’t recognized in the potion—but now you do.

Bucky.

You’re still processing that when the rumors start to fly.

One by one, the champions start pairing up.

Yelena, the Beauxbatons girl, accepts a date from a quiet Ravenclaw girl. Everyone cheers. The Durmstrang boy—Nikolai, you think—nods solemnly when a Slytherin sixth year asks him. There’s even a rumor he bowed before saying yes.

But Bucky?

Still unclaimed.

Which only makes the speculation worse.

You can’t walk ten feet down a hallway without overhearing something.

“Did you see the way Marla flirted with him?”

“I heard he turned down three people yesterday.”

“He’s just being picky. He wants the perfect partner.”

“Or he’s already asked someone in secret.”

You want to scream.

And part of you thinks: maybe he already knows you’d say no.

That afternoon, Professor McGonagall interrupts Transfiguration with her usual stern efficiency.

“Champions,” she says crisply, “will begin dance rehearsals starting tomorrow evening. As such, partners must be confirmed today. Non-negotiable.”

Bucky groans under his breath, loud enough that a few students near him chuckle.

You try not to look over at him.

You fail.

He’s staring blankly at his parchment like it personally offended him.

After class, you stay behind to ask McGonagall a question about the homework. When you finally walk out into the corridor, it’s mostly empty.

Except for him.

Leaning against the wall. Waiting.

You stop short. “Oh. Hi.”

He stands a little straighter. “Hey.”

You’re about to walk past when he clears his throat.

“I was… wondering. If you’re not already going with someone. And if you wanted to. Maybe—would you be my partner for the Yule Ball?”

It comes out in a rush, all one breath.

You stare at him.

He stares back, bracing for a crash.

And you smile.

“Yeah,” you say, soft and certain. “I’d love to.”

Relief floods his face. He actually lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, thank god. I was starting to think I’d have to ask one of the portraits.”

“They probably wouldn’t have had feet.”

“I know. Disaster.”

You laugh, and something clicks into place between you.

That was the last wall.

Dance rehearsals start the next evening.

Professor McGonagall doesn’t take it easy on anyone.

“I expect grace,” she says, “and not just from the Beauxbatons. This is a formal event, not a barnyard gathering.”

You’re in the Great Hall, all the tables pushed to the sides, the champions and their partners lined up in pairs.

You and Bucky take your spot, your fingers sliding into his easily.

He blinks. “Wow. You’re warm.”

You smirk. “And you’re late.”

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He squeezes your hand, gentle. “Alright. Don’t laugh if I step on your toes.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Okay, maybe.”

But he doesn’t.

He moves with surprising fluidity, each step catching rhythm easily. You match him without thinking. One, two, turn, step, slide. Again. Again.

Professor McGonagall claps once. “That’s it. Keep going.”

Bucky leans in slightly. “So… you’re good at this.”

You shrug. “I like it.”

“Learned it here?”

“Some.” You glance around to make sure no one’s listening. Then you lower your voice. “I’m a half-blood.”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“My mum’s a witch. Dad’s a Muggle. When I’m not at Hogwarts, I take dance classes in the mortal world. It’s our thing.”

Bucky stares at you for a second, then smiles. “That’s… honestly kind of adorable.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Adorable?”

“In a cool way.”

You spin without breaking stride. “Right.”

He laughs. “I’m serious. I think it’s cool. I never got to do anything like that growing up.”

You glance at him. “Didn’t your family…?”

He shakes his head. “No family. Grew up in the system until I got my letter. Hogwarts was the first real place I belonged.”

Something in your chest aches a little. “I’m glad you found it.”

He looks at you, something soft in his eyes. “Me too.”

You finish the dance and fall still, hands still clasped.

You’re close. Closer than you meant to be. You could count his eyelashes if you wanted.

But you don’t move.

Neither does he.

“Again,” McGonagall calls, and the spell breaks.

You start moving again, but everything feels different now. Lighter. Easier.

There’s a heat in your cheeks you know has nothing to do with the room.

The rehearsals continue every evening.

You fall into a rhythm.

Dance, laugh, tease, spin.

Every night, Bucky walks you partway back to the Hufflepuff dorms, hands stuffed in his pockets, head tilted toward yours.

You talk about everything. Music. Spells. The time he accidentally set a broom on fire in third year. The way you once got stuck in a trick stair for an hour and had to bribe Peeves with candy to get out.

And through it all, there’s a thread between you—light but strong.

You don’t tug on it.

Not yet.

But it’s there.

Waiting.

---

The morning of the first task breaks colder than expected.

Gray clouds roll low across the sky, and frost clings to the grass even though the sun is struggling to rise. You wake earlier than you mean to. Your stomach is a knot, twisted and tight, even though you’re not the one about to fight Merlin-knows-what in front of the entire school.

Still, you feel it. The tension, the nerves, the anxious flutter that hasn’t left you since Dumbledore reminded everyone two nights ago that the first task was “not intended to be lethal… but do take care, champions.”

You glance at your window.

You wonder if he’s awake.

You don’t see him at breakfast, and the knot in your stomach only tightens. Even your usual plate of toast and jam sits mostly untouched as the Great Hall buzzes with energy. Everyone's talking about the task—what it could be, how dangerous it might get, who they think will win. The Durmstrang champion is already a favorite, all fire and muscle and practiced scowls.

No one really knows what Bucky’s capable of.

Except maybe you.

“He’s probably nervous,” your friend says between bites. “You’d think they’d at least tell them what they’re facing. It’s practically cruelty.”

You nod absently, eyes scanning the Gryffindor table.

No sign of him.

He’s probably being briefed right now. Or maybe he’s pacing somewhere, doing that thing where he runs a hand through his hair like it’s the only way to stay grounded.

You’ve seen him do that.

You’ve memorized it without meaning to.

You leave early, barely touching your food. Your boots crunch over frost as you join the rest of the school making their way down to the viewing stands. A massive enclosure has been built overnight on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, tall and lined with magically reinforced barriers. There are flags fluttering in the cold breeze—red and gold, blue and silver, black and yellow, green and silver—all arranged in rows across the stands.

You sit near the middle with your year, but your eyes don’t leave the entrance arch where the champions are supposed to emerge.

Every few seconds, you rub your hands together. Not because of the cold. Because your palms won’t stop sweating.

Dumbledore’s voice rises through a spell-enhanced charm, echoing across the enclosure.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our champions have been told only one thing in advance: they must retrieve a golden egg placed at the center of the arena. How they do so is up to them.”

You lean forward.

The wind shifts.

A low, terrible growl rumbles from somewhere behind the stands.

You barely register it, already too focused on the shape stepping out into the arena.

Bucky.

He looks taller than usual in his champion robes—deep red, with gold stitching along the collar. His hair is half-tied back, his wand held loosely in his right hand. He walks with that slow, careful confidence he always has, like he’s calculating everything around him in quiet increments.

You grip the edge of the railing in front of you.

And then the dragon arrives.

You don’t breathe.

It’s a Hungarian Horntail, smaller than some, but still towering. Black scales, horns like jagged spears, wings that unfold like the gates of hell.

Bucky stops.

He looks up.

Then he moves.

There’s no hesitation in the way he sprints for the boulder beside him, throwing up a shield charm just as fire blazes across the space where he stood. The crowd gasps. You choke on yours.

But he’s okay. You can see him, crouched low behind the stone, wand raised.

He’s fast. Not flashy, but precise. Every spell is clean. A gust of wind knocks the dragon’s fire off-course. A blinding flash dazzles it temporarily. He throws up a decoy with some clever illusion charm, forcing the Horntail to turn while he bolts in the opposite direction.

Your hands ache from how tightly you’re clenching them.

He gets closer. Dodges another jet of flame. Leaps across a break in the rocks.

You almost scream when the dragon’s tail swings and clips his side, but he rolls with the impact and comes up running.

And then—somehow—he’s got the egg.

A loud, ringing chime signals the task’s completion.

You barely notice the way the crowd erupts. You don’t care about the thunderous applause or the cheering students.

All you see is Bucky, breathing hard, arm bleeding lightly, but grinning as he clutches the egg to his chest.

He did it.

You stay in your seat long after the other students begin filing out, chattering excitedly. You tell your friends to go ahead without you, pretending you’re just catching your breath.

But really, you’re stalling.

You want to see him. You need to. But your legs won’t move.

Because what would you even say?

That you were scared for him? That your heart’s been doing somersaults since the moment he stepped into the arena?

It’s stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re barely his friend. You’re just a girl who smells like bread and rain and stood too close to him in Potions once.

But when you see him later—alone, slipping through a side corridor near the medical wing—you don’t think.

You just run.

He turns at the sound of your steps, and before you can second-guess yourself, your arms are around his middle, tight, grounding, a little desperate.

He stiffens in surprise—but only for a second.

Then he melts.

His arms wrap around you, firm and warm and slightly trembling. “Hey,” he says, voice low and tired. “I’m okay.”

You press your forehead against his chest, eyes shut. “You could’ve died.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “Would’ve made the rest of the tournament easier, huh?”

You swat at his shoulder, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Don’t joke.”

He winces. “Sorry.”

Your hands move on instinct—reaching for his arms, checking for bruises, brushing the hem of his sleeve up where the tail hit him. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

His voice softens. “You were worried?”

You look at him, really look at him, and nod. “Of course I was.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flicking between yours.

Then he smiles—small, shy, and entirely too soft for someone who just faced a dragon.

“No one’s ever hugged me like that before,” he says.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Like you were gonna knock me over if I didn’t hold on.”

You feel your cheeks heat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His hand grazes your wrist. “I liked it.”

Silence stretches between you again.

You realize you haven’t stepped back.

He hasn’t either.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ve got good reasons to come back.”

Your eyes narrow. “Like what?”

He hesitates.

Then smiles again, even softer. “Like you.”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t need to.

Your fingers are still brushing over the scrape on his arm. He doesn’t stop you. You’re close enough now to smell the lingering smoke in his robes, but beneath it—there’s that other scent.

Warmth. Mint. Bucky.

You want to kiss him.

You don’t.

But you do stay there for a long time, tracing the lines of someone who made it back in one piece, holding him just a little longer than necessary.

Just in case the next time… he doesn’t.

---

You’ve been ready for ten minutes, but you still can’t bring yourself to leave the dormitory.

The mirror in front of you is fogged a little from all the enchanted hair charms buzzing through the room. Around you, other girls adjust their gowns, re-clip earrings, reapply gloss with nervous hands. Everyone is excited.

You are too.

But also—your stomach is full of butterflies.

Not nerves. Not really.

More like… anticipation.

You smooth your hands down the front of your dress. The fabric is soft and warm against your palms—light golden, like candlelight, with threads of silver that shimmer faintly when you move. Not showy. Not loud.

Just enough to feel beautiful.

You take one last breath and step away from the mirror.

The Great Hall has never looked like this before.

Every wall glows with floating icicles, glittering in soft blue light. The ceiling is enchanted to reflect a snowfall that never touches the ground. Round tables replace the usual house benches, and in the center of the floor, an open space waits beneath a chandelier that pulses like a heartbeat.

You step into the entryway and scan the crowd. Most students are already inside. The champions are gathering at the front for the opening ceremony. You can see Yelena laughing at something Nikolai said. Both of them look entirely comfortable, even in their formal robes.

And then there’s Bucky.

You spot him near the front, standing just outside the ballroom with his back to the wall, one hand loosely tugging at the collar of his jacket.

He looks up.

Sees you.

And freezes.

It’s not dramatic—not a gasp or a wide-eyed cartoon stare—but it’s real. His posture changes. His shoulders drop slightly, his fingers stop moving, and his mouth parts like he might say something.

Then he doesn’t.

He just stares.

You walk over.

“Hey,” you say.

He blinks. “Hi.”

His voice is rough.

You smile nervously. “You clean up well.”

His eyes move over your dress again before they meet yours. “You look��”

He stops, swallows, and tries again.

“You look perfect.”

Your heart flutters. “Thanks.”

He fumbles with the sleeve of his robe. “I didn’t know if you’d go for gold or like, the classic soft pink or something. But this—this is exactly you.”

You blink. “You were trying to guess what I’d wear?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah.”

You laugh under your breath. “And did you guess right?”

“No,” he says honestly. “But I wish I had.”

McGonagall calls for the champions and their partners. The opening dance is moments away.

Bucky offers you his hand.

You take it.

The floor is colder than expected under your shoes, but his palm is warm in yours, steady as you move into position. The music begins, soft and lilting.

You step together.

You’ve danced with him before, but this feels different.

There’s an audience now. Magic in the air. You can feel the pressure in the silence around you, broken only by music and the rhythmic sound of your shoes on stone.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to care about any of that.

He’s focused on you.

Every step is smooth, every turn easy, as if you’ve been dancing together forever.

He leans close.

“You nervous?” he murmurs.

“A little,” you admit.

He smiles. “You don’t look it.”

The corners of your mouth lift.

You glance around the room and catch more than a few eyes watching you both. You’re not used to that kind of attention. Not like he is.

But you don’t feel uncomfortable.

Not with him.

You glide through the final turn and end the dance in perfect sync, breathless from movement and something else entirely.

When the applause begins, you drop your hands and step back.

But Bucky doesn’t move far.

His fingers graze yours once before falling away.

“You’re good at this,” he says softly.

“So are you.”

“Must be the partner.”

You smile, cheeks warm.

The rest of the night unfolds in slow, shimmering moments.

Dinner is served in waves of golden plates and charmed goblets. You sit beside him, and every so often, your knees bump under the table. Neither of you moves away. Conversation drifts around you, but it feels like a bubble, just the two of you inside it.

He leans in to make a joke about Steve’s terrible attempt at dancing with Nat. You tease him for nearly tripping during the opening spin. He laughs.

You forget about the frost outside.

Eventually, the music swells again, and students flood the dance floor. Bucky glances at you with an unspoken question.

You nod.

He offers you his hand again.

You spend hours moving across the floor. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Sometimes you both mess up and laugh and stumble and don’t care who’s watching.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

At some point, the crowd thins.

People begin slipping out toward the gardens, toward quiet corridors, toward little pockets of privacy.

You don’t even think about it before you follow the shift.

You and Bucky step out into the courtyard, where snow crunches gently underfoot and the moonlight paints everything silver.

The air is cold, but your body feels too warm to notice.

Bucky’s coat is loose around his shoulders now, hands stuffed in his pockets. You walk beside him in silence for a minute.

“I thought I’d be more nervous tonight,” he says eventually.

You glance at him. “You weren’t?”

He shakes his head. “Not after I saw you.”

You pretend to focus on the garden lights flickering between snow-covered hedges.

He stops walking.

You turn.

There’s that look again—the one he gave you before the task. The one that says he’s trying not to overstep but also can’t look away from you.

Your breath clouds between you.

“I’m glad I asked you,” he says.

“I’m glad you did too.”

You both hesitate.

It’s so quiet out here. Even the music sounds distant now, a faint echo behind the frost.

You take a half-step closer, like your feet decided before your head caught up.

Bucky mirrors it.

You speak before you lose the nerve. “That night after the first task…”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You exhale. “I meant what I said. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I can promise I’ll try to come back to you.”

The words settle in your chest.

He swallows. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You’re not,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to your lips.

Yours do the same.

Neither of you leans in.

You just drift.

And then—

It happens.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither. It’s not planned, it’s not dramatic, and it’s not even a proper kiss at first.

Just a brush.

A quiet collision of mouths.

A surprised inhale.

Then another press—this one fuller, warmer, more real.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss him like you’re not entirely sure this is happening, but you don’t want it to stop.

When you part, barely, your foreheads rest together.

Bucky breathes out a soft laugh.

You smile against his cheek. “That was…”

“Accidental,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” you say.

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you wants to.

“Do you think we’ll ‘accidentally’ do it again?” he asks.

You grin. “Definitely.”

And when he kisses you again, it’s not an accident at all.

---

The weeks following the Yule Ball are a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered conversations.

You and Bucky never officially define whatever it is that's blossomed between you, but neither of you seems to mind. There's an unspoken understanding: with the tournament's dangers looming, labeling your relationship feels both unnecessary and daunting. Instead, you focus on the present, cherishing each interaction as if it might be your last.

Between classes, Bucky finds ways to be near you. Despite being in different houses, he manages to intercept you in the corridors, always with that signature smirk playing on his lips.

One afternoon, as you're heading to the library, he appears beside you, matching your stride. "Fancy meeting you here," he teases.

You roll your eyes but can't suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "It's almost like you're stalking me, Barnes."

He feigns innocence. "Me? Never. Just happened to be going this way."

You both know it's a lie, but neither of you cares.

As the days pass, these encounters become more frequent. He'll brush his fingers against yours when no one's looking, or tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear during study sessions. Each touch sends shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more.

One evening, he surprises you with an impromptu "date." After dinner, he pulls you aside, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Come with me," he whispers, leading you through the castle's winding corridors.

You follow without question, curiosity piqued. Eventually, you arrive at the Astronomy Tower. The view is breathtaking: the vast expanse of the night sky dotted with stars, the Forbidden Forest stretching out below.

Bucky spreads out a blanket he'd apparently stashed there earlier and gestures for you to sit. Producing a small basket, he reveals an assortment of pastries and a flask of hot cocoa.

"Thought we could use a break from all the madness," he says softly.

Your heart swells. "This is perfect. Thank you."

You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, wrapped in each other's warmth against the chilly night air. It's moments like these that make you forget the looming dangers of the tournament.

But reality has a way of intruding.

The Second Task approaches faster than either of you would like. The night before, you find yourselves in the library, poring over books in search of any clue about what Bucky might face.

"I'm worried," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I'll be okay. I have to be."

You nod, but the knot in your stomach remains.

The morning of the task dawns cold and gray. The Black Lake is shrouded in mist, its surface eerily still. Students gather along the shore, anticipation and anxiety palpable in the air.

You stand with your friends, eyes never leaving Bucky as he prepares to dive into the unknown depths. He catches your gaze and offers a reassuring smile, but you see the tension in his posture.

A whistle blows, signaling the start. The champions plunge into the lake, disappearing beneath its dark surface.

Time seems to stretch endlessly. You watch the clock, each tick amplifying your anxiety. Minutes pass. Then half an hour. Then forty-five minutes.

The first champion emerges, gasping for air and clutching their "treasure." Then the second. But there's no sign of Bucky.

Your nails dig into your palms, heart pounding painfully against your ribs.

Finally, just as the hour mark approaches, there's a disturbance in the water. Bucky breaks the surface, dragging himself onto the shore. He's visibly shaken, clothes torn, a gash bleeding freely on his forehead.

Relief floods you, but it's short-lived as you take in his condition.

He stumbles slightly, and without thinking, you rush to his side, heedless of the spectators.

"Bucky!" Your voice trembles with emotion.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes before being replaced by exhaustion. "Hey," he murmurs, attempting a weak smile.

You don't hesitate, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as if to anchor him to reality.

"You're okay," you whisper, more to convince yourself than anything.

He leans into you, drawing strength from your presence. "Barely."

Pulling back slightly, you cup his face, thumb brushing over the cut on his forehead. "What happened?"

His eyes darken with the memory. "Grindylows. Swarmed me as I was trying to get back. Thought I was done for."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "But you fought them off."

He nods. "Had to. Couldn't break my promise to you."

Emotion chokes you, and you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Don't scare me like that again."

He chuckles softly, wincing at the movement. "I'll try."

The medics arrive, ushering him away for treatment. You reluctantly let him go, but not before squeezing his hand one last time.

As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder. "Meet me later?"

You nod, a small smile breaking through the tears. "Always."

The tournament continues to test both of you, but in these moments, you find solace in each other, holding on to the hope that when it's all over, you'll finally have the chance to define what you mean to one another.

---

That night, after the second task, you don’t sleep.

You sit in the Hufflepuff common room, curled up in the corner of one of the armchairs closest to the fire, your legs tucked beneath you, your thoughts nowhere near still. The embers crackle softly, shadows dancing along the walls, but the only image that stays in your mind is Bucky—shivering, bloodied, soaked, and still managing to smile at you.

You keep replaying the way he looked when he stumbled out of the lake. How pale he was. How he leaned on you a little too heavily when you rushed to him. How his voice shook, even though he tried to make it sound light. He was scared. You saw it in his eyes.

And so were you.

It's well past curfew when the knock comes on the window. Soft, almost hesitant.

You blink, sit up, and glance around the dim room. Everyone else is asleep or in their dorms. You rise quietly and open the window just a crack.

Bucky stands outside, still damp, hair mussed and a hoodie slung over his shoulders. There’s a healing charm wrapped around his wrist, barely visible under the sleeve. His eyes are tired.

You open the window wider and let him climb through.

“Hi,” he says, voice low.

You don’t answer at first. You just look at him. Then you walk straight into his chest and wrap your arms around him tightly.

He holds you back with equal strength, pressing his face into your hair, breathing you in like he hasn’t had a moment to feel safe since before the task.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

“You almost weren’t.”

“I know.”

You hold on for a while longer.

Eventually, he shifts, and you both sink onto the big sofa by the fire. He stretches out, and you curl against his side, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you. Your fingers play absently with the edge of his hoodie.

You lie like that for a long time.

Not talking. Just breathing.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper at some point.

He turns his head, his lips brushing the top of your hair. “I told you I’d come back.”

You nod against his chest, eyes burning. “Don’t ever make me watch something like that again.”

He doesn’t promise this time.

He just holds you closer.

Days pass, and for a little while, things are soft again. Bucky rests, heals, smiles when you sneak him snacks from the kitchens and draw little stars on the corners of his parchment during study sessions. He steals kisses behind the library shelves and holds your hand under tables when no one’s looking.

Neither of you talk about what you are. It doesn’t feel necessary. The connection is there. Unspoken but steady.

Still, there’s a weight in the air. The Third Task looms.

It’s different this time. You can feel it in the tension around the castle, the worried glances exchanged in the hallways. The hedge maze constructed on the Quidditch pitch casts long shadows that stretch toward the castle like dark fingers.

Bucky doesn’t tell you much about what he’s expecting—he can’t. But the look in his eyes when he talks about it says enough.

You walk him down to the edge of the maze on the day of the task. The stands are packed, voices buzzing in the wind, banners waving, but none of it touches you.

He stops before stepping past the line and turns to face you.

His hand finds yours.

“I have to win this,” he says, and there’s something quiet and desperate in the way he says it.

You squeeze his fingers. “I know.”

“But I also have to survive it. For you.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, words caught behind the emotion.

He hesitates, then leans in. His lips press gently to your forehead.

“When this is over,” he murmurs, “we’ll talk about everything. No more waiting.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Then he turns and walks into the maze.

Time slows again. The maze is a living thing, shifting, closing behind each champion as they move deeper inside. From the stands, you can see flickers of light, hear the occasional bang of spells or a scream muffled by distance. Your heart hammers with every sound.

And then silence.

Long, suffocating silence.

You don’t know how long it lasts—maybe an hour, maybe more—but then a horn sounds.

You rush to the front of the stands as people stand, gasping, craning to see.

A figure stumbles out of the edge of the maze, dragging something behind him.

It’s Bucky.

But something’s wrong.

He collapses to his knees just past the finish line, panting, blood pouring from his shoulder. The prize is clutched in his free hand—a glowing relic, pulsing with faint magic—but his left arm is gone.

You don’t realize you’re screaming his name until people start moving.

Madam Pomfrey is already running, others shouting orders, and you fight your way through the crowd, uncaring who’s in the way. You reach him just as he’s lowered to a stretcher.

His face is pale. There’s blood everywhere. His eyes meet yours.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice raw.

“I’m here,” you say, grabbing his hand, your own shaking. “I’m here.”

He smiles faintly. “Told you I’d win.”

And then his eyes flutter shut.

The next few hours are a blur.

They take him to the hospital wing, lock it down for privacy and security. You don’t leave the corridor outside. Not when Steve tries to make you eat, not when Nat quietly offers you a blanket, not even when professors walk by whispering updates.

You just sit there, your knees to your chest, waiting for any news at all.

Finally, hours later, someone opens the door.

“He’s awake.”

You rush inside.

Bucky lies on the bed, propped up slightly. He looks tired. There’s a scar along his jaw now. His left side is bandaged, the arm gone from the shoulder down.

But he’s alive.

You sit beside him without a word and take his hand.

He doesn’t speak for a while.

When he does, his voice is hollow. “They couldn’t save it.”

“I know.”

“They say they can make me a replacement. Metal. Like the ones used for enchanted prosthetics.”

You nod.

He doesn’t look at you. “What if I hate it?”

“Then I’ll help you until you don’t.”

His eyes finally meet yours. There’s so much pain there it’s hard to look at.

“I don’t want you to see me differently.”

You don’t flinch.

“I don’t,” you say. “Not even a little.”

His throat bobs.

You lean in and press your forehead to his.

“I love you,” you whisper.

It slips out before you can stop it, but you don’t take it back.

He breathes in sharply, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then he says, voice cracking, “I love you too.”

And you don’t let go of him for the rest of the night.

---

The metal arm doesn’t come immediately.

It takes weeks.

Weeks of healing, of fittings, of enchantments. Weeks of pain, both physical and emotional. You’re there for all of it.

At first, Bucky barely talks. He’s withdrawn, silent through most of the hospital stay. Even when the others come to visit—Steve, Sam, Nat—he gives them a tired smile and little else. When they finally release him and he returns to the Gryffindor tower, he doesn’t go to the common room. He hides in his dorm. From them. From you.

But not for long.

Because you refuse to let him push you away.

You knock on the door to his dorm one evening, long after curfew. When he doesn’t answer, you let yourself in anyway. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his left shoulder bandaged, shirt discarded, back hunched over as he stares at the floor. The firelight makes his skin look pale, shadows flickering over the edges of the deep scar where his arm used to be.

You close the door softly behind you and walk to him.

He doesn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t care.”

A silence stretches between you.

He finally speaks. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’ve already seen you like this.”

He still doesn’t look up. “It’s different now. The tournament’s over. You don’t have to… stick around.”

You cross the room and kneel in front of him.

He doesn’t move.

You gently reach up and cup his cheek. “You think I only stayed because of the tournament?”

He swallows, throat tight.

You shift closer. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do.”

“Then stop trying to push me away.”

It breaks something in him. His shoulders shake, and his hand grips your arm like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“I hate it,” he admits, voice raw. “I hate what I look like. I hate what it feels like to wake up and not feel anything on that side. I hate that I can't even brush my teeth with my dominant hand. I hate that I won, and this is what I get.”

You pull him into your arms, holding him as tightly as he’ll let you. “You’re allowed to hate it. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

He breathes into your shoulder, body trembling.

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

You squeeze him tighter. “Me too.”

That night, he doesn’t let go of you once.

The first time he sees the metal arm, he flinches.

It’s late afternoon, a week after he’s fitted with it in the infirmary. You’re with him, of course, sitting by his side while Madam Pomfrey checks the magical circuitry, the tiny runes etched into the metal.

It’s beautiful, in a way—sleek and matte black with silver accents, enchanted to respond like a real limb. But it’s heavy. Cold. Unfamiliar.

When they attach it, the magic latches onto the nerves that remain in his shoulder. There’s a pulse of heat, a flash of golden light. The fingers twitch slightly.

Bucky stares at it.

And says nothing.

You can tell he wants to say something. Maybe scream. Maybe cry. But he doesn’t. He just watches as the fingers curl into a fist and then release.

That night, he doesn’t speak much.

But he lets you hold his hand—the real one—while his other rests stiffly by his side.

He doesn’t wear it in public at first.

He hides it under jackets, under glamours, under long sleeves even when the weather is warm. Some people whisper about it, but no one says anything to his face. No one dares.

Except you.

One afternoon, you find him by the Black Lake, jacket pulled tightly around his shoulders.

You sit beside him on the grass.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

You take a breath. “I see someone who fought through something terrible. Who came out the other side. Who survived, Bucky. You lived.”

He looks at you finally.

“People talk,” he says. “They stare. They think I’m some kind of freak.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

A pause.

You shift closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I love you. Not in spite of this. Not because of it. I just love you. All of you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But he leans into you, just a little.

And you know that’s enough for now.

By the end of the month, people know.

They know you’re his girlfriend.

It wasn’t exactly announced—neither of you are the type. But he starts walking you to class. He holds your hand openly. He lets you kiss his cheek in the corridor after Transfiguration and doesn’t flinch when others see.

And then one day, Bucky appears in the Great Hall for breakfast, sleeves rolled up, the metal arm on full display. The rune lines shimmer faintly in the candlelight, and his expression is calm, defiant even, as he sits down beside you.

You don’t say anything.

But your hand finds his under the table.

That’s the moment it becomes real to everyone else.

And they talk. Of course they do.

You catch the looks. You hear the whispers. The way girls glance at you with mixed envy and awe, as though they can’t believe you—a quiet Hufflepuff who prefers books to drama—are the one holding hands with Bucky Barnes, Triwizard Champion, scarred and stunning and suddenly so real.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s yours. And he’s letting the world see it.

The night of the feast is warm and loud.

Banners hang from the ceiling. The long tables are overflowing with food and drink. Professors are smiling, chatting, raising goblets. Music plays in the background. The sky above the enchanted ceiling is a brilliant, star-speckled navy.

It’s all for him.

A celebration of his victory. Of the pain he endured and the title he earned.

Bucky looks handsome, even if he refuses to wear anything fancier than his best school robes. The arm is still uncovered. He’s not hiding anymore.

When he walks into the Hall, everyone stands.

He blushes.

You squeeze his hand.

People cheer. Some chant his name. He ducks his head in embarrassment and mutters under his breath, “This is stupid.”

You laugh. “Take the praise, Barnes. You’ve earned it.”

They give him a seat at the head table, but he doesn’t sit there long. After the formal part of the feast ends, after McGonagall says something eloquent and moving about resilience and bravery, he sneaks back to you.

He sits beside you at the Hufflepuff table, ignoring the wide eyes and stares from the other students.

“I missed you,” he says quietly, like he hasn’t just been the center of attention for an entire school.

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“Still missed you.”

You lean against him.

He turns his head and kisses your temple.

You don’t miss the way girls watch you. Or the way some of them mutter behind their hands. But you also don’t care.

Because Bucky Barnes, with all his pain and strength and sarcasm and sweetness, is yours.

And you’re his.

The feast ends late, and students slowly trickle back to their dorms. But you and Bucky stay behind, lingering in the corridor outside the Great Hall. The music has faded. The torches are dim.

He leans against the wall, you in front of him, his arms (both of them) wrapped around your waist.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

“For not letting me disappear.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “Never.”

He kisses you, soft and slow, and when he pulls back, there’s a light in his eyes you haven’t seen since before the tournament began.

Hope.

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toastermuffles · 9 months ago

Text

Hey guys welcome to my massive rant about q!Fit and how cc!Fit is incredibly talented and underrated. Since y'all kinda blew up my twitter post LOL.

There are SO many things I could touch on so it's probably gonna be scattered around a lot.

1) Fit had a great character set up from the beginning. From the very start many people knew Fits reputation as a 2b2t veteran, a place with a toxic environment and brutal people. He was no exception, he was closed off to relationships and was very cautious/closed off to many things. Not only that but his past made people distrust him in the beginning. I loved the suspense it brought with his character and the question of why he WAS actually here. Since the whole "vacation" thing was never very convincing. My favourite part was a lot of this was IMPLIED! He built on the character he portrayed in his YT videos and it worked so well, adding small comments about his character here and there (like when he said q!Fits hearing was bad BC of all the explosions he's experienced).

2) His RP skills were another level, not only was he in character almost the WHOLE time when he was live (even donos) when he first did lore he would tease elements of it by writing cryptic messages when others were live. SUCH a good idea when you have a smaller audience and want to create suspense. Not only that, he would have set dates and times for BIG lore stuff, this honestly made it so much easier to keep track of and engage in, not only alone but with friends too! His actual lore was very different from many others, it was cinematic and well planned, yet it still left room for sudden changes. The final result was a cohesive story line that the audience could interpret. I just loved how I could understand what was happening but also have questions/cliffhangers!

3) the fucking MUSIC. Throughout his lore and start of his streams I adored his choice of music, "Stranger in Paradise" being a personal favourite that was not only reoccurring in more than one language but fit SO WELL. I also think it was very clever how a lot of his music choices for his character didn't make sense until you understand the full story e.g. "Can't say goodbye to yesterday". All of this really added a new perspective on his character, almost through cc!Fits own eyes. Along with his music choice just being absolute bops OFC.

4) THE SYMBOLISM. My absolute favourite lore moment of his was at the end of the "Attachments" lore stream. Where the sun is setting over the mountain, slowly covering a patch of roses in darkness. ALL WHILE an instrumental Italian version of "Stanger in paradise" played. Roses of course being a symbol of not only his and Pac's relationship but love in general. His love for Ramon and his friends. The love he had to grow, just like a rose. While the darkness symbolizes his past catching up to him, more specifically his deadline. His time with his family and friends ending, his loves disappearing. Chefs kiss because it makes me cry everytime fr.

5) q!Fit's sexuality (gay). There is something so poetic about a gay guy from an extremely homophobic wasteland learning to come to terms with his own sexuality and love in general. Him slowly building a loving relationship with Ramon, Growing feelings for Pac, Nervously coming out to his son and then finally indulging in the first relationship and FAMILY he had ever had. Finally learning to love and to be loved in return. Even if he is scared about his mission, or taking things too fast. Just learning to live a normal life.

6) Fitmc is criminally underrated and overlooked. I still remember when Fit got his first proper piece of fanart in the museum. It was like... JULY? or something. And I think that says enough. People had no idea he was even doing lore at some points. Averaging at about 1-2k viewers in the beginning, until hideduo came into the mix. A lot but still compared to others very low. I think because his viewers consisted of his YT audience it didn't translate well. But I'm so glad he was able to build a loving community on twitch <3

Anyways it's 3am for me, I probably have more to talk about but this is basically what I meant when I posted that tweet. Feel free to reblog and add your own favourite observations or moments. I wanna hear them! ❤️

#fitmc #qsmp #qsmp fitmc #qsmp fit #fitmc qsmp #qsmp ramon #hideduo #qsmp pac #spotify #fypage

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watermelonlicker · 2 months ago

Note

what is THEE larry song (s) in your opinion?

HOLY shit that is a loaded question. well to start off i’ll just say my interpretation is based off their patterns and what i know of their history. i don’t really focus or trust too much on what they say in interviews tbh bcos a lot of what they say has to fall in line with their pr so they don’t breach any of their image clauses or to spin a specific narrative to deflect from the true meanings of each song. they really can only give a crumb and that’s about it. interviews are never about honesty.

with that being said i think we have to start with the band days like there are soo many songs from that time where they’re screaming to be heard or just expressing their utter devotion like when harry wrote i love you for alex & sierra or just a little bit of your heart for ari.

louis for me has this unique ability to open up the darkest parts of his mind and frame them into songs of inspiration and positivity. these aren’t larry but they get an honorable mention for being my faves like two of us, only the brave, and bigger than me. when listening to louis it’s like you’re consuming a skittles packet filled with eternal happiness while being depressed as hell.

harry is the definition of beauty and transcendence. listening to his music is like stepping into a vortex and being spit out into a greek tragedy where he allows you closely inside his heart while also educating you visually. you have to interpret his words extremely carefully in order to capture the depth of his work bcos each album is like a painting. he is so intelligent with his pen like a musical genius and such a gentle soul.

with larry so many of their songs are interwoven and discuss their long-term relationship and also their fight for their individuality and fight against their closet. even the songs they didn’t write but have spoken about being their faves or relating to (moments, more than this, loved you first, little things, 18,) shows how much they were always so love sick for each other. for the larry songs i’ll begin with one of their more underrated ones that they wrote with liam & ryan tedder right now. that song discuss how they’re trying to navigate only wanting each other while facing the pressures of fame and separations. those themes also carry on into harry’s happily, where do broken hearts go, stockholm syndrome, and if i could fly. with louis he always mirrors harry and follows those themes in stronger, ready to run, fireproof, and love you goodbye.

then you have one of the big ones NO CONTROL which speaks on not just their sex life but how much they truly are obsessed with each other. what i like about larry’s music is how they answer each other in their songs and i really love that harry not only followed up no control (his favorite song written by louis for him) but got NASTY with it in watermelon sugar & cinema. and to continue with them answering each other i definitely feel like don’t let it break your heart is the answer to ever since new york. in that song harry is asking for a fix to his pain, for an antidote, and imo dlitbyh sounds like just that. and then we have harry saying loving you is the antidote in golden which FUCK and then how much he just adores louis in adore you.

another big one is PERFECT which is thee ™ larry song and the only one they have publicly released together. perfect gives you an insight on the origins of their relationship, their banter, and how they are on a similar wavelength. i mean the song literally speaks for itself and made so much noise the industry pr machine was working overtime to try and pretend like that very obvious song about each other was not about them.

venturing into their solo albums they obviously discuss a variety of topics and themes. i think hs1 & fine line are more metaphorical about harry, his relationship with gender, fame, and individual experiences like trying cocaine for the first time (carolina). walls is very similar (again mirrors of each other) and it discusses louis’ journey with loss & suffering and how to come out of it. on hs1 you have another big one SWEET CREATURE which is harry discussing that no matter how hard it gets louis will always be the one to guide him back to himself & that their love is genuinely the one thing he can count on even when they drift apart sometimes. that song also gave us the most iconic harry failure of a denial of all time and gave birth to horse noise sue.

some of their songs also have multiple meanings that i do think applies to them and the fans like we made it and habit. i do think louis was telling a crumb about that. i think habit really discusses his rocky relationship with harry and also his rocky relationship with larries. he’s always gonna need us and that couldn’t be more true than what’s happening right now with mctrash. the greatest is another one that louis said is about the fans which i can see and i do believe it’s also about harry bcos fitf’s theme is him basically looking towards freedom. opening up the album with the greatest cements what he overcame with harry and the fans and that they/we are strongest together. the larry songs on walls are of course the ones we will talk about forever too young & always you. like those are the most obvious validating songs and i love them to death. defenceless is another one that is like the pg version of no control and i do think perfect now is a nod to harry’s struggles with his gender and no matter what, he is everything in louis’ eyes + we know louis has always supported him when it comes to his gender fluidity.

i’ve already mentioned a few from fine line but i do feel like to be so lonely is a big one. i really like the theory that it’s harry discussing a voicemail louis left him and bcos i’m a dramatic lesbian i do like the drama of it. i also think sunflower vol.6 and canyon moon are more domestic ones and i think fine line the song is another one with multiple meanings that discusses harry’s relationship with fame, himself, and also with louis. it’s one of my fave songs which is why it’s my pinned. now back to fitf i think written all over your face is a very obvious harry song and is a nod to how he can be a petty queen. i mean hello miss kiss me you fool dragging louis in front of 20k people i take harry is fucking with me pop culture iconography. a MOMENT. lucky again also screams larry to me and so does silver tongues, she is beauty we are world class, and that’s the way love goes. there’s a few others on that album i think you can connect on harry but again i think they have multifaceted meanings. fitf is honestly just such a fucking great album and louis came into his own on it.

to end this, we have the momentous harry’s house, the 2x grammy award winning album and his gayest album yet. i think harry’s house can be argued as the larry album bcos so many of the songs on there are his most direct. i’ve already mentioned a few but some others i think are about louis/or just the relationship is late night talking (when they miss each other), MFASR, grapejuice, daylight, keep driving, daydream, satellite, and love of my life. i think about 90% of that album is reflecting the highs and lows of their relationship but how in the end they got it back which is why i really love the reverse theory. i agree with that theory so heavy. i believe ultimately their relationship is so paramount. it is the reason for their harsh closeting and they have had to learn how to navigate it as a team while also having separate careers and making sure to be their own people so that they can be the healthiest version of themselves. i’m so fucking excited for what they have to say in lt3 & hs4 and how they catch us up on everything that’s happened since 2022.

edit: the way i forgot to put HOME in here and thought i did when i had to re-type this shit cos my draft got deleted. thanks @backtothelighton yet another major larry song about freedom and queer anthem in general. and i forgot the unreleased you know what I TRIED! please there’s so much damn music and i was focusing on the officials but shoutout to ALL ALONG, COACOC, medicine, already home, without you, and can we talk.

#mail #i can’t believe i wrote a meta-ish??#but i hope you like this anon #<3 #this overstretched my brain

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90ekz · 2 years ago

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JJK MENS’ FAVORITE SEX THINGS x1

- feat… satoru, toji, todo, higuruma.

- cont… nsfw, very poor dirty talk (someone teach me how to write ts PLEASE), black!fem!reader, typical dom/sub dynamics, sassy men, established relationships, ts nastyyyyy.

- an… ik this is a kinda random bunch, but i wanted to include some underrated men in here !! pt 2 will be up soon with the favs, don’t worry ;)

GOJO SATORU & FINGERING

this man right here… menace to society.

something about massaging your swollen clit with his thumb while he abuses your g-spot with his three fingers of choice is his favorite thing in the world !!!

using his hands during sex in general is a go-to, he knows exactly what it does to you too mmhm.

something about the way you seem to fall apart so much quicker when he uses his hands, watching so intently as he uses his other to press down on your stomach cs it overstims you :(( hes mean i fear

“mm, yeah? that’s that spot right there baby?”

and GOD FORBID you start complaining about how it’s too much, his lil dumbass is smirking and massaging even deeper while tears start to flow down your warm cheeks. asshole vibes 🙄

“awww you cryin’? such a big girl, i know you can give me one more..”

AOI TODO & TIT-FUCKING

to clarify, he didn’t even know you could do this LMFAO

he’d been eyeing your plush chest all night, the top of your dark areolas peaking above your lounging tank. you being you, you were very aware of this fact, and you indulged him. hugging him from behind, “dropping something down your shirt” and asking him to check for it, all the cliches. that man was blushing bhaddd.

eventually he got so needy and asked you to fuck him like a loser :((

so imagine his surprise when you wet his cock with saliva and begin to massage it between your tits, all the while asking him to tell you how it feels. you pushed your boobs together to tighten around him, not at all missing how his breath stuttered in his chest. that man was starstruck and had to hold back his nut fr :/

“ouuu shit—make that dick cum mama…”

now everytime you wear those low cut shirts around your apartment, hes pulling himself out half mast and slapping it on your plush skin, silently demanding.

TOJI FUSHIGURO & BACKSHOTS

do not get me starteddddd.

he adores watching you come back and grind against his dick, meeting him in the middle. the jiggle of your ass is enough to make him drool with a maniacal smile set on his face.

he’s constantly spilling a mix of praise and degradation, how you’re “such a good slut,” and such. he’ll even let you suck on his fingers if he’s gracious.

he’ll yank up any hairstyle you have at the moment and pound into you even deeper. one hand in your hair, another pressing your arch down to his satisfaction. sometimes if he’s feeling sadistic, he’ll won’t move at all and just admire your rhythm against his cock.

“that’s it, there’s my girl… work for that nut.”

as much as you love toji, your hairstylist does not admire him as much as you do. her personal beef has gone on for the entire 2 year length of your relationship that he’s been fuckin’ up lace glue, pulling out braids, unraveling locs, and frizzing up twists, and she has to be the one to fix ‘em… poor girl :/

HIRUMI HIGURUMA & FACE-SITTING

#1 munch award goes to:

you were being very wary about this, considering it isn’t exactly the safest thing to put all of your weight on top of someone’s face and neck but… he hates breathing apparently ??

you feel his rare smile against your sopping wet hole, and his nose bumping against your clit as you grind rhythmically. his nails print crescents into your thighs and he keeps you in place, and he thinks he could die happy right here.

your slick is dripping down his chin, and his dick is so, so stiff. it’s uncanny how committed he is to this, almost like it’s a job—a duty—to please you.

it’s only when you pull away to let him breathe (a notion that he already established that he didn’t need to do) is his smile replaced with a slight scowl, and he’s mumbling into your thighs for you to keep going.

“get back up here, ‘m not done.”

like ok you suicidal freak ??

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marjoriestotch · 1 month ago

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Pls give me your opinions and headcanons about Shelley Marsh

Hooo boy. Where do I begin.

I love Shelly Marsh, and she's an incredibly underrated character within the fanbase and also within the show itself.

It is no secret Trey Parker based Shelly off of his own sister, and his portrayal early on of her is meant to mock his sister and also express his turbulent relationship with her when they were children. He talks in detail in the season 1 commentary track of how his sister used to beat and bully him, so obviously the character Shelly within South Park isn't portrayed favourably. (He also describes with glee on how people in real life mock his sister knowing of the reference of her in South Park, which he says did annoy her. I have feelings about that on it's own but it's besides the point.) She's ugly, anti-social, friendless, a bully, violent, etc.

Though I do want to say that Trey's view on Shelly as a character did seem to shift early on, what with Cat Orgy portraying Shelly as a sympathetic victim, a lonely girl, who is starving for love. I would give Trey a lot more merit for that if that episode isn't then followed up with a huge gap of Shelly having next to no prominence in the show.

I believe that Trey Parker and maybe also Matt Stone started to take a little more interest in Shelly in recent years due to having daughters of their own, wanting and being able to flesh her out more and give an actual relationship to Randy who the show very blatantly states has treated Stan as his only child for many years. I hope they do continue with this trend of Shelly having more prominence - we had her be the inciting incident for Tegridy Farms, being more vocal about her unhappiness being there, her hatred for weed, her terribly relationship with Randy, her interest in music and social media, and Randy seemingly expressing more interest in her.

As for the fandom...I get exhausted if I have to think about how the fandom has treated her for decades. No, she is not the golden child. She is the one who is neglected and forgotten.

Randy outright forgets Shelly exists, and a recent example of Randy cropping Shelly out of the photo they took with the Black family during The Big Fix. Even Sharon neglects her, doting mostly on Stan, which Shelly expresses in her outburst during the season 19 finale. We never see Shelly taken to the doctor or to a therapist (which she desperately needs) when Sharon and Randy rush Stan to both multiple times during the show.

A lot of the time Shelly does not exist within fanart or fanfiction, it really is as if Stan is just an only child. Shelly is nowhere to be seen within or outside of the household, and damned do we find out what she's up to when Stan reaches adulthood. It's Shelly, right, who cares? I care. It upsets me.

I feel they toss her aside because Trey Parker did for many years, which, uh, is not a good excuse in my opinion. There are fans who cling onto s1-3 single episode only characters for DECADES while Shelly had more prominent and genuinely touching moments in that same time frame and beyond. I think we're all afraid to just admit that it's due to misogyny, and I don't want to hear that well South Park is a misogynistic show (and it is) when Trey Parker himself has expressed and provenly demonstrated he is interested in writing female characters more within the show. How are you doing worse than TREY PARKER at writing female characters? Embarrasssing. (That could be a whole post on its own, I digress.)

I feel like I could ramble on and on about this forever, and it's kinda getting exhausting lol, so I'll try and segue into the headcanons.

A recent headcanon I had has to do with Shelly's clear interest in Wicked since we saw her posters of it in her room. Though before this I did imagine Shelly to be averse to the musical given what had happened with Larry, I wonder if perhaps she clings onto the musical in memory of her short lived romance with Larry is one of the reasons she loves it so much. I like to imagine she heavily relates to Elphaba, and that her and Cartman like to act out the songs together with Cartman acting as Glinda (picture his tooth fairy princess costume reused for the Glinda role.)

Adding onto that, while, yes, we don't see them interacting all that much after Cat Orgy, I still like to think that Shelly and Cartman are friends, even distantly, because they bonded over the events in that episode.

Speaking of those events, this fandom glosses over MANY of Shelly's traumas, and being groomed by Skylar is one of them. It frustrates me to no end that we have people in the fandom pontificate over sexual assaults in the show (which are often played comedically) but ignore Shelly outright because she's just not one of the boys. Shelly was groomed by a grown man at 13, and is neglected to the point that none of her family has noticed. We watch him kiss her and grope her, which always makes me feel uncomfortable, much more than any other instances of assault on the show, because it feels so REAL.

Continuing on that, TO THIS DAY Shelly has a picture of Skylar framed in her room. Again, her family isn't shown to wonder why she has this photo or ask her who he is, nothing. The reason I think Shelly clings to this photo of the man who groomed and abused her is because, yes, what he did IS ABUSE, in Shelly's mind, he is the only person who found her desirable, wanted to kiss her, introduced her to his friends and made music with her (which she's clearly passionate about.) Yes, we have Larry, who I miss dearly, but their relationship was unfortunately short lived before any real romance could bloom. And, well, Amir was a boy she talked to online. Skylar, you see, was her first and only real boyfriend, and I think she clings onto that photo to remind herself that maybe she can be loved romantically, which I know is twisted and incredibly sad, but thats just what Shelly is to me.

Speaking of Amir, I like to think Shelly is a little chronically online. We always either see her on her phone or she's reading books (which I'll talk about in a second) when she's not at the dinner table. She has online friends she bonds over music, books, movies and maybe over their own struggles as teenagers. It's an escapism for Shelly when it seems like she's isolated from most of South Park for being known as the ugly bully of her little brother.

She clearly has an affinity for music, I like to think she loves both girl pop (Lorde, Miley Cyrus, etc) while also having an affinity to that teenage girl alternative music (The Smiths, which me and my hubby @bullborn have discussed in great lengths.) She wants to sing! She wants to get lost in daydreaming to music in her room.

Her room is also interesting because we often see horse posters in it, so clearly she is a horse girl of a sort. I'm sure when she was younger she would've learned to love horse riding, but Stan always took priority, so she's left daydreaming with her horesgirl novels and movies.

Shelly is just a very feminine girl, you guys. She loves pink, LOVES pink, loves flowers, loves Live Laugh Love posters, loves pink hearts, rainbows, butterflies, loves girl magazines, just everything girly girl. Even though she is tough, strong, and abrasive, she still has a clear soft feminine side to her that maybe she's afraid to express, what with keeping all this in her room where she feels safe from ridicule and to upkeep her bad reputation.

My favorite part of Marsh family dinners isn't Randy, Sharon and Stan arguing, but watching Shelly and Grandpa Marvin Marsh eat quietly together. I like to think they did have a close relationship, which only lasted briefly before Marvin was taken to an elderly home. I think Marvin still loves Shelly dearly, which is painful when you remember how he wanted to buy her jewelry even though she's outgrown any interest in them. I think it must have hurt Shelly to see the one family member she had a positive relationship with go.

I like to imagine Shelly moving out as soon as she can and going straight for an apartment in a city. She wants to get away from it all, start fresh. Good for her.

Speaking of growing up, I am a sucker for an ugly duckling story for Shelly, where she loses her head gear and grows into her face and body and becomes a beautiful woman, which can be symbolic of her growing out from under a toxic household and reaching her full potential.

I've recently considered that she would become pescetarian, sharing Stan's belief in anti-animal cruelty, etc.

I think Shelly's love of reading is also a form of escapism for her as well as a trait of her more loner self.

I headcanon her as being bisexual and you can't argue with me cuz actually is it true.

This headcanon is moreso my hubby, @bullborn , but I'll say it here. I do like to imagine she was also a girl scout as Stan was a boy scout, being a leader of her den to boot.

Despite everything that I've said before, we finally did get a reveal of Shelly's friend group during the Obesity special (I don't know what the actual name of it is and I don't care 🙄). I want to know more about them!! I doubt we'll get any real depth to them beyond that small appearance. Can we as a fandom turn them into ocs with their own fanlore. Please. I beg.

And I'll tap this off with my list of Shelly ships even though no one asked.

I love Shelly/Scot Tenorman (yes him, again thanks to hubby @bullborn), and Shelly/Tammy Warner, Shelly/Kenny McCormick, and finally....big shocker I know.....Shelly/Tolkien Black. This me coming out with that, I guess. Oh and I do like Shelly/Kevin McCormick, but it's more so platonic thanks to @bullborn 's influence.

And yes I spell her name Shelly. I'm sorry.

If you want me to elaborate on anything go ahead and ask! Hopefully this is a good enough answer for now

#shelly marsh #shelley marsh #wow this post is long lol sorry about that #south park #south park headcanons

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taeaura · 5 months ago

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More TCM 2003/2006 Analysis because why not

TW: Yapping; Rape/Sa, Groping, Strong language, Gore, TCM-Canon-typical Violence

So I recently found deleted / extended scenes {Part 1 / Part 2 of 2006, 2003} which gave me more inspiration to write again! Analysis time 😈

_____

I first want to talk about the most forgotten member of the Hewitt family: Jedidiah. Poor sweet little Jedidiah, probably the most underrated and least-considered member of the Hewitt ‘clan’. From the clips shown in the video and the movie itself, we can infer that Jedidiah is left alone quite often. He’s also very aware of what goes on both in and outside the walls. Either the family doesn’t try to hide it from him or they’re doing a shit job at it. Even then, it’s kinda hard to hide things from independent children anyway. Jedidiah’s a very empathetic and artistic child who understands the Hewitt family values. I.E; the scene where he helps Erin and Morgan escape. Especially when he goes:

“Don’t hurt her! Please, Grandma!” - 2003, 1:06:48

He looks so defeated after..poor baby.

At around 1:12:40 when he’s urgently trying to get Erin and Morgan out of the basement via the tornado shelter exit {I think that’s what the structure is?}

“Go - Go now! Run! Faster, hurry! - Come on, don’t let him get you!”

“Go! I’ll be fine!” - 2003, 1:12:45 - 1:14:05

And when he tries to bite Thomas’ hand to hold him back?? Poor baby. I’d also like to acknowledge how Thomas didn’t get physical with him , simply just shoved him off his hand and onto the sandbag. In the deleted scenes for 2003, he seems much happier when he gets to show Pepper his drawings; It seems he really needs attention that he isn’t getting at home. Maybe this is similar to how Thomas was raised, though I'm not sure. This is even more apparent when he says “You sure you’re not just saying that?” after Pepper compliments his drawing. He very clearly needs a form of guidance and support; Not only for his development but for his confidence. As I discussed in a previous post, Thomas also really enjoys praise, which he gets mainly from Hoyt. Speaking of Hoyt, there’s two possibilities {that I’ve come up with} for how Jedidiah came to be. 1.) Jedidiah is the product of rape, most likely the child of Hoyt and a victim. 2.) They ‘adopted’ him from a victim or some similar situation. Not much evidence as to his origins, but we can theorize.

____

Moving on to Hoyt; the ‘head’ of the family. In the extended scenes for The Beginning 2006, we get to see an even more aggressive and short-fused side of Hoyt. He yells more often, he’s more violent, and he’s definitely more ‘hands-on’....yay for us. At around 3:20 in this video, as he’s going to ‘attend’ to Bailey’s injuries, he discreetly gropes her, specifically groping her breast whilst repeating ‘I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Yeah, okay, pal. And then he LICKS THE GLASS HE JUST PULLED OUT OF HER?? He also really doesn’t like the victims; Like. At all. He’s definitely lustful over Bailey, but he doesn’t like how ‘smart’ she gets at times. I.E; “Is having a dead biker chick ride shotgun proper police procedure, sir?” Now, in this video we get to see the more hostile version of Hoyt. Imagine his regular persona x2. At around 0:45 he pulls Dean’s head up by his hair and starts yelling is his face;

“You fucking idiot! I just told you we had to eat! Ain’t you listening to me?”

This tells us two things: One, Hoyt really doesn’t like when his authority is challenged via questions, lack of interest, or defiance. Two, he really doesn’t like talking about his time in the war. It’s a traumatic near-death experience which is definitely a soft spot for him. I doubt having to dwell on it, much less repeat it over and over again to someone he already hates is easy. Following that tangent, he quickly switches to his condescending ‘I’m just trying to help’ bullshit. Specifically at 1:09;

“Now what happens if you kids drive all the way up to Austin just to find out that you don’t even qualify to be in the Army? I’m concerned about your physical fitness here.”

I’ve also noticed that Hoyt gets real up-close n’ personal when he’s being condescending. Connect this with the moment he ties up and chokes Bailey; We can see Hoyt really likes showing not only his mental dominance, but his physical as well. Now, Hoyt is 6 feet, that’s tall. Compared to Thomas? That’s 5 inches shorter, and at maybe half or ⅗ of the weight. {I headcanon Thomas at around 330/320.} Hoyt sure as hell feels intimidated by Thomas physically. Mentally? Nah, probably not. He knows he could manipulate Thomas one way or another.

Now; I’d like to focus on how Hoyt treats the family. He rarely if ever gets fussy with them to the extent of the victims. In the 2006 deleted scenes, at around 5:54 - 6:20, Hoyt never yells at Luda Mae and corrects himself when she scolds him. As she raises her voice, he gets fed up but never yells, only says;

“God damnit, Momma, let me handle this.”

He’s stressed, she’s most definitely stressed, and he feels the need to control everything to manage it. His speech at 2:01 of the 2006 extended scenes part 1 is very loving coming from him. He’s trying to reassure his family that everything will be fine whilst also shit-talking the ‘enemy;’ Further isolating them from civilization which they’ve only known to be a negative. He also calmly tries coaxing / ordering Thomas in for supper as opposed to yelling at him. He definitely switches between Hoyt and Charlie around his family; Even though he keeps Hoyt as the ‘default’ to remain in power {which is his source of comfort}, he lets Charlie slip through when it’s needed.

____

Now for everyone’s favorite big boy; Thomas <3. The extended scene in part 2 {0:00 - 0:30} when Bailey see’s him and just starts screaming {rightfully so, she’s terrified}. Thomas is just standing there, fidgeting with his hands like 🤨/😐 - I know bro was reliving some school / work trauma. Seeing him fidget and doing what’s called ‘T-rex arms’ makes me think he’s neurodivergent. Obviously that’s not the only thing, I’ve been thinking he’s autistic specifically for a while now {Me pushing my autism onto a character} but it fits, no? {Maybe I'll do a post talking about his neurodivergence, idk} And he looks so overwhelmed during the dinner / Hoyt’s speech scene {In the extended scenes part 1.} OH! And ESPECIALLY when Hoyt brings him down to the basement at 37:40 in The Beginning 2006. He looks so overwhelmed and possibly terrified? When you brighten the scene, his expression is much easier to see {I’ll put a picture / gif below}. I think it’s safe to assume Thomas was a bit reluctant to continue as Hoyt had to coax him;

“Come on, Tommy, ain’t no different than the slaughterhouse. Meat’s meat; Bone’s bone. Get it done.”

I think Thomas really only got comfortable with the new lifestyle after he used it as an artistic outlet. Especially when he got to ‘experiment’ on Eric. I’ve seen multiple people use this scene as a means to say Thomas is gay. And listen, I don’t necessarily disagree, I don’t think he’s completely straight either {Reminder, any character that’s sexuality isn’t confirmed means that labeling them as ‘straight’ is a headcanon too!} I just think there’s more to work with here. I myself have struggles with my sexuality, specifically with how I view women. I’m not trying to push this onto Tommy, I just see potential similarities. I think Thomas was definitely envious of Eric, therefore, taking his face and ‘becoming’ something similar to him was a way to hide himself and present in a more ‘attractive way.’ I think he’s attracted to men, but his attraction is either masked or based on the idea of being like them. Eric has a life with such intense purpose. An army veteran {returning as well} with a partner, good family dynamic, and a friend group? ONTOP of being attractive and fit? Oh, hun, you know Thomas was yearning right there. He just wants to be good enough. I mean, really really, good enough. I don’t know why, but my brain automatically went to ‘he wants to become and consume Eric.’ As in, he’s attracted to the idea of being {like} Eric; As well as being attracted to Eric. I don’t know how to communicate this properly so I hope you get what I’m putting down.

___

Again, apologies for my long incoherent rants; I have so many ideas that I want to share

Much love, 🫀

#leatherface #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm 2006 #tcm 2003 #tcm #thomas brown hewitt #sheriff hoyt #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw 2003 #yapping session

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seirei-bh · 6 months ago

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I need to talk about Sylphrena and Renarin as individuals and their evolution in Wind and Truth

Syl and Renarin are among my favorite Stormlight characters since the first book, but in WaT posts almost every mention I've seen of them has been in regards to ships, so I'm going to put that topic aside because I want to highlight here how much I've loved them in this book as well for their evolution and roles.

Warning! FULL SPOILERS Wind and Truth below!

Syl is -too often- a character VERY underrated both in the books and in the fandom, not being appreciated enough except just as a "cute pixie" or "Kaladin's spren", something that makes me sad since I think she doesn't get the recognition she deserves, but in WaT she really stands out as an individual woman. And I love that so much! We see her becoming more self-aware, wanting to not only live for Kaladin but live for herself, she becomes a scribe and learns to write by her own efforts, because it's something she really likes, she finds a hobby and a dream. She also actively helps Szeth in one of his tests and she is the one who discovers the hidden trap, where we get a chapter from her pov. This book shows us a Syl who is smart, funny, witty, strong-willed, and also shows us very healthy and positive interactions of Syl with Kaladin and other individuals like Adolin and Shallan at the beginning, and then with Nightblood, Szeth, Nale. And in the end… she becomes the Queen of the Sprens! why is NOBODY talking about this??! And she also gets a physical body properly (I was afraid she would do it suffering from an experiment by Ishar, but no, it was thanks to the 5th ideal), so she can live in the physical world as she wished. Syl matures, grows, figures out who she wants to be and helps people who need it, while also learning to be an individual with her own personality and dreams. It's true that the character developments in the Shinovar storyline that stand out are those of Kaladin and Szeth, but we can't forget that Syl has also had her own: we see Syl as a member of Bridge 4, as a scribe, as a co-therapist, as a warrior (in spirit), and as a queen. And I'm very happy for her.

I hope that after WaT more people start to value Syl, and that those who hate a certain ship and have feared/hated Syl -without her deserving it- for that possibility in past or future, can value how beautiful and healthy the dynamic and bond between Kaladin and Syl is regardless of that, and how amazing is Syl as individual character, since Syl's scenes in this book are beautiful and heartwarmings. And I can't wait to see her in future books, to know what her role as queen of the spren will be like and how she will also help the heralds alongside Kaladin. After seeing how Kaladin and Syl summoned the Honor-spear together in the Oath, I now wonder if it will be possible for both of them to be able to summon a spear individually, so could it be possible that we see them fight together side by side in battlefield?? That would be amazing.

Now Renarin, he was always a character that caught my attention, I found him mysterious and interesting, and I've been very happy seeing how in each book and especially in WaT, he has become a much more self-confident person, someone braver, stronger, smarter, and who has managed to find his place in the world, both within Bridge 4, and in his family and also, little by little, about what he wants in the future: a world of peace where singers/listeners and humans can live together in peace and understand each other. And also that he wants to be free to love whoever he wants, and to be radiant, erudite, and he has the courage to free Ba Ado Misharan and to decline to be king at the end and instead opt for an egalitarian government and shared government (it seems that it will be a mix between a republic and a democracy, perhaps). His relationship with Rlain is beautiful (but I'll talk more about them in another post <3), and that bond between them has helped them grow too, I also really liked how his friendship with some members of Bridge 4 develops here, especially Drehy, and with Shallan as a family, who supports him in his decisions. I'm looking forward to seeing the future Renarin, wiser, more self-confident, as a ruler and how he will try to form a coexistence between singers and humans, and of course to see him married to Rlain! I want to see what will happen with Ba Ado Mishram and I want to see that Renarin who faces his visions with courage and reason, as he has done in this book.

In conclusion: I LOVE MY BABIES SYL AND RENARIN AND I'M VERY PROUD OF THEM!

#sylphrena #renarin kholin #wind and truth #wat spoilers #wind and truth spoilers #stormlight archive

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dragoninthetrees · 4 months ago

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Zhou Shen in London

How I would have loved to title this post as ‘Zhou Shen's London Concert.’ How lovely it would have been to write about what listening to him sing live for the first time was like, and what is was like meeting fellow fans to celebrate his first overseas solo concert in one of the largest venues in Europe.

Sadly, that is not the post.

More below cut - it's long. It's both personal account and some thoughts that I wanted to get out of my system. I doubt I've said anything that others haven't said, but it's mine and I started it and I wanted to finish it.

A bit of background seems appropriate. I started listening to Zhou Shen in 2021 early on when I was beginning to learn Mandarin. The hows and what's are a bit much to go into now, so the short story is 大鱼 (dayu - Big Fish) got me interested, Memory and 达拉崩吧 (dalabengba) impressed me, and the (definitely underrated and not mentioned as much as it should be) 相思 (xiangsi - Lovesickness) finally hooked me. His voice is beautiful, his range astounding and his versatility in performance stunning.

youtube

(And the Little Prince costume for his C929 concert? That too.)

Since then, Zhou Shen has been a constant presence in my life. The time I spend on him waxes and wanes, but he's there somehow. My daughter knows about him - she calls him Go Hen because at two years old, she still can't quite say her ‘j and ‘sh’ sounds (it's an upgrade on her previous name for him - Dough Hen). Her favourite video of him is this one below of 小美满 (xiaomeiman - Little Bliss) - though I think that's due to the animated dog running around in the background - she often asks for ‘Go Hen's dog.’

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It would be years, I assumed, before I could get to see him live. So of course, the overseas fandom were beyond delighted when we learned he'd be taking his 9.29Hz tour internationally. First stop: London, O2 Arena, Friday 14 February 2025. The day the presale hit, I gave my daughter chocolate and plonked her in front of the TV so I could be sure to get a ticket without distraction (terrific parenting right? 😅). The process was surprisingly smooth though exciting with the waiting rooms and countdowns.

The anticipation, the excitement!

With that in hand, I booked a hotel room. I'd already discussed with my husband that he'd look after our daughter for the time I'd be in London. This would be the first night I spent away from my daughter since she was born. I booked annual leave for the whole of Friday so I could get to London early enough as I don't live too far away. Everything was set.

14 February arrived. Things changed - we'd had a difficult January with our 15 year old cat being ill, and them we took the sad decision to have her put down, a choice which meant I had to rework my leave plans. I now was working the morning and leaving directly from the office. I slept poorly that night, waking at around 4am fretting about what not to forget as I was bringing. I didn’t get back to sleep. Looking back at it, the fact that this was my first solo, overnight trip in just over two years was probably getting to me more than I realised. But when I got up, I got everything I needed and wanted packed and left the house at my usual early time. The day was chilly. That line from Don McLean’s ‘American Pie’ - February made me shiver - has been apt for this month.

The work day was busy, and then at lunchtime I made a mad dash down the road to catch the bus from work to the train station (cheered on by a couple sitting on a bench) - only to find potentially big delays to reach London. Luckily for us a train to get to King's Cross was found relatively quickly.

Then I was in London. King's Cross had some check-in stops on the advertising boards, and knowing they'd be the only ones I'd have a chance to see, I made sure I stopped and took pictures.

Someone else was taking pictures at the same time. We smiled at each other but didn't speak - nice though to connect briefly with a fellow fan.

I navigated the tube system to get to my hotel. The staff had left a single rose stem and a little Valentine’s Day message print out on the table. The O2 Arena was in clear view from my window. I think I relaxed for the first time that day, just for a few minutes. It was close to 3pm by that point, and I wanted a shower, and I was frantically trying to finish a couple of little crochet whales I wanted to make for two 生米 (shengmi - the name of Zhou Shen's fans) - ZhouShenSpotify (who you should definitely follow for updates on his Spotify stats) and Rockster929 (translator extraordinaire of Zhou Shen interviews) - I knew from Twitter/X who I was planning to meet up with later.

Whales in waiting, with the Valentine's Day wishes and the rose

So I showered, tried to do my hair with fancy curls but ended up settling with an 80s hair metal band look, and I finished the whales, hooray!

Then I checked Twitter and saw this:

I’m one of those people who in times of shock leaps straight to the denial. I think my first thought was “That’s not funny. This has to be a joke, right? RIGHT?”

However, the link was straight to the Zhou Shen Studio Weibo. It couldn’t not be true.

I wasn't quite right for the rest of the afternoon and evening. The lack of sleep, the (self-induced) stress of travelling down to London, the nervousness as well of being both a non-Chinese member of the audience and one whose Mandarin is so basic - and then the cancellation so close to the ‘curtains up’. Everything else after was a bit of a waking dream.

The announcement said that he’d come out to speak to the audience at 8pm. I didn’t even consider not going - the thought just didn’t cross my mind. And also the chance to meet other fans is always worth it and I wanted to see both ZSSpotify and Rockster929.

I finished getting ready and left the hotel for the single tube stop it would take to get there. Once on site, ZSSpotify and I found each other inside. Both really happy to meet each other in person and also in shock. After a bit of thought we figured we may as well start queuing.

We had a lovely chat in the queue. ZSSpotify told me a lot that night about things which I would have had no way of knowing with my level of Chinese - her knowledge of the industry and how things worked and also about Zhou Shen was wonderful to hear and I'm grateful for the time she took telling me all about it.

Everyone was lovely - a couple of fans (I'm guessing ones more involved in organising fan events) came up to us to tell us about plans to sing 小美满 at the end of his speech to support him, and kindly said to me I could clap along if I couldn’t sing the lyrics (true, I can’t!), and thank you for supporting our Chinese singer.

I had a look around the crowd. Of course most people were Chinese but I was by no means the lone non Chinese there. I saw someone university aged with their parents (probably?) and another lady in front of us in the queue.

Around 6pm I rang home as I'd been placing to anyway to say goodnight to my family. I told my husband what had happened. My daughter was on the video call too and I tried to angle the phone so she could see Zhou Shen’s picture in entrance area.

Security made an announcement about cancellation and handed out a print out of the statement that had been emailed and first appeared on Weibo. They let us in about ten minutes before planned entry - the promised/threatened security delays were thankfully minimal. ZSSpotify and I were in separate sections so planned to meet up afterwards. I queued again for my section then got to my seat. The view was good for the distance I was at and I had leg room. It would have been a decent seat for the concert (and assuming a next time - I just might save up a bit more and aim for a floor seat!)

The mood in the Arena was quiet and a little sombre. The PA system played his album Shenself (反深代词 - fanshendaici) - it was an interesting experience hearing his music in public and not in my earbuds or in the house. There were blue envelopes on our seats - though for some reason they had missed my spot and the ones around them. Someone who got muddled about what seats they were in, initially on my row but then found her spot on row in the front, shared the letter that he’d written with me. (The staff eventually came around to deliver our own envelopes).

Looking at the audience, I could see a wide range of people. An elderly couple a few rows ahead took pictures of themselves with the stage behind. Lots of women in their 20s and 30s. A couple of wonderfully gothy girls sat in the row in front of me. A number of families with young children, some of whom I'd seen being carried. There was something really nice about seeing an artist who attracts such a cross section of society. There might well be a stereotypical 生米, but there isn't a stereotypical Zhou Shen fan.

The O2 Arena, obligatory selfie.

I occupied my waiting time with Chinese flashcards and checking Twitter, but there were no delays: 8pm came and the stage lights grew bright.

Then Zhou Shen walked out from backstage. Muted but encouraging cheers. He wore a long black puffer coat, a grey sweater and scarf. As I said, it was cold. It was good to see him keeping warm against the London chill.

He bowed in all directions to the audience. Then walked out along the cat walk and did the same. Only when he got back to the main stage did he raise his ever-present blue mic to speak.

When he first began (after a few tries to start) - honestly, I thought one of the tech crew was doing a mic test or something. His voice sounded so low, so rough. He could have stopped there and frankly that would have been fine - this wouldn’t have been a lightly made decision, but it anyone wanted proof that he couldn't possibly perform, there it was. Zhou Shen however spoke for about ten minutes. I understood…. well. Very little. A few words and phrases, and of course the most repeated word: 对不起 (duibuqi).

The instructors in the Mandarin course I’ve signed up with explained that 对不起 literally means ‘unable to rise.’ As in I’m so ashamed I cannot rise to face you. Yet this is what Zhou Shen did. Rose from his bows, faced his audience, his 生米, and apologised again and again and again. He was devastated. His voice cracked from both its physical condition and his emotions. He cried right along with many people in the audience. I'm a bit of a delayed reaction kind of person, but I found myself trying to hold my phone up - a Chinese fan on twitter asked if I could but frankly my recording was rubbish - and be very still at the same time, as if trying to hold space for him.

Then he finished and was guided off the stage. I'm not sure of he could have gone on for much longer and was surprised that he spoke for as long as he did.

The planned singalong didn’t happen exactly as intended - because after he let the stage, the band and backup singers performed 我以渺小爱你 (Woyimiaoxiaoaini - Loving you in my humble way) and 小美满 - so everyone who could got to sing anyway. As sweet as it might have been to have sung it directly to him, I wonder if he’d have just completely broken down on stage if it had happened.

By the next morning, Vivi on Twitter had translated the speech. Thank you. Screencap of the start of the thread and pictured linked to whole thread below:

Link to thread

And since then, the North American Zhou Shen Fan Club have provided this video, which captures also what the audience were saying and other details. Thank you to them as well.

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I wrote on Twitter/X at the time, before he came on stage, that it felt like we the audience were there to support him regardless of how things had turned out. That was truly the case, especially when he started speaking. Despite what had happened, it felt right being there. Something of a privilege too. To see someone be so vulnerable at a difficult time is something to both respect and cherish.

Afterwards, I met with ZSSpotify and Rockster929 and her family, and we went for hot pot together. All a little stunned still by what had happened but in good spirits - and hungry, due to the latest of the hour! Everyone was very generous with their time in the cooking and explaining (and also the paying!) I'd not been to hot pot before - though you can't not hear about it if you watch any Chinese content for long enough. I'm incredibly grateful for the experience and the company.

I do wish I’d not been so dazed - I would have loved to have talked more and for longer - especially asked Rockster929 more about how she does it and thank her properly for the hard work she puts into getting his interviews translated and subtitled and available so quickly in English for the fandom. ZSSpotify and I took the tube back together - she kindly took this picture of me in front of one of his posters before we left the O2 site.

Unfortunately I didn’t sleep well that night either. The lateness of the hour, still muddle headed, I just couldn’t get to sleep until far too late. I had breakfast at the hotel, and left swiftly to be home for just after lunch. It was always going to be a flying visit. I got home. My daughter had apparently missed me a lot and there had been a bit of crying that morning. My husband looked a little wrung out. We settled into the rest of the day though. It had been something of a break from normal life - not the one I'd hoped for but it had happened nonetheless.

I showed my daughter a video of him speaking. I can't quite recall if I told her he was feeling sad or if she noticed it herself. I tried to explain what happened in terms a two year old would understand, and also that I was feeling a bit sad too.

Then later that evening, unprompted, she said, “Mummy Go Hen sad.”

“Yes, sweetheart. We're both sad.”

It was only that night after my daughter was in bed that I had a proper cry. Delayed reaction, being comfortable at home and safe, and just processing it.

Now, over a week out - I'm sad it didn't work out as planned, but given the people I met and what we all bore witness to that night, I have no regrets whatsoever.

Three days after and the compensation plan was released.

See Rockster929's post for details, Weibo link, and screencapped translation

Wow. I mean wow. He's under no obligation to do so. Ticket refunds, sure. Travel and hotel? This is going to cost him and his studio a small fortune. All to do what he believes is the right thing. I went and saw friends this week who all knew how much I'd been looking forward to the concert. I gave them the details, and one of them said that Zhou Shen was a ‘class act’ to have both come out on stage and for offering the compensation package.

And these two articles (thank you as always Rockster929) are an excellent summation of what happened and why, from the perspective of the music industry, this was quite something. I didn't appreciate just how poorly audiences can be treated by the industry and artists alike.

Link to thread

Hong Kong Economic Journal - screencap plus translation

Not Zhou Shen though. It isn't just his talent the draws fans - it's his character. It's his dedication and commitment not just to musical excellence but also to the highest levels of professionalism and to his relationship with his fans.

It's taken me over a week to write this all down - work has been busy, parenting is always busy, and we're about to go on a longish holiday overseas to see my family. And wanting to be sure I've caught a lot of what happened. Trying to give a sense of how it was. A few things happend since: Zhou Shen posted a selfie on Weibo (see below) and his team have a general update on his health. No performances (very rare for him but understandable) and one new song but two pieces of news have come out: that four of his songs have been selected for inclusion in Chinese school children's music books, and that Shenself was, in 2024, the 11th best selling album across the globe. This is all marvelous and I hope provided Zhou Shen with some moments of joy over the last week. Us fans were certainly pleased on his behalf. And plans are still going ahead for the rest of his world tour - Las Vegas is now days away (he might well be winging his way there already) and the dates and venues for his Australian stops have been released. Crushing as this was, what was meant to be his first solo concert outside China, his career is still going very very strong. We have plenty of reasons to be happy as fans and for him.

The way I want to conclude is with some reflections on the events - I wrote these fairly soon after and they still stand.

That night as he spoke, many people called it to him meiguanxi, 没关系。It doesn't matter, it's ok. His response: “I know it matters.” Naturally we want to say this when someone so sincerely apologises, especially for something that wasn't fully in their control. The urge to reassure is strong. But I think he's right. Of course it matters. So much effort was made on all sides - from his crew, the musicians, the dancers - the amount of organisation that a huge event takes and the multiple working parts that have to all come together to make it happen. From the fans, who had to arrange and pay for flights, trains, hotel rooms, visas, and asking for time off work, arranging caring duties for dependents, and a host of other things that I’ve not considered when making plans to get to see and listen to someone you love, you adore. And for Zhou Shen himself, who would have put his all into preparations, planning, rehearsals, encouraging him team - and then at the end to go through all those medical treatments to try and pull through so he could perform for us. It absolutely matters. Our shared sadness and disappointment matters.

And (important that it's ‘and’ not ‘but’):

What matters more is that Zhou Shen is ok. That he looks after not only his voice, his precious instrument that brought us all there that evening, but also his own heart and mind. What matters more is that he looks after himself so he can sing again - both for his fans, and also for his own sake. This is a young man who has battered off ‘what would you do if weren’t a singer’ questions with what essentially amounts to ‘the alternative is unthinkable’. While we're all disappointed - Zhou Shen I believe most of all - after all that effort, the disappointment is for the circumstance, not in Zhou Shen. Not one little bit. On the off chance he ever reads this, he needs to know that he has nothing to feel guilty about. That’s my biggest fear for him. That this will haunt him far longer than it should. We all know this was the right decision. We all know he tried so so hard, threw every treatment the doctors could think of. If he could have made it work, he would have. But Zhou Shen has to protect his voice. The alternative would have been truly unthinkable.

And:

There are worse things that happen. The train delays I mentioned above were due to a death on the train line. I’m 90% certain it was suicide - they’re sadly common on the line I use. Someone and their loved ones had a far worse day than any of us. When I woke up the next morning in the hotel room, I read a diary article from of one of the climate change protestors who has been landed in prison for 4 years, writing about conditions that don’t read like they have a place in a just and fair society. And you just have to read the news to know that there are far far worse things.

And:

It still matters. Zhou Shen has been the soundtrack to so many people’s lives and has inspired and support and helped people pull through challenging, difficult times. He himself is an inspiring human being who so many, including me, look to as a role model. This whole incident is surely an example of that.

And:

While we were sad for ourselves, our hearts were right there with Zhou Shen, who bravely stood in front of us to tell us why he made the decision. As others have since pointed out, he could have just made a video. Instead, he came in person, in a cold London night while unwell and let his voice stumble and croak while he cried his way through it all. Not many people could do that.

But:

That's who he is.

So, in conclusion, and on the off chance he ever reads this:

Shenshen, look after yourself. Please rest and recovery fully. May we meet again. Best of luck for the rest of your tour. 加油！

#zhou shen #周深 #shenself #反深代词

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