#at least I’ve been having fun with them

[luveline]

If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours. 

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid. 

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here. 

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably. 

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing. 

“What?” 

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?” 

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.” 

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?” 

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.” 

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.” 

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.” 

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.” 

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.” 

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly. 

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid. 

“Hi, Hotch,” you say. 

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says. 

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.” 

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks. 

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging. 

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.” 

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up. 

“You too, Prentiss.” 

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know? 

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says. 

“Missed me?” 

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.” 

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.” 

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them. 

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster. 

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently. 

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?” 

“Both.” 

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke. 

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.” 

“Wait,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Usually. Why?” 

“Are you okay right now?” 

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.” 

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask. 

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually. 

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.” 

“Me too.” 

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection. 

Can JJ make him blush like that? 

—

bombshell fics

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[midnightshard06]

Sonic

Sonic grinned proudly. “Well Tails and me have been family for a long time now. Practically raised the kid myself heh. We’re close as you might expect. We also help keep each other in check. He, usually, keeps me from doing anything too reckless and I make sure he actually gets enough sleep and eats at least two meals a day.” He put his hands behind his head before a contemplative look came over his face. “If I have any blood related family out there I have no idea where they are. Not that I really care to find them anyway.” He put his hands down and shrugged. “Plus Shadow, and I guess Eclipse too, is in the picture now. Me and Shadow are on really good terms.” He chuckled. “Spending all that time helping him adjust to earth and doing my best to undo everything he’d been taught to think about himself helped with that. We’re… really close yeah.” A fond smile slipped onto his face for a moment before it slipped into a more cocky grin. “Eclipse is ok too. Fun to mess around with plus he makes a decent game partner when I can’t rope anyone else into it. He’s about just as competitive as me which makes it fun.”

Shadow

Shadow looked down for a moment before sighing. “Well not long after I was created I suppose I only considered Maria and perhaps Black Doom and some of the Black Arms my family. No one else at that point mattered to me. With Maria gone now though… well I find my family has expanded quite a bit. I think she would be happy to know that.” He cleared his throat. “Of course there is what is technically my biological family with Eclipse and the Black Arms. Eclipse is… a lot, but I am happy to have met him. Without his help I fear the confrontation with the Black Arms would have ended in tragedy. The Black Arms now look up to me like a leader, but I believe our relationship is positive.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “As for Black Doom… well he’s dead now so I suppose there’s not much of a point in speaking about him.” His ear twitched as his expression turned into something more neutral. “There’s also the Biolizard, which I suppose in a way could be considered my sibling as well. I… am doing my best to help them. Going back up to the Ark is hard though.”

His expression softened. “Then I suppose there’s Sonic and Tails. The two who took me in and took the time to help me.” He glanced around as if looking for something, or someone. “Sonic and I are very close. I admit I’m not sure what I would do without him at this point. His steady presence has helped me adapt much quicker I think. As well as realize some things.” He sighed. “Tails I’m far less close with but I still appreciate everything he’s done for me. I believe some of my lingering unease with the fox may be due to his connection with science. It… reminds me of the Ark. It’s something I’m working on though.”

Silver

“Oh! I’m really close with my family. Especially my parents.” Silver grinned. “I’m really grateful Sonic and Shadow decided to take me in when they found me all those years ago. It’s a little hard sometimes to get them to let me do things that might be dangerous, but I’ve been working on getting them to downplay their protective steaks for a while now.” He puffed his chest out. “Clearly it’s been working since they’ve let me start going to the past with Mephiles on a regular basis. Plus even before that they’d let me go out and scout the nearby ruins.” He tapped his chin. “There’s also uncle Eclipse. I don’t see him too often but Shadow likes to call him a bad influence on me. I think he’s fun.”

For characters!

If any of you have family, what's your family relationship like?

More character questions!!

[sunshine-zenith]

On my daily rewatch of anw I'm thinking about how people thought Hazel and Dev should've swapped fairies because of how unfair the godparent system was and how Dev needed more experienced godparents or how Peri should've been assigned an easy case and while that may be true, I'm just thinking how that swap would have suited the kids' needs.

With Dev, yes, he was a hard case and probably should've had godparent who had more experience with children like him, but he is a child who is lacking in the parental department and needed someone to fill that role.

Same is true for Hazel. She would have been more suited for a first-time godparent, but what she needed and missed the most was her brother and who do we know who has experience with being someone's godbrother? Peri.

I'm probably just rephrasing stuff here so this probably didn't need to be said. Everything more or less worked out for everyone and eventually for others (hopefully).

Anon I have been rotating this ask around in my head since it popped up into my ask box

Confession: I and many others have thought about the similarities between Peri and Hazel, and pointed out that Dev was not a case for a beginner, but I haven’t seriously considered a full out fairy swap until now because I’m actually very fond of the Hazel-Cosmo-Wanda dynamic and the Dev-Peri tragedy dynamic

Still… yeah, you’re kinda right. Dev genuinely would’ve been better suited for experienced godparents, and he might actually benefit from Cosmo and Wanda specifically because A) there’s two of them and B) they’re very parental with their godkids. And Hazel — having Hazel, the kid who misses her brother so much it tipped over the Needs A Fairy edge, be paired up with the godparent who lost his older brother is kinda brilliant

It kinda makes me wonder about how things would be different if we got Hazel-Peri and Dev-Cosmo-Wanda…

Heads up, this gets long

The first thing I wonder about isn’t so much the dynamics, but rather who would be the protagonist? I adore Hazel as a main character, but Cosmo and Wanda are the FOP difacto mascots. They’re the ones who get the cameos and appear in the reboots/sequels. They can exist independently from Timmy/Hazel/Chloe/Viv. If they’re Dev’s fairies, then Dev would be the main POV character. And like. I love Dev, I do, but he’s an asshole. I understand why and I’m down to justify anything he does, but he’s a dick. Plus, well, he’s also super sad. It’d be very hard to make him a fun POV character, especially pre/mid-character development, at least without switching the genre from Heart Felt Comedy Aimed At Children/All Ages to something much darker and more mature. He’s a great side character/deuteragonist, but it would be a Commitment if we followed him 95% of the time

(And before anyone comes at me about Timmy also being The Worst, a lot of that was flanderization. By the time he gets that that point, let’s be real a lot of people stopped watching, and even then he at least had half a dozen I Love Yous and sweet moments with Cosmo and Wanda to make the commitment worth it to the audience.)

Hazel and Peri

So if we keep Hazel as the lead and Peri as her fairy, how’d that work, writing wise? Do we keep his introduction the same and hope the audience is fine with a Sequel Babies Series. Or (and this is just me having fun), do we hypothetically cut out the part where he Introduces Himself With His Deadname For The Audience’s Sake and just hint at him as being Poof from the original series. Then, after Founder’s Day, we introduce Cosmo and Wanda as Dev’s fairies, and the Peri Is Grown Up Poof thing is treated as a Big Reveal, a la Author Of The Journals from Gravity Falls

Now that out of the way, how do I think these dynamics would work, and how would it affect Dev and Hazel’s relationship?

Like you said, Hazel and Peri connecting over missing brothers is a great starting point, and Peri getting to be the big brother for once would be so much fun to watch. Plus, and I’ve pointed this out before, they’re both rule followers (I can totally see a gag of them bonding over Hazel’s DMV love), though Hazel is willing to play things by ear, while Peri gets majorly stressed/anxious/high strung when rule breaking is in question — in fact, that could be a fun angle to some potential conflicts. Hazel makes a wish, but she doesn’t know how to find the words for what she wants, and since Peri is so new, he doesn’t have the experience to confidently guess. He hesitates, both of them get caught in a mini Anxiety Loop, and escalating event happening in the background force them into action, and through hijinx, they both receive character development

I can also see the Antony thing leading to conflict for them — Hazel’s brother is gone, but he comes back. He visits. They reconnect. Meanwhile, Timmy’s gone gone. His memory is wiped. I can see Peri occasionally accidentally fumbling Hazel’s missing Antony with his own likely grief over Timmy. Maybe after another missed flight or phone call, Peri tries to be “supportive” in the same way he tried to cheer Dev up at his birthday, and he accidentally says something that makes Hazel not only miss her old life, but thing she’ll never have any sort of relationship with Antony again.

Or maybe Peri does handle it well until Antony comes back. Then, alongside Hazel trying to recreate the past, Peri gets overwhelmed with jealousy, like he was when Irep tried taking his place with Dev but dialed up by 10. He worries he’ll lose his first godkid AND be fumbling with reawakened grief

(Plus hey, I can actually see this scenario as a good way to justify bringing Timmy back. Maybe Hazel could even include Timmy’s memories as part of her Rule Free Wish in the finally)

Basically Hazel and Peri have so much in common that if they were the main duo, those similarities could lead to so many bonding moments AND dramatic moments where through being mirrors for each other they accidentally hurt each other and help each other to grow as people

(It makes me wonder how Peri would hide himself in Hazel’s day to day life. Peri becomes inanimate objects for Dev, sure, but he doesn’t have a consistent object he hides as. Maybe Peri could have a human disguise, pretending to be a recent college grad who moves into Hazel’s building? Or maybe he could be a “new pet rock”?)

(Also I have a lot of thoughts on C&W being disguised as pets for Timmy and neighbors for Hazel, but that’s a ramble for another day.)

Dev, Cosmo, and Wanda

So the first question is how would Dev become Cosmo and Wanda’s godkid? They weren’t actually assigned to Hazel, they basically just adopted her. Maybe, Cosmo and Wanda could still be traveling and just end up in Dimmadelphia around Founder’s Day, and through their observations, they seen Dev is going through it and come out of retirement for him. This could also lead to a Cookie situation with Dev instead of Hazel (imagine Dev pretending to be a lawyer, there would 100% be a gag of him acting as every shady lawyer stereotype you know.)

I can see Dev still lashing out at them, probably still demanding perfection for hollow wishes since he can’t get what he really wants, BUT C&W would cause mischief as they misinterpret his wishes. I can also see him acting unimpressed/impatient when they take him on little side quests to meet with fairies that specialize in the things he wishes for. He’s have to defrost to them, and they (likely especially Cosmo) would push his buttons. Dev would also probably deny having fun during these adventures. I’m sure he’d eventually come to see them the same way he saw Irep)

A potential conflict could come from the fact that a lot of Dev’s wishes are by nature spiteful/fueled by pride. Again, major Dev apologist here, we’re talking about the kid who wished for a an evil ghost to come from the depths of hell after having a fairy for less than a week. C&W would still grant his wishes, but they wouldn’t approve of him being a bully, and would probably try really hard to get him to realize the error of his ways through these wishes

It’s likely that Dev wouldn’t even get involved with the anti-fairies here. If he did, I can only see this after Dev specifically makes a wish relating to his father loving him, which C&W can’t grant, or something similar — a breakdown after a big, direct moment instead of a breakdown after months of little, indirect moments

I can also see him both clinging to them as parental figures and resenting them as misplaced anger and sadness over his neglectful dad

I can also see him seeing Peri (and maybe even Timmy) as a threat here — Peri is their son, who they adore like Dev wishes Dale adored him. And since Peri isn’t Dev’s godparent here and therefore doesn’t feel the need to look out for/do right by him, Peri would like sass him harder or treat him as an annoyance, an extension of any tension that comes up when C&W their clingy thing. In a scenario where Dev still ended up under an anti-fairy’s influence, he might even wish Peri was Nothing, or still kidnap Peri here out of misplaced resentment

Dev and Hazel

I feel like swapping fairies would also affect their relationship. Part of their comes from Dev’s jealousy over Hazel’s relationship with C&W — she has two while he only has one, she has a positive relationship with her while his “can’t do anything right” (can’t cross the red tape of Da Rules, doesn’t have the experience/comfort level to go buckwild with wishes/has parents that love him/etc). Here, that wouldn’t be a problem— Hazel wouldn’t care that Dev has two fairies instead of one, and C&W would probably have an easier time getting through Dev’s defenses. It’s possible that a lot of their fights and negative interactions just wouldn’t happen here, and if they did, it would be related to Hazel wanting Dev to be nicer to C&W/Peri.

[frozenjokes]

it’s not even language barrier induced miscommunication at this point we are just lying

better reading experience on ao3

It was a rare thing to see the humans freeze up like this, so much like a prey response, and it took Mumbo a few seconds of inquisitive clicks to realize what they were looking at. Oh.

“Is.. That a mermaid?” Scar asked, quiet, but thankfully not scared, goodness, Atlas could have told Mumbo they were popping up to say hello! They knew Grian had been so jumpy about Mumbo that he’d run away for a whole week! So stupid. Mumbo had just gotten through to him! Mumbo swiveled back toward the water, fins twitching irritably, but he didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas off before they spoke first.

‘Why are they looking at me like that.’ Atlas shifted where they were perched, distrust and discomfort clear in their stiff posture. ‘Make them stop.’

‘You were staring at them first! Get out of here.’ Mumbo shot back, though Atlas huffed, unimpressed.

‘Just wanted a look. This is deeply unnatural, Mumbo, I’ve decided.’

‘Good for you. Have fun thinking about it at the bottom of the lake.’

‘When is the human speaking mermaid going to visit?’

Mumbo didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas for the millionth time that he didn’t know and had no way to contact Etho when Scar began to trot towards the water, Mumbo stuck staring dumb as he went. Given that Grian had a similar look of bafflement on his face and Atlas was.. tense.. Mumbo guessed all three of them were on a similar wavelength.

“Hello!” Scar waved as he reached the waterline, radiant and innocent and so, so stupid. “Are you one of Mumbo’s friends?”

‘What is it doing.’ Atlas raised themself a little higher on their rocky perch. ‘Make it stop.’

“Scar!” Grian’s voice was shrill, “Let’s try not approach the stranger mermaid! We do not know if it’s friendly!”

Scar scoffed, “Uh, of course it’s friendly! Mumbo clearly knows the guy, they must be friends! I think if this was a stranger, we would know. For god’s sakes, Grian, you saw what he tried to do to Etho!” Scar continued to wave, stepping slowly into the water. Mumbo moved to intervene, frightened once again by the human’s blunted survival instincts, and at the same time Atlas hissed, long and low. At the very least Scar had the sense to stop where he stood, but he looked no less bright. “Hello, hello, I’m Scar!”

Scar startled when Mumbo ducked over his head from behind, blinking in rapid succession with those large, empty of thought, green eyes.

‘Stop it. They don’t like you. They don’t like humans.’

Scar stared blankly, as if enchanted. He smiled, disgusting in his innocence. “Well hello there!”

‘Stop being stupid.’

“I love you too!”

“Human, bad, annoying.” Mumbo was pretty sure he remembered those words correctly; if he’d pronounced them wrong he would never know, because Scar’s expression did not change. To solidify the meaning, he extended to Scar his most stern thumbs down. Scar did not react to this either, and Mumbo was starting to wonder if his brain had been melted in a heat vent.

Whatever trance had befallen them, the two of them looked up at the sound of a large splash, Atlas retreating back into the water. Mumbo’s fins relaxed, while Scar made a long noise of distress, hopping a little further into the water as if he’d ever have a chance of catching up. Mumbo left him to it, unconcerned. His fins prickled as he turned around, hoping to approach Grian, but unsure if the human would be receptive. As it stood, Grian was still staring starkly into the water, concern etched over his face as Scar hopped around in the shallows. Mumbo whistled, something light but sharp in an attempt to catch Grian’s attention, and was relieved that when Grian turned to face him, the stress in his brow eased.

Mumbo moved forward, and when he sensed no extreme fear, he continued, settling a comfortable distance away, but close enough for Grian to hear him. Scar seemed to notice this change at a delay, scrambling onto the beach to Grian’s heroic rescue, goofy as that was.

“Etho is here?” Mumbo had been meaning to ask for a while, but he wasn’t exactly sure which human words would get his point across clearly. Scar nearly tripped over Mumbo in his clumsy run up the beach, but Grian didn’t react to him, more focused on the question Mumbo hoped he’d asked correctly. Grian was so intent, it took him a moment to call Scar off as his companion sternly reprimanded Mumbo, who showed Scar just how much he cared with a brief flash of teeth.

“You want to see Etho?” Grian asked, and Mumbo didn’t know what he said, but he assumed that Grian would come to a more accurate conclusion than Scar would if whatever Mumbo had said ended up being more nonsensical than anything. He found himself frustrated at how hard this was; he’d felt alright going through the motions with Etho, but he’d always gotten feedback, and if Mumbo was stuck, they could work together to smooth things out. Maybe he was frustrated by just how much he’d forgotten. Mumbo had quite a good memory, a facet of himself he took quite a bit of pride in, but with no one to practice with him, it felt like nearly everything he’d learned about the human language had slipped away.

Truly, Atlas was the central reason that Mumbo was asking, but he also just.. wanted to see them again.

“Yes,” Mumbo tried, and he hoped the confirmation he was giving was for the correct assumption.

“I’ll call him!” Scar announced proudly, Mumbo cringing back from the noise, then cringing further when Scar scrambled over to their bags to get his Dreaded Noise Machine. It was a phone, Etho had told him as much and used one as a means to contact Joel, but Mumbo did not like or trust it, and he hated when it made noise. Humans were hard enough to understand in person, why in the world would they talk to each other through a horrible distorted noise box where nothing made sense. Both humans seemed to find Mumbo’s distaste for their phones amusing, which was all the more irksome.

After a little bit of fiddling, the phone began to dial. Then it stopped. With another press of a button it started again, then stopped, then started and stopped and started and stopped until Etho’s distorted voice sounded through the speaker.

“Hello, Etho! You’re on speaker, and I’m at the beach with Grian and Mumbo. What’re you up to?”

Whatever Etho said in response was a garbled mess, not even understandable as words. Mumbo shrunk away, giving up at trying to parse any of the words from either party until a soft whistle sounded through the other side, heavily distorted, yes, but intelligible.

‘Glad you’re well. I do not want to come to the beach.’ Well. Typical of Etho, if Mumbo was being honest.

‘Will you travel as a mermaid here? Sometime soon?’

‘I hope not.’ What a lovely ray of sunshine Etho was, Mumbo had forgotten in their time away from each other. Etho had inherited a focal trait from their time as a human, being that they went out of their way to be as utterly insufferable as possible.

Etho switched back to the human language after being pestered by Scar and Grian, only for the two of them to react in similar expressions of outrage, which was vindicating if nothing else.

“Etho-!” Scar really started to lay into them then, and while Mumbo shrank at his tone, that did not stop Scar, “Your friend wants to see you after he’s been gone for two whole months, he’s asking about you and you- you do not just get to say no!”

Etho started to say something, meek sounding, but Scar cut them off, “Sure you’ll be around when you do your little switcharoo, but that is NOT what you told him- he probably thinks you don’t want to see him! Huphuphup, just because you and Joel are engaged in some kind of pissing match right now doesn’t mean you can act all aloof when someone tangentially mentions your issue-“ there was a brief pause of garbling over the call before Scar bristled, “I’m not saying it’s your fault! He’s an asshole! That doesn’t mean you get to make it everyone else’s problem! Apologize!”

There was a short pause.

‘Sorry.’ the whistle came through softly, ‘I’ll be back next time I change.’

Mumbo brightened, but before he could tell Etho this was exactly what he wanted and that he was very excited to see them, Scar cut in, probably demanding to know what Etho had said, probably. Mumbo was really starting to get annoyed with Scar, all this yelling and pestering- but before Mumbo could whack him, Etho was whistling again.

‘I will be there tomorrow.’

Mumbo blinked, fins flicking.

‘As a mermaid?’

‘No.’ Before Scar could interrupt again, Etho hung up, the line going dark. Scar didn’t seem entirely pleased with this, but Mumbo wanted no more of his noise machine, making an attempt to snatch it out of his hands, an attack which Scar clumsily avoided, eyes wide.

“Mumbo- Mumbo no! Not my phone!” You would think the humans understood by now that kicking and flailing around on the beach activated some amount of Mumbo’s prey instinct, but they did not, so Mumbo took great joy in chasing a panicked Scar around the beach for a little while until his scales felt a little too dry and itchy from the sand, and he retreated into the water. Mumbo was relatively sure phones were one of the human items that could not get wet, so he hoped he gave Scar a little spook in revenge for the great crime of being annoying.

If Mumbo had indeed scared Scar, the human certainly didn’t hold a grudge, gallivanting right back into the lake after depositing his phone. Ultimately, Mumbo was quite pleased; he didn’t like to hold a grudge either, and at a moderate volume, Scar’s constant babbling was a noise he’d grown to miss in the quiet of the deep.

Still, he was a little concerned about Etho’s visit tomorrow.. he really hadn’t planned for Atlas to meet the human version, but.. it was probably fine. All in all, Mumbo was a little too excited at the idea of showing off the human language to reject an Etho visit, even if it might take longer for Atlas to really warm up to the guy.

Maybe he’d work on Grian’s prosthetic tomorrow as well! He’d do it now, but wasn’t sure how much tolerance Grian had left for him today, and in hindsight, maybe chasing his suicidally reckless friend around the beach for ten minutes was a stressful experience for Grian as an onlooker.. oh well.

Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

…

Mumbo usually spent his days with Atlas, tinkering or otherwise, but ultimately just being in their company, hoping to ease their discomfort with being so close to the surface. It was stressful for Atlas to be up here for such a long time, so close in proximity to an apex species that was waging a war on their people and their home, a war the mermaids would lose, and a place Atlas would never get to see again.

Atlas was curious and motivated, but they were also deeply worn, clear as the old scars that littered their body. Despite chasing change, collecting knowledge in hopes to preserve it, ensuring that no mermaid people were ever truly lost, Atlas did not always handle that change well, especially when things did not go their way. Convincing them to come here was probably a stressor within itself; this was a departure from Atlas’s self declared life mission, preserving language, connecting the travel-wary mers across the world through new song, new spells, and bolstering a species loyalty across nations so that when one pod chose to fight and die for their right to live as they’d done for thousands of years, others might join them.

This was a vacation. A pursuit of a passing interest in intelligent, complex language, for once not directly motivated by the slaughter of the Northern mers. It was not easy for Atlas, Mumbo knew it, but after so many years of endless work, Mumbo was also relieved they were taking a break to do something for themself.

Today, though, Mumbo was not at the bottom of the lake. He was up by the shore, in part working with Grian’s prosthetic and making minor adjustments (both humans had seemed VERY confused when Mumbo tried to take the glove back; couldn’t they see it didn’t fit properly yet?), as well as trying to figure out how in the hell to tell Atlas that the human-speaking mermaid Mumbo befriended was actually also a human. Mumbo was also concerned about Etho in general; he had forgotten how difficult to get along with Etho could be sometimes, and Atlas was, by all accounts, the same way. Either they would mesh or they wouldn’t, and Mumbo had a feeling that Atlas’s realization that Mumbo had kinda sorta fudged the truth might not go down so well.

But Mumbo was going to tell them. Just as soon as he finished this one final adjustment on Grian’s glove…

And then he heard crashing through the brush, looked up at the sky, flinched because ow the sun, realized it was midday, and promptly dove into the water. Atlas must have sensed Mumbo’s panic by the way he was swimming, alert and tense by the time Mumbo made it down to them, which was not the atmosphere Mumbo had wanted to have this conversation in.

‘What’s wrong? Humans?’ Well, that was a concerning if not predictable place for Atlas’s mind to go, again, not suitable for the information Mumbo needed to break to them very quickly.

‘Yes- Well, no, it’s just my humans but they- Listen, you remember the human-speaking mermaid I told you about, Ghost, right?’

‘I remember.’ But to Mumbo’s alarm, Atlas had started to move towards the surface, as if they didn’t believe that everything was fine and dandy like Mumbo had said- he would have been offended if Atlas was not swimming directly toward the thing Mumbo was not ready for them to see yet-

He tried cutting into Atlas’s path, but the other mermaid bullied their way past. ‘Is Ghost dead.’ They whistled the words like they were already resigned to the outcome, Mumbo left frantically trying to save this before it got out of hand.

‘Ghost isn’t dead! They’re here! They’ve just- they’ve got this condition-‘

‘Here?’ This seemed enough to stop Atlas in their tracks, clicking with some alarm as they scanned their surroundings, ‘No one is here, I would have seen them come in.’ Atlas continued forward, faster, like they were concerned Mumbo might have hit his head and become an unreliable messenger of the danger at the surface.

‘They’re sick!’ Mumbo stressed, uselessly, ‘You have to understand, Ghost is sick!’

Atlas’s concern only seemed to grow, stopped only briefly just feet from the surface to give Mumbo a quick once over, sniffing for blood or perhaps illness, to which Mumbo flinched away and Atlas moved on. Both mermaids surfaced at the same time, face to face with the three humans on the beach.

Scar looked like he was seconds from his usual routine of sticking his head under the water and screaming, and Grian hadn’t noticed yet, fiddling with their bags, but Etho was looking directly at them. They clicked their tongue once, perhaps an old habit, then shaded their eyes from the sun with a hand despite the cloudy day. Etho couldn’t see well, but regardless, Mumbo had a feeling they would be able to parse out the shape of a second body in the water.

“Mumbo,” Etho said, catching both Grian and Scar’s attention, ‘Who is that?’

Atlas’s reaction to this could only be described as violent, so starkly terrified they nearly leapt out of the water then back under again, like a fish woken from a sound sleep by the jaws of a barracuda on its scales. Mumbo only felt tentacles at the end of his tail for a moment before he was yanked under the water.

‘Did that human just speak!? Who taught it how to do that? Was it you?’

‘That’s Ghost,’ Mumbo said, shriveling into himself at every word, every second of stunned silence that followed the revelation, ‘They really are a mermaid.. just.. sick.’

‘WHAT!?’ The rise in tone was not conveyed through volume, but the utter intensity of Atlas’s stricken body language, limbs strained near quivering. Mumbo thought they might just explode. Again, Atlas exploded above the water, but they didn’t stop there, barreling towards the shore. Compared to Mumbo though, Atlas was not nearly as fast, and he was able to intersect and slow them down at several points, the both of them wrestling and fighting the entire way, Mumbo ending this battle by holding on for dear life and praying that Atlas didn’t intend on investigating with their teeth. But by the time the two of them reached the waterline, all three humans were behind the thick foliage and Grian was high in a tree. Mercifully, Atlas did not leave the water, staring and clicking rapidly like gathering this information at a faster rate would make any of this make sense. Etho looked quite a bit jealous of Grian’s position right now, bristling and terrified. Scar.. Well, when Scar took a step outside of the treeline, Grian screamed at him and Etho yanked him back. Maybe this proof of fear helped to relax Atlas, their posture loosening, but the stalemate remained, and Mumbo’s stomach churned when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it.

Slowly, awkwardly, he shuffled out of the water, facing Atlas with fins as relaxed and confident as he could make them.

‘Atlas.. This is Ghost.’ Awkwardly, Mumbo gestured, but it was pretty clear who he was talking about regardless, ‘My friend. Mermaid born, but- cursed. Sorry, I did not mean for you to meet this way.’

‘Mumbo!’ Etho’s whistled cracked like a human voice would from stress, ‘Did you drag me here to meet a hostile mermaid without any warning!? I wouldn’t have come! I didn’t want to come!’

Mumbo bristled, turning on them, ‘It’s not like I could get a word in edgewise! Scars wouldn’t shut their mouth, and you cut the line before I could ask you to wait until the change!’

“Scar!” No longer hiding behind him, Etho whirled on Scar, who jumped back in alarm, “He didn’t even want me here today!”

“What!? But he-“

Mumbo hissed, successfully stopping Scar from whatever nonsense he meant to defend himself with, ‘I’d say you’re both the problem, stop with the noise. I’m sorry for my own part in this, but you’re here now. If no one has a problem,’ Mumbo glanced at Atlas, whose body he couldn’t quite read, but seemed mild enough, ‘Then we can chat a little, right?’

‘I have a problem!” Etho balled their fists, throwing a little tantrum with their arms that Mumbo cared very little for.

“Is it.. safe..?” Grian asked, hesitant, to which Scar gave a noncommittal shrug.

‘Keep the other two on the beach, and I will be civil.’ Atlas looked wary, but not aggressive. When Mumbo looked to them, they briefly flashed their teeth, which.. Mumbo supposed was fair. He kept his fins low, an unspoken apology.

He kept this stance as he turned back to Etho, more of a pleading than anything, but when Mumbo gestured to a shaded corner of the beach, Etho seemed to give in, shoulders hunched. ‘Not like my ride will let me go home anyway.’ They retrieved something from their bag, one of the long blankets the humans commonly brought with them, and traipsed to the suggested spot. Scar started to follow, but was stopped in his tracks by a hearty hiss from Atlas and Mumbo, recoiling like a kicked pup.

“Is he mad at me?” Whatever Scar had asked, Etho shook their head without looking back.

“Just annoyed. I’ve got a hunch this new guy doesn’t like humans so much, so maybe don’t test your luck today.” Those seemed to be the magic words, Scar retracing his steps back to Grian. While he kept glancing back at Atlas, Mumbo was relieved he got the message. Once Mumbo was sure Atlas and Etho got along, he would tend to the humans on the other side of the beach.

Etho set their blanket near the waterline, but not close enough to get nicked by the tide, which was fine by Mumbo. He had a feeling Atlas would be more comfortable with the space, and decided to splay himself on the beach, half in and half out of the water. Despite this introduction being a minor disaster, he was pleased to see Etho, and excited for his two worlds to meet.

‘Are you from the north?’ Etho broke the initial silence, perhaps intimidated by Atlas’s admittedly unfriendly demeanor, glaring at Etho as if sizing them up. Though, honestly, that’s just kind of how Atlas looked on a good day..

They took their time responding, appraising, ‘You know Northern mermaids?’

Etho met this question with equal caution, ‘I know of them. Not so many of your stature here, at least there weren’t back home. I’m sorry. I’ve known human violence.’ Mumbo was quite shocked; maybe he should give Etho a little more credit, but in the time Mumbo spent with them, he hadn’t known Etho to speak with this much.. consideration.

‘What happened to you?’ The same could not be said for Atlas, who lacked any tact, but Mumbo sensed discomfort from them more than distrust, maybe exacerbated by Mumbo’s knee jerk reaction of shrinking back.

Etho only looked tired. ‘There’s a.. being not far from here. They take a human form, but hold a greater power. Curse, as Mumbo said, is an apt word. They took my body, and gave me theirs. Sometimes they will switch us back, and if you remain, you may see me around again.’ Briefly, Etho pulled down their mask, tracing the scar across their cheek, all the way down to where it disappeared under the rest of their clothes, ‘One of many violences afflicted upon me, all the way down my tail. The others did not scar, a facet of their magic. In a separate instance, I have also had my scales stripped, which I know you’ve likely seen in some capacity. I’ve heard they chain their still-living victims in the ice under the water. As bait, and renewable resources. Not a legal practice among humans, though I doubt this brings you any comfort.’

‘They- You- What?’ Mumbo did not know either of those last two tidbits, fins flared in alarm, but Etho shook their head.

‘I was healed magically. I will not say more.’

Mumbo accepted this wordlessly, though concern still gnawed at his chest in the wake of this new information. For Etho, yes of course for Etho, but for Atlas as well- Mumbo knew humans could be cruel, he knew many were monstrous, but he did not know to what extent.

Atlas straightened, meeting Etho with more respect, ‘I am Northern. They called me Cub, born of a mer of the same name, one hundred and thirty fifth to hold it, and another of a long line, Iskall. Both were killed by human hands, as was my twin. I defected, my great burden. With it, I’ve rescinded the name, though I do hope one day to pass it on in honor of their memories.’ Atlas paused, shifting, ‘I left to preserve a culture I am certain will be destroyed. I hope to connect our many peoples through language, so if battles like the ones up north are being waged, the other pods will not sit idly, but.. That is not why I am here.’ Atlas looked embarrassed momentarily, or maybe guilty, shrinking into themself, ‘Maybe I should not be here.’

Mumbo straighted, fins flicking as if he could physically dismiss the thought, ‘You can not carry the world on your shoulders. You have apprentices to continue your work, a little time away will not doom you.’

‘Call me Atlas,’ Atlas ignored Mumbo, not even acknowledging him with a twitch or flick of their tentacles, but this wasn’t unordinary behavior, just.. unfortunate. If Mumbo could not convince them otherwise, he would have to settle with this, bringing Atlas here, getting them to see the sun again.

Etho nodded, which Atlas seemed to understand as acknowledgment.

On an absent click, Mumbo sensed something behind him, turning with some exasperation to see Scar. The human blinked rapidly from his place in the sand where he’d been sliding on his stomach, looking guilty enough to know he’d been caught. Perhaps trying to hide, he let his face fall into the sand. Mumbo snorted, miffed, but not without amusement. He decided to leave Etho and Atlas to it, snaking around to take care of their nosey pest. The look on Scar’s face when he realized Mumbo was charging him was absolutely priceless, the human yelping as he scrambled to his feet, then yelling and laughing equally as he ran, sounds Mumbo had come to learn stemmed from great joy.

Needy human, can’t go a couple of minutes without constant attention.. Well, Mumbo would teach him to be careful what you wish for!

[sonicexelle-junkary]

I gotta ask as I’ve just recently read some of HungryHero and I gotta say the writing is fantastic. As a writer myself I want to ask what gave you the idea to write the story to begin with? If someone hasn’t asked already of course

I’m glad you enjoyed it! I really do enjoy writing for that au (as difficult as it might me).

The main thing for HH— and any au I have— is derived from personal trauma or stressful parts in my life, along with just general curiosity or interest. I use my stories more as a form of a coping mechanism. Also, I just use it to have fun with any idea that comes across my head.

The idea for HungryHero initially came after an extreme change in my life, which made me very upset and angry and I needed an outlet. This was at the time where Sonic.exe became popular again, so I also wanted to make a fairly edgy AU (inadvertently originally making him an exe).

The idea that initially kickstarted the whole “cannibalistic Sonic” idea came from a small web comic We Need to Talk About Tails. Eventually morphing into the original version of HungryHero.

After the first act was completed, I took a small break, eventually coming back to it and realizing exactly how dark, edgy, and out of character it was, so I completely rewrote it to be more in line with how the characters would act in each situation. While my AU’s are often mostly not cannon, I still like to keep them at least somewhat consistent to their cannon counterparts, it makes things a lot more interesting.

Sonic does still get mischaracterized in HungryHero as some crazy murder cannibal (fair, he was like that for a while). But more recently he’s been written with the thought “what would happen if Sonic began craving flesh?” Knowing how Sonic usually acts, and adding a little bit more emotion in order to sympathize with him better

I still get shit on for HH because it’s my most popular AU. A lot of people don’t understand that it’s not SUPPOSED to be cannon, so they shit on certain plot points and facts (that are often outdated). If they just hate him because I made him trans. As if that’s even the main focus of the damn story.

Even with the struggles, I still love this AU to death, and I hope I can continue it for everyone who’s been waiting.

[bluedalahorse]

I feel like there’s some meaningful stuff here about Sara and August’s relationship, so I wanted to reblog and lift those up here! Sara has traditionally been unfairly slammed by the fandom, even though her actions were meaningfully different from August’s in season 2. And a lot of times saraugust is held up as this ontologically evil foil to wilmon, even though both pairings juxtapose the capacity to be sweet and loving with some pretty intense teenage flaws.

Personally, while I understand why they happen, I’ve always been a little wary of discussions of “is Sara a bad person/is August a bad person.” I understand why this framing works for some fans, but it doesn’t work for me. Mostly because a while back, Omar was talking in an interview, and he talked about Lisa’s writing philosophy being that there aren’t good and bad people in her stories, there are people in her stories who are capable of good and bad actions. Now, authorial intent can only go so far, I get that. But I do think this is a theme that underpins the series. I think they did a great job of showing Sara’s complexity and growth over the season. I do think there were some fumbles to August’s writing in season 3 that led a portion of the audience to believe he never changed, ever, over the course of the series. I think the show would have benefitted from him and Simon having a chance to do restorative work outside of their relationships with Wille. At the same time, I don’t think season 3 was without growth for August. @sflow-er’s post on the Fleabag parallel does a great job of breaking down August’s arc. I’m not saying any of this negates the harm August does—far from it—but I do think the show is inviting us to envision a better future for August where he grows and changes, especially in our fanworks.

And that’s what I want to talk about in this reblog: fanworks. It’s been a long time since people were acknowledging the saraugust nuance in season 2, and ultimately how fascinating the pairing is, but there’s still only 96 fics tagged Sara/August on AO3 and only a few are actually about them.

I think, what I’m sad about most when it comes to Young Royals fandom, is that there is no fanworks community around Sara and August the way there is for wilmon, at least on tumblr. There are individual people who are interested in their dynamic, and some of them create fanworks from time to time, and some of us reach out to one another and have meaningful and wonderful one-on-one conversations in our inboxes. But there’s very few reblog chains about them where people are just expressing fun headcanons, there’s very little circulating fanart, there’s some gifsets and edits but they don’t circulate as frequently, no fandom events or challenges themed around them, no following and cheering on of Malte and Frida’s careers, (to my knowledge) no epic multichapter saraugust fics we discuss together and swoon over and make starry eyes over.

To be clear: I don’t think I’d ever expect saragust to have the same size of following wilmon does. There are many factors that make wilmon more popular, first and foremost being that August does real legitimate harm and is annoying and kind of sucks. Like, hey! I get it! Not everyone is going to like him, and that’s perfectly okay. And then there’s the fact that not everyone who’s drawn to an m/m show is going to feel excited to ship a f/m pairing. As @crownedwille points out, fandoms sure can do some stuff when female characters are involved. Of course saraugust will get smaller numbers.

But as someone who’s been tracking the saraugust breadcrumbs in fandom for a while, and has been following their tag on AO3, what I’m noticing is not exactly a natural absence of interest in the pairing. It’s more like I see a lot of people who have an interest in the characters and the dynamics, but something about the way YR fandom interacts socially reinforces the notion that you keep your saraugust feelings to yourself. Or, for a while if you were expressing those feelings, you were encouraged to express them in ways that are full of apologies and disclaimers. When you’re spending all your time doing that, it becomes a lot harder to create fanworks. Like, even in the tags of this post, I see a lot of people saying they liked them or found them interesting or cute or they’re hooked in by the drama or whatever else! Clearly the enjoyers exist and are out there. I think the discourse (and the harassment of actors/writers/creative team on social media) has died down a lot since the finale and there’s more space to like the characters, but I also think that some of the patterns of fandom interaction that sprung up post-S2 have had a continued impact on how people express themselves.

And yes, it’s important to be mindful of the morally dubious sides of this pairing, but we can do that while creating space for people to openly enjoy it through fic and headcanons and edits and such the way that many people in the fandom openly enjoy wilmon, even if it’s a smaller group of us. (Heck, some people enjoy saraugust because of the moral dubiousness and that is part of a Valid Fandom Tradition of enjoying morally dubious pairings.)

As someone who’s currently feeling a little burned out on wilmon by itself and doesn’t really have a desire to read works centered on them, but who’s still in love with the broader YR world and its characters, especially my two favorite characters—I am desperate for a little bit less saraugust discourse and a little bit more joyous fannishness about them. I’m not entirely sure how to make that happen. I’ve been writing fic, blogging about the characters, creating ask games, posting pictures of the plushies, and also doing some other stuff behind the scenes. But I often don’t post or reblog as much as I could for fear of discourse returning, and I feel disconnected from fandom most of the time, even though I have some strong individual ties to individual people. (I also feel like I may have burned some bridges at times when I was upset.) It’s a bit of a sisyphean conundrum, isn’t it? I wish I could wave a magic wand and make more fanworks and community happen around this pairing in particular, but also around other pairings and characters on the show for the fans who want those other pairings and characters. I just wish there was a little more variety in the characters and pairings talked about.

Anyway, I don’t have any answers and it’s time for me to acquire groceries for the week, so. Blue out.

There's so much discourse around Sara and August. Whether they were good together or not. Whether they loved each other or not.

What we tend to overlook is the fact that they talked to each other. Enough that they knew each other.

He wanted someone to talk to and he thought about her. So he went to find her and he knew to find her in the stables. Then he immediately proved to her that he was someone "safe" by petting her horse. She misunderstood his invitation that evening but he didn't make her feel bad about it. We know she talked to him about the Felice Horse Selling Thing™️ because when she comes to say that Felice was officially selling the horse, he just said "I thought you already knew that" because she had already told him.

Sara talked to August. The same why August talked to Sara. He opened up about the drugs and why he used them. He opened up about being Wilhelm's back up. He opened up about his guilt and about feeling like a horrible person.

She talked to him about her horse and about Felice. Two things that she considers the most important in her life. She also opens up to him about wanting to fit in. Wanting to "be like him" meaning that she wanted to be like the Hillerska crowd.

They talked to each other.

So like, yes, they did horrible things. They are bad people. But they aren’t incapable of caring. And they aren't entirely self centered. That's what makes their individual betrayals even more heartbreaking. Because we know they're capable of caring and they made the choices they did anyway.

[tealeavesandtrash]

✨Opening Line Tag Game✨

Thank you @diamondmeadow for the tag 💕💕 I don’t really ever go back and reread stuff I’ve finished so it was very fun to go back and have a look!

This is from So Long, London - I don’t know why I forgot the opening to a post-first war canon compliant fic was so angsty but I did. I feel the need to apologise to everyone who’s read this 😔

Marble white gravestones line the churchyard like picket fences. Church bells ring out across the village, the only sound daring to disturb the scene below.

Maybe Remus should be ashamed. It’s been months and this is the first time he’s made the trip from London to visit. He didn’t make the funeral. Too drunk, beaten down and broken from everything to be in any sort of state to travel. It’s some consolation at least, that James and Lily were so loved that enough friends would have attended to give them the send-off they deserved. And no one would have wanted some self-pitying werewolf riddled with guilt to dampen the mood even more.

Remus takes a long drag of his cigarette. It’s almost burnt out but it feels too disrespectful to stub out here.

No pressure tags 💕

@marigold-hills @goldenprophetwrites @quiethauntings @magicbeings

[bradshawsbaby]

I’m super exhausted, so I’m off to go murder my pillow 😴 I’m hoping I’ll be able to work on more celebration requests tomorrow!

[formerprincewille]

Something that really sets Wille and Simon apart from other queer ships is that when we say their love language is physical touch, IT REALLY IS PHYSICAL TOUCH. And I’m not speaking of just sex. Over the course of the show, the amount of touching between them is astronomical. And that’s really something rarely seen in queer media. There may be moments here or there, but often times there’s a lack of physical contact unless it’s for “the plot”. Wille and Simon feel like a real couple in the way they’re always physically reaching out for each other.

[ranahan]

Some grammar notes

So this pretty much all bases on the Republic Commando sound track and this one sentence in TCW:

Calhava bruchun dralshyeran.

which apparently comes from a fandom forum post and is translated as “compassionate leaders shall burn” which I’m keeping for posterity because why not.

Calhava: leaders, it’s got that recognisable plural ending

Bruchun: well, the compassionate part is the only one left, and in any case there are enough irregular adjectives (ones that don’t end in -la/yc) that it’s not so unusual. Might be fun to derive the word for compassion in “standard” Mando’a from this.

Dralshye’ran: dral, the same root as in standard Mando’a although meaning might be different; not that surprising though because even in Traviss’s Mando’a that word family (as I’ve analysed it) seems to have meanings related to fire. Shye could be a variation of shya (“to become brighter”). Ran is the future tense suffix.

And these, which don’t have translations as far as I’m aware:

Se solu, se kad, se darasuum kote.

Kadi, se norm'iim.

Ki, kadi norm'iim

Soo…

Some vocabulary is different (calhav vs. alor, dralshyar vs. hettir). Se = te? Ki looks like it could be an affirmative?

Concordian has kept the -(s)a plural marker instead of -(s)e.

If Concordian hasn’t undergone the a > e sound change, that might affect other words as well. Maybe other sounds as well; maybe they also still say jorur, not jurir?

Verbal conjugations are suffixes, not prefixes/preverbal clitics. So -ran, -so, several others (probably at least a couple based on some things from Traviss’s Mando’a I’ve idly thought might be remnants of earlier verbal conjugations, including the -iim).

Many suffixes will be same/similar, not sure about prefixes though. Have you noticed that all of them were added by Traviss? So I’m thinking that within my theory of Mando’a as a creole language, those prefixes would be a Neo-Crusader/creole invention. That might or might not have been adopted by the Concordians. Also a logical source for the prefixes could be (auxiliary) verbs in Classical Mando’a, so perhaps some of those have descendants in Concordian?

Both adjective noun and noun adjective word orders. Will probably pick one main order, and might just go with noun adjective.

@sootyships as discussed previously.

Concordian Mando’a

Quick idea for the phonology of Concordian Mando’a:

This is basically based on one sentence in The Clone Wars, the fact that one sentence has verbal morphology that resembles Harlin’s Mando’a more than Traviss’s, a couple of things Traviss said about sound changes in Mando’a, and my headcanon about Concordia being the earliest settled Mandalorian world right after Manda’yaim itself.

Changes compared to (my reconstruction of) Traviss’s Mando’a:

The sound represented by the digraph ch is /x ~ χ/ instead of /tʃ/

The sound represented by the letter j is the soft /ʝ/ instead of hard /dʒ/. This is the “original” sound that has changed in Traviss’s Mando’a. And it also results in a nice fricative series (I know languages aren’t necessarily symmetrical but symmetry pleases me anyway).

R is trilled.

I thought about making the v sound /β/, but not sure yet.

Went back to Harlin’s five-vowel system + contrastive length.

Diphthongs will probably be a slightly different set, allowing both /aɪ̯/ and /ɪ̯a/ for example.

Phonotactics will probably be basically identical to Traviss’s Mando’a.

Might change everything later, but here’s a late night brainwave…

[tariah23]

One of the main reasons why I used to avoid Isekai’s, and fantasy works in general, like the plague is because of how over saturated they’d become with things that didn’t feel like they even belonged to the genre to begin with… it’s not too hard to find works that stand out but so much of those works have been pushed down and forgotten, it just sucks.

[beesorcery]

hello it's part 3 of 3 for my cool fun graphic design adventure!! part 1 and part 2 got too long. to recap i am recreating this t-shirt design but with the magic 8 ball songs instead of city names:

here is the current draft, updated through 3/27 (pittsburgh) (!!!!)

[katnissmellarkkk]

my aesthetics :

the second quarter quell generation, pt one (aka the generation with all the principal characters’ parents, and then also haymitch)

[emily-mooon]

60s spy au Nordegrim anyone?

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…