#because she was able to find her own first

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.” 

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes. 

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop. 

But he doesn’t. 

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story. 

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?” 

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before. 

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either. 

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him. 

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life. 

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car. 

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty. 

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand. 

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy. 

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat. 

“I-“ You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.” 

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you. 

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.” 

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.” 

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours. 

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth. 

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. 

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before. 

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to. 

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile. 

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else. 

“Yeah. Goats.” 

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it. 

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole. 

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean. 

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit. 

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.  

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter. 

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like- 

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home. 

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think. 

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.” 

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now. 

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it. 

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need. 

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear. 

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this. 

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish. 

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name. 

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too. 

And he’s perfect. 

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in. 

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy. 

You’re happy. 

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go. 

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed. 

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm. 

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time. 

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues. 

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying. 

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces. 

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone. 

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean. 

Alone. 

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize. 

And he’s there. 

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant. 

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck. 

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head. 

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John. 

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out. 

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider. 

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried. 

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side. 

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself. 

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real. 

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms. 

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was. 

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word. 

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate. 

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his. 

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it. 

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this. 

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person. 

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name. 

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky. 

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

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[lorbanery]

Oh! We were just catching up on "Um, Actually" last night on Dropout and they did a second episode of all kids media trivia, and one of the contestants reminded me of the episode that is one of the most obviously written For The Parents, "Baby Race".

The episode is Chilli telling the story of how Bluey learned to walk, so we flash back to baby Bluey rolling over earlier than the literature says to expect it (this is an actual milestone for babies, have the muscle strength, coordination, and spacial reasoning to be able to roll over onto their back or stomach on their own). Chilli gets very cocky about Bluey rolling over so early, especially with everyone around her being all "Oh my goodness I've NEVER heard of a baby rolling over THAT early!".

Cut to her mother's group and in the middle of getting more praise about Bluey rolling over really early, Judo's mother, Wendy, exclaims excitedly that baby Judo is sitting! Again, another real life milestone, being able to sit up on their own without falling over.

Chilli gets kinda jealous and spends some time trying to get Bluey to sit up too, and as soon as Bluey can, they get to the mothers group only discover that Judo is crawling.

Chilli gets kinda jealous and spends some time trying to get Bluey to crawl. It doesn't work, Bluey finds other ways to get around. Chilli worries that there might be something wrong with Bluey so takes her to the doctor, who reassures her that Bluey's fine.

But Chilli's gotten how quickly Bluey's hitting these milestones all tangled up in her head with how good of a parent she is. So every time Judo hits a new milestone and Bluey doesn't, or every time Bluey sort of hits a milestone sideways (she eventually crawls, but only crawls backwards, which is also real! Our kid pretty much only crawled backwards until they were able to walk), she gets worried she's doing something wrong and checks in with her doctor again.

Eventually Judo takes her first steps before Bluey has even started crawling forwards, and Chilli takes it so hard that she stops going to the mothers group. She started off thinking she was doing so well as a parent, only to see someone else she perceived as doing better than her, and every shred of confidence she had just crumbled. She must have been doing something wrong, because her kid seemingly stalled out on hitting those milestones, or at least slowed down, and of course development is perfectly linear and those age guidelines are set in stone and not a general rough guide about the oldest age to expect the milestone to happen, right?

So one of the other mothers, Bella, notices that Chilli isn't at the mothers group and, concerned, comes over to check in on Chilli. Chilli admits to her that it just feels like she's been doing everything wrong. Bella shows Chilli a photo of her family, which surprises Chilli. Most of the mothers in the group are new parents like Chilli, because of course those are the parents who are most likely to need the support of a group like that, and it's good for kids who don't have siblings at home to socialize with. It turns out, though, that Bella has nine kids, including Coco, the baby she brings to the group.

Bella sets a hand on Chilli's shoulder and tells her seriously, "I've got something to tell you." Chilli asks "What?" already feeling really self-loathing about her own parenting skills and wary about what this person who has so much more experience parenting is going to tell her. But Bella just smiles and tells her, "You're doing great." And Chilli breaks down in tears and they hug.

And if that wasn't enough to make you tear up as a parent, the episode actually ends with Bingo asking if Bluey ever learned how to walk (because she's four and it's hard at that age to connect A to C). And as Chilli answers, "Yes! In the kitchen, actually," we flash back one more time to the moment Bluey took her first steps, crawling backwards into the kitchen and seeing Chilli working at the counter. "The kitchen?! Why in the kitchen?!" Bluey exclaims as baby Bluey starts pulling herself up on a cabinet. "I don't know!" Chilli laughs. As baby Bluey starts taking her first shaky steps, the camera switches to Bluey's POV, looking up at her mom, and we hear Bingo suggest, "Maybe you saw something that you wanted." Then Chilli turns and we see her shocked smile as she sees Bluey walking towards her.

There is so much genuine sincerity packed into that show. And that is why parents love it so much.

In Australia we have this cartoon for toddlers called Bluey. It's very good, models positive family relationships well and teaches good practical and emotional lessons to very young kids. But what I have recently learned on youtube is that Americans are OBSESSED with it. Why. This might be the most interested the US has been in Aussie tv since Neighbours.

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ THE BISHOP & HER QUEEN ᝰ! S.L.

your superhero love story with kate bishop sophia!

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ ❪ ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠. ❫ ｡ katebishop!sophia x f!r 𖥔 fluff, hawkeye au ── disclaimers: mentions of violence, trauma, injuries, kissing, harsh language, enemies to lovers, yelena belova!reader ／ ℭatalogue

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, of all the enemies you’ve faced during your time as an assassin/spy, is the hardest to kill for some odd reason. she was one quick, stupid little amateur

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who was so offended the first time you refused to fight her because you “didn’t have time for it”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, whose mentor was the one you were really looking for in hopes of getting some answers regarding the whereabouts of your sister. when you broke into the underground training facility her frequented, instead of finding him and torturing the answers out of him like you had initially hoped for, you found her eating pizza

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA shot up with her mouth full and her cute chow chow, charlie nibbling on some crusts

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who scrambled for her bow on the opposite end of the resting couch behind the boxing ring. by the time she had her weapon in her hands, you were already gone, no longer standing where you were mere seconds ago

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who couldn’t put up much of a fight when you pinned her to the ground in the flash of an eye

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA’s bow and arrow being kicked as far as you could with her under your knee. you leant down, shushing her as her dog barked feverishly at you. once she ceased her grunts of struggle, the hand you had pushing her head into the wood let go. you asked, “where’s barton?”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, “why the fuck would i tell you?”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who mumbled curses and yelled at you to get off as you looked around for any clue or signs of the man you were hunting. when you noticed a surveillance camera at the very corner of the gym, you turned back to her

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who promised to not making any stupid decisions when you started playing with charlie, scared you’ll hurt her big, fluffy boy if she made the wrong move

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who shot death glares at you as you sauntered around and examined the place, she rubbed her sore neck as you took in every detail you could, all the while eating a stolen slice of her sausage and mushroom pizza

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA absolutely hating your guts

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA immediately whining to clint about you pinning her to the ground with ease once she warned him of your arrival. for somebody who just heard they were being hunted down, he was very comfortable teasing sophia for her lack of skill when it came to physical altercations

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who started training harder after

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA did lots of research on you, initially finding nothing, you were a nobody with no records and no names (which frustrated her to no end) until she snuck into the cia compound with clint once for a mission and found your file amidst those of wanted fugitives of the nation

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who disliked you more upon reading your file; you were wanted in more than 40 states, for crimes like treason, massacres, and terrorism. not a single police force in any of those states, with help from fbi, cia and secret services has anybody successfully been able to catch you. so she made herself a promise then and there

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA vowing if she ever saw you again, she’d be ready--she was going to put you away forever so you wouldn’t be able to hurt clint, or anybody else for that matter

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who goes to the gym more often

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who forced clint to help her better her agility, her speed and her aim. she was getting much better by the second month since her run in with you

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who found out about the red room through clint. she did her own research, reading about the horrific and tragic simulations young girls and women were subjected to for the sake of creating the perfect weapons. there were two names at the top of the best graduating classes of the programme--natasha romanoff and you, named the deadliest pair of siblings, dead or alive, internationally

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who came home one day to you

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA immediately drawing her bow, her glossy lips pursing at the smirk you threw her way. you had a pot in your hand, stirring whatever was inside casually, as if she weren’t one release away from kebabing you in the heart

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA clenching her jaw, muttering, “what the fuck are you doing here? how’d you know where i live?”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA feeling like just killing you before you can answer when you laughed at the question. you rose the fork, licking off whatever cheese was on it as you stared right at her. you smirked at the visible gulp from her. you set the pot down onto her dinner table, grabbing the bottle of sriracha. you continued prepping your meal, unfazed by the sharp tip pointed straight at you. “you’re cute, baby archer. you should really learn some survival skills, if you had people following you, you’d never know.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, taken aback by your statement, felt her hands shake at the tightening grip she had on her bow

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who had no choice but to put down her bow when you started feeding charlie some mac and cheese. “you’re a smart girl, laforteza, i trust you know you’re putting more than yourself in danger if you keep pointing that little toy at me.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA standing still. “what do you want?”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA rolling her eyes at you explaining your grudge with clint whilst playing with charlie. the poor chow chow was a sweet dog, but right now he doesn’t seem to realize he was playing with the enemy. “i’m not here for you, laforteza. i work off an eye for an eye. and barton owes me his.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA insisting there is another way for you to get even without killing him. you shook your head at her pleads about him having a family, a life, yaddy yaddy yaddah, you kicked the chair opposite to you, gesturing for her to sit

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA obeying your instructions, sitting

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who whistled, finally getting her hands around charlie to keep him away from you. the dog hesitantly leaped away from you, tail wagging and traces of mac and cheese around his lips and panting tongue

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA not being able to do anything when you stood to leave, pushing the empty pot towards her. you gave her a cheeky peck at the corner of her lips, hand patting her cheek. you blow her one last kiss before waving goodbye, dropping out the window and disappearing into the night

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA hating herself for letting you go that night when you left her apartment

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA had a feeling you would be coming by her apartment again one way or another. her and clint were no longer training together because you had tabs on her, which meant she could lead you to him. she could tell you were growing desperate because she was keeping her own tabs on you; she found out the fake identity you used off the id she swiped from you last time, and she tracks your paper trail

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA greeting you with a smile the next time you snuck into her home. charlie immediately pounced to greet you, pawing at your knees and licking your hand. you glanced up at her, reciprocating the smirk she was throwing your way. “well, look who’s all dolled up for me… am i really the special girl in your life, laforteza?”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA kicking her pizza box towards you. “you loved my order the first time we met, thought i’d save you a couple slices.” you nodded, amused at the foreign behaviour

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA leaning over her couch, urging you to sit and you do. what can you say, you loved a woman who bosses you around. her hands grabbed the back of the couch, standing over you from behind as her head dipped to whisper in your ear, “look, cherry gordon,” she spat your fake name like it was venom, “you’re going to stop looking for my friend and you’re going to sit here because shield is on their way. we’re gonna have a chat here, and you’re gonna listen up.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who thinks she has the upper hand, which you found absolutely adorable, but was so oblivious to the fact you’re always one step ahead. but you thought she was too adorable to ruin the fun for, so you let her feel like she knew what she was doing for another fifteen minutes

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, who was super offended when you asked her if she was done with her little spiel

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who didn’t even have time to react when you grabbed her neck that was over your shoulder. you flipped her over, standing from where you sat to pin her over the coffee table. you had her in a headlock, leaning down to, just like she had, whisper in her ear: “i’ll give it to you, baby archer, you found more than i thought you would when i left those little crumbs for you to nibble at. the thing is, i’ve found barton for weeks already. i’m just here because i couldn’t resist seeing you again--also, i brought you a gift, since you so kindly welcomed me into your home with the best kraft i’ve ever had.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA sighing in defeat at you managing to pin her again. she wasn’t one to give up, but she wouldn’t want to embarrass herself more by struggling and failing to free herself from your grasp

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA getting tied up, like a good girl

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA being strapped to a chair with a bruise forming around the cut on her forehead. her head hit the table a little too hard, but she was putting up a tough front for the sake of her aura. you grabbed her a bag of peas from the freezer, holding it up to her head as you cooed. “oh poor baby, you bruise like a peach,” you pouted, tending to her head, “if you didn’t try acting all cocky like that, this wouldn’t have happened. i did think it was incredibly cute, but i left more than three hints here and there.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who was scared you had already hurt clint, but you assured her he was safe--“oh, barton? he’s just fine, laforteza, don’t worry. as long as you sit and listen for the next…” you check your watch, “ten minutes? before the shield team you called shows up? they’re horrible agents, really, just absolutely terrible.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA unsure of what to do, but obeys

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA not knowing if you were still trying to kill her or if you were just hitting on her so she calls you out on it. you laugh at the suggestion, “kill you? honey, when have i ever tried to kill you? if i wanted to kill you, you would’ve been long dead by now.” she was stupid, she knew you were right

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who couldn’t understand why you were treating the bruise on her head, but you started talking

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who couldn’t help but feel her heart race more than just because of the adrenaline, but because you were practically sitting on her lap as you spoke: “y’know, i really am flattered i seem to be on your mind, laforteza. food is the way to a woman’s heart,” you nodded towards the pizza, “but you’ve been such a delightful nuisance, i can’t have you tailing me and making my life just that bit harder anymore. so as much as i’ve loved this little game we’ve been playing, i’m making it clear it has got to stop.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA, noting the closing proximity between the two of you, she could hear the blaring sirens in a distance, as well as the helicopter buzzing closer with each passing second. you didn’t fret, very calm and collected

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA who watched you set the bag of peas on her lap before bidding her the last few words; “don’t worry, archer, i’ll be back when i get the agents off my back. until then, take care of yourself and little dani… i named him dani, i think it’s fitting. thanks for the pizza.” you leant forward, kissing her, long and slow on the lips. she didn’t flinch, she didn’t reject you--given, you already knew of her little crush when she acted like a boy picking on a girl on a playground--instead, she closed her eyes, savouring the taste of your lips on hers. deep down, she regretted calling shield now, even though you tried killing clint. she couldn’t wait to see you again

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA looking like a teenage boy who just got his first kiss, jaw dropped and in disbelief as you pulled back, hand tracing from her jaw down to her chest. your nail against the lining of her suit, she felt her skin crawl. you blew her a kiss, folding your fingers in a small wave. “until next time, cupid. try reading a spy 101 book, you might learn a thing or two about being subtle and secret.”

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA feeling her stomach flutter instead of churn watching you leave

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA feeling her bounds loosen

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA realizing you never tied her up in a dead knot, but was still found and humiliated in front of all the shield agents as she wrung herself free. she had to explain herself to the agents, and they were not happy to leave empty handed after the promise of returning to their headquarters with you in cuffs

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA desperately trying to find a way to contact you after, silently praying you’d come by her home, but she knew her place would be heavily surveilled. and she knew you were much smarter than that, you were no novice

✵ KATEBISHOP!SOPHIA misses you… will you swing by?

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ ❪ 𝖈alliope 𝖘peaks! ❫ 。 oh kate bishop sophia, how i long for the day i get to see you… thor!dani is probably next on my list so LESSSGETITTTT anyway hope you guys are enjoying the hero posts so far i’ve had a lot of fun making them. happy reading! xx

@sillymommy6969 © ──────────── Feb 2025

[elodieunderglass]

I'd like to know more about Killie's family!

Thank you so much!! I LOVE THEM

Killie’s family are a horse racing “dynasty” of several generations, with his branch being especially trashy, mean to each other, in debt and all-consumingly horse-obsessed. The historical base of the paternal family is County Meath in the Republic of Ireland - Killie’s mother is English.

The greater family is competitive, horse-obsessed, and that depressing mindset of being conservative-without-being-rich. You’re not allowed to name children like racehorses (because of woke) but they’ve made up for it by having a tradition of sharing a generation-based initial letter for their first name. Killie’s in the “C” generation, and his siblings and cousins all have C-names.

The parents are awful, and you can see the stamp of their influence on Killie and his siblings. The family are justifiably proud of Killie, though toxic about it.

Here’s the sibling set before Charlie’s estrangement:

Press “Keep reading” for fascinating Killie personal life below:

Killie (Cillian), oldest, and even by their family’s standards, incredibly Good at Horses. Master of the preternatural jockey powers of the mental timer (can set and stop accurate stopwatches and timers in his head; the opposite of time blindness), psychic horse connection, inhuman discipline and stoicism (the Jockey Constitution (TM).) champion jockey over jumps and on the flat, closing in on legendary status, while also secretly falling apart in every other direction. We happen to know that he’s secretly a bisexual demisexual wet stray cat with exhausted anxiety and Terminal Horse Autism, but he does a very good job of projecting aggression acceptable jockey energy, and therefore Nobody Suspects. Moved to the UK as a contracted jockey with a prominent stable and is genuinely, genuinely good at what he does. About 4’10”, extremely desirable height for an international-quality lightweight flat jockey, but just about too light for UK/Irish steeplechasing (but he’s intensely bonkers, so he does it anyway.)

Charlie (Charles), twin, hates horses (actually rather good with them as animals! but hates competition, gambling, pain, The Racing Industry, hurting himself, pain, animal abuse, falling off, trashiness, when they step on you, horse racing, and Being So Brave About It.) Horse Hating ADHD, pictured here being insufferable because he actually owns clothes besides breeches and boots. Family lore states that the twins were born prematurely because Charlie attempted to murder Killie in the womb, but that sounds medically improbable. Regardless, the twins failed to thrive in NICU until being placed in the same incubator together, so even if murder attempts were made, they reconciled right away. Unfortunately estranged from family, sport and home by being unapologetically and flagrantly bisexual, he vanished from Killie’s life for over a decade, and ended up building an unexpectedly normal and healthy life in which horses did not eat any of his fingers. They used to have magical twin telepathy before estrangement.

Charlie always sounds like he’s speaking with emojis, has a great deal of charm, and did so much of The Talking when they were younger that Killie was able to secretly conceal and get over his own stammer. While being outwardly 300x more social and funny and lovable, Charlie is actually much more of a bastard than (secretly soft) Killie, and defended Killie and the other siblings from bullies on all sides, including/especially their parents.

Ciara, an unpleasant wench three years younger than the twins, who wasted her twenties being mean in the comments. Mediocre jockey, now a trainer’s assistant, back living with parents while slow-motion Republic of Ireland (TM) Divorce goes through. Despite being a homophobic harpy during the catastrophic Estrangement Incident, would desperately like to see Charlie again. Much of her internet usage sprang from the compulsion to find Charlie on social media (she never managed.) weirdly, being really online accidentally radicalised her, and despite only hanging out with incredibly conservative bigoted people IRL, she made nice friends online and became secretly quite tolerable, and guilty about all of it. Wouldn’t talk to Killie about any of this, though. Killie’s perfect. Killie’s the culmination of a five-generation breeding experiment to create the perfect jockey, and by all metrics, it worked. Killie once had a 500-kilo horse fully land on his thighbone and only said a mild “bugger.” Killie wouldn’t get it at all.

Colm - youngest. not a great rider, not very interesting, not much presence, not very brave, no particular instinct for horses, not especially disciplined, no particular ambition, and excessively large. Works as an exercise rider, groom and general stablehand for his parents (constant criticism, zero thanks), and presumably has a private life, but keeps his head down. His takeaway from Charlie’s estrangement was: everyone loved Charlie most of all, and that’s how quickly they threw him away - what hope do I have, if I put a foot wrong? Really misses Killie, lacks the ability to follow him, lost as a result.

Charlie and Killie reconciling would shore up a tremendous amount of Killie’s collapsing mental landscape, and prove utterly necessary for Killie surviving the total tailspin of being forcibly loved by a completely random great big beardy nerdy American man life outside of being a jockey.

And it is entirely possible that there are uncles and aunts and cousins who would turn around and say, quite fiercely, Cillian’s the best of us. We love and admire him more than we love winning. He throws his heart over the fences and then follows it, and when it’s important he always wins. If Killie wants a boyfriend - then you know what? Fuck it. Maybe that’s winning. Maybe we’d rather be on his side, the winning side - the side of the best of us.

It has a chance of all being okay.

(Greyuncle Era: Ciara and Colm manage a near-complete recovery from their family of origin. They choose to never have kids, and good for them. Charlie, polyamorous bisexual in an incredibly stable three-person marriage, has a mysterious number of kids (he and his husband and wife produced kids with the admirable Lucky Dip method; but they’re all Charlie’s, of course. They’re also all his biologically, because he won. He won all of them. He has the fastest sperm, if you want to know. okay, admittedly only some are markedly shorter and more ginger than the rest, but frankly YOU NEVER KNOW, do you?? Charlie himself has a brunette sister! and a younger brother who is VERY NEARLY almost tall?? Genetics are a mystery 😤 no this is NOT a racing thing, this is - no he’s not competitive. He’s better than that. He hates - they’re - shut up.

This results in the “between 12-75 business greatniblings” that Killie and Derek share. Derek actually knows how many there are. Killie cannot physiologically remember that kind of thing, his brain just turns to static; and Charlie possibly doesn’t know himself. And it’s okay and it’s okay and it’s okay and it’s okay and in fact they are HAPPY AND WELL.)

[fluffy-leech]

[ID: Two pages from Star Trek: The New Voyages, reading:

Introduction to The Enchanted Pool, by Nichelle Nichols. Not only in the "bloopers" is Uhura occasionally temped to say, "Mr. Spock, sugah." She has been known to tease him, even in song, and she is hardly the only one, present or future, who would be delighted to find some enchantment by which to disturb his Vulcan cool. More seriously, Uhura is often seen today as a symbol of women and their role in the Star Trek universe, and as her alter ego I am often asked to speak on that role. In fact, it is a question that has interested me and one that Uhura and I plan to deal with in a book now in progress with the editors of this anthology. It was, of course, the intention of the creator of Star Trek to show not only the beauty of differences but also the delight in the diversities as well as the similarities of women; to show them as capable of responsibility, achievement, initiative, courage, compassion—fellow beings reaching for nobility, heroic in their quest. For instant, the story of "Number One," the female second-in-command, played so beautifully in the first pilot of Star Trek by Majel Barrett, was always inspiring. "Nurse" Chapel was, in fact, a doctor and researcher in her own right. Uhura, likewise, was highly respected as exceedingly qualified in her field, and a first-rate officer, even by the exacting standards of Mr. Spock. She was regarded as quite capable of saving the entire spaceship because of her expertise, and in a punch, fully able to hold her own as a "gladiator." The Enterprise has security "men" who were women, and ran into doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs who were women—commanders, matriarchs and the like. If Star Trek ever lapsed from that standard—and it must be admitted that even Uhura was heard of complain about saying, "Hailing frequencies open, sir," for the umteenth time—we should still remember that it was only Star Trek that began to set that standard, long before we heard much about it in our real world. I can't help believing that Star Trek was a forerunner in the real world for the inevitable movements for liberation for anyone who ever felt misclassified by form or face or color or creed. We have come a long way since the last of the old voyages, and I think we would not have come to far without them. We till have a long way to go. But I see people working to get there. (It is significant that many of them are women; for example, the writers and editors of these stories.) So long as we are still working, writing, talking, thinking, loving, we are under way on warp drive to the world and the future we want. These are the new voyages…. And they may be just a little different. Logical, Mr. Spock, sugah. P.S. Hailing frequencies still open, Cap'n Honey.

End ID]

Mr. Spock, sugah & Cap'n Honey 😁😍

[wingsdippedingold]

My rapid fire ACOTAR hot takes that y’all will hate:

I pray the pros don’t find this

I don’t ship Elriel or Elucien because I ship Elain with singleness and just traveling Prythian to learn about different plants and then settling down somewhere to become an apothecary. Is she aromantic and suffering from comphet in my head? You’ll never know

Nesta would not have eaten Lucien alive, I think she’d be tentative at first but then realize he’s not a threat to her then grow to enjoy his presence. They could have had a great romance that actually helped her grow as a person, unlike Nessian.

Nessian is a mutually destructive relationship. Cassian is too insecure to date someone who he thinks looks down at him. Nesta needs an emotionally supportive partner.

There was ZERO need to actively SA Feyre publicly to make her look subservient or as if she had a “claim” laid on her. The reasoning is weak, and SJM an Rhysand fans need to admit that they only defend it because they thought it was sexy, or because they self-insert and can’t make Rhysand actually look bad.

Tamlin isn’t a bad leader, but it doesn’t suit him. He’s much more of a people person than someone who would like to be removed from them and working on laws and politics.

Tamlin should be walking around the SC as they rebuild and see a woman directing townspeople on how to do so. Tamlin would admire her for being able to connect with people but also being able to govern well. They would have a romance and that woman would eventually become a lady and help Tamlin govern because she wants to make a difference and is good at that stuff. They eventually get married 💥

Canon Elain is my least favorite Archeron. I think she’s manipulative and worse than Nesta in her cabin behavior because she wasn’t upfront about it. She let Feyre think she was useless and kind, to later only throw her under the bus. Nesta is the one who went to the wall for Feyre, and Elain didn’t gaf about Nesta caring for her the second is stopped benefitting her. Elain even acknowledges all that Feyre did for them, and yet she still didn’t do anything

BUT to append to that, I totally get why she’s that way. It’s her only means of survival because since childhood she was treated as a doll with noice of her own. She can’t be upfront like Nesta because she won’t get taken seriously, so her only way to get what she wants is to manipulate people and use her niceness as a mask.

Nesta and Feyre have a closer relationship than Nesta and Elain solely because they were constantly arguing. Nesta “favored” Elain, but it was still distant, but she actively watched Feyre and treated her like a whole person even if it was poorly. I think this is also exemplified in their appearance. Feyre and Nesta look very similar, while Elain doesn’t look like them as much.

You can’t argue that Feyre’s childhood was traumatizing (it was) but then say that it had no negative effects on her development and ability to socialize.

Feyre is NOT good at reading people despite what y’all like to argue. She can barely read Nesta, a woman she’s known for 20 years.

She suffers from hubris and has a savior complex. For example, when the debtors came to cripple her father she notes that they only left after SHE cried and soiled herself. In her perspective she will always be the hero because that’s how she makes herself fell good.

Arguable my hottest take: I don’t think Nesta and Feyre had a power imbalance in the cottage to make their relationship abusive. In fact, I think Feyre held more power over Nesta, Nesta just didn’t acknowledge it/was mean so it didn’t seem like it. Feyre was their father’s favorite, was the breadwinner, and technically dictated whether they would get to eat. Feyre held control over her family’s survival, even if she didn’t want it, and they all knew this. It is specifically why Elain sucked up to her (a character know to jump to whoever has the most power at the moment and would protect her the most)

Feyre doesn’t act how she wants to, but rather as she thinks a good person would. She doesn’t want to hunt, but she does so because she thinks she has to. Many of her acts are “selfless” but are often shallow. She also thinks everyone wants to the helped the same way she would want to be.

To add to this, she doesn’t love her sisters. She doesn’t love them for who they are, but because of proximity. She even says to Nesta when trying to get her to come to solstice “but you’re my sister”

Feyre did not know love and it did not know her, and thus made her latch on to whoever gave her affection and she deemed as her own savior (Tamlin and Rhysand). Should she finally ever feel suffocated by Rhysand (though he has ensured she won’t), I wouldn’t doubt that she would run to another.

Feyre has 0 healthy relationships. ZILCH

By adulthood, Feyre’s illiteracy is no one’s fault but her own. As a child she didn’t want to ask Nesta, but she didn’t ask Elain or her father either. Even then they fell into poverty at like 9 and she still didn’t learn much so that doesn’t make sense. She refused Tamlin’s help and Rhysand literally had to force her to learn.

Rhysand’s character makes 0 sense when you consider her upbringing, family, friends, personality, and powers, and is just a product of SJM trying to write the morally grey ultimate love interest.

I’m on the fence about him being a master manipulator towards Feyre and the IC. I doubt Sarah meant for him to come off like that, but if he actually was it would be a masterful story and make his character feel more cohesive.

HOWEVER, if he was a manipulator I don’t think it would be that impressive for him to manipulate Feyre. She is naive and new to the world of fae, and she switches her opinions like night and day. She would be the perfect target. Again, this comes about from her upbringing and her own hubris.

The series should stuck to being a trilogy. Insert it drags on and makes new problems that aren’t even properly addressed

This was not rapid I fear

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it♥ And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s way he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated ​​you for being a badass, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature, like a fucking storm–sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfishness, your wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. But no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You are like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping that Carol will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on your skin, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is almost imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary nods, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. But did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts run wild about the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their cells, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door was still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

 “What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, at all, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Oh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, but a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless body when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stopped inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so up that it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite void. But he refuses to listen to the death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, minutes before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“She will make up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, telling him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. But after a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you needed, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little laugh that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through one of the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

But still, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern, even if you don't know that.

You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.”

You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’t be, I’m jus’ so glad ya came back.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you. You know? I was going to tell you about it that night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was jealous of ‘em and I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you that night. There was never another guy, Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone, because Daryl is a protector: that is in his nature.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, Daryl, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it was difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

[nymphaea-blue]

Oneshot - Rafayel would be good with kids.

Info : 1400+ word count, reader and Rafayel are dating, reader is referred to as a female, fluff, mentions of missing someone, perhaps hurt/comfort, small allusion to the possibility of having kids with him in the future towards the end, Tina is in fact made up and doesn't exist within Love and Deepspace lore.

Notes : Rafayel is giving me amazing older brother vibes and that's what inspired this ^^,

Rafayel would be good with kids.

Your coworker, Tara, has a younger sister named Tina that you were charged with taking care of because Tara was needed urgently at work. You didn't mind, she was your good friend and since her sister was around 7, you didn't think it would be a big issue.

The first hour or two went great, you two had fun and as it turned out, Tina was a great kid, pretty shy but smart and well behaved. Later on however, you got a call from Jenna, the situation Tara was tasked with investigating got out of hand and your team was needed ASAP to handle wanderers. 

You scrambled to find someone that would be able to watch over Tina, but everyone you thought about was sure to be busy… except one person.

“Hey cutie, missed me?” Rafayel picked up your call quickly, his tone a mix of playfulness and a hint of happiness at the fact it was you calling.

“Well yes, but I need your help… My friend left her little sister in my care but I'm urgently needed for a mission and I need someone to watch over her for a few hours. Would you be able to do it? Pleaseee?” You begged slightly on the phone, there was a slight worry and panic in your voice because time was of the essence but you were also worried about Tina.

“Hmm.. I dun know, what would I get from it, hm? My schedule is very busy, ya know.”

“I will buy you takeout and bring you more materials for paints. Please Rafayel, I need to leave soon!”

“Alright alright, I was just kidding, I would help anyways. Bring her over, I can play nanny for a few hours.”

As the doors closed and Rafayel waved last goodbyes to you as you hurriedly left, he was left alone with a little kid. Great, soo what now? He had no idea how to care for a child.

“Hey kid, what would you like to do? I got some books here, but I doubt you wanna read them.. they are pretty boring to be honest.” He asked in hopes of trying to figure out the little girl a bit more. She seemed very quiet ever since she entered the studio.

“It's okay, I got my own book, thank you sir.” Tina politely said before she went back to her book as she sat on the couch in Rafayels studio. She was a little shy, it was visible with how she tried to take as little space as possible and not make a sound, but he could work with that.

Rafayel nodded and went back to his painting for a while. He thought that perhaps giving the girl some time to warm up would be a good idea, though he kept an eye on her as well to make sure she would be alright.

After about thirty minutes, he stepped down from his high chair and went over to the nearby kitchen to prepare two glasses of water and he came back to the studio to hand one to Tina.

“What book are you reading?” He asked curiously as he started to drink his own water. 

“... It's a book about wanderers.” Tina answered shortly as she stared at the glass he gave her before taking a small sip and placing it on a nearby table.

“Really? That's quite a topic. Are you interested in fighting?

“Not really, I… wanna be smart, like my sister. She works in the Hunters Association.” 

“Ah, that's quite a noble job. My friend works there too, she does a good job protecting the city or whatever but she doesn't have as much time to meet up with me anymore.”

“What do you do while you wait for her?”

“I paint. Commissions, art for exhibitions, her.. anything, really. Doing what I like is a great distraction.”

“... I don’t feel distracted.”

“Hm?”

“I still miss her… even though I do what I like”

There it was, she opened up a little. He thought that such a subject wasn't great for a young kid, there was bound to be a reason.

“Hmm, well do you really like reading this? Or do you like doing this because it reminds you of your sister?”

“I don't know…”

“That's okay. Missing someone can be horrible, especially with all the waiting. Take me for example, I'm not the most patient person in the world so it's horrible sometimes to just stay all alone while she's somewhere else. But in the end, when my friend does return, the feeling of joy is undeniable, and I think she would like me to be happy while I wait rather than be all sad and think of her.”

“.. So what should I do?” 

“Why don't you try something else? Like painting, for example.” Rafayel said as he got up and quickly gathered two small canvases, some paints, brushes and cups of water before returning to her side and sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“Painting is a great way to pour all of your feelings onto one place, so you can focus on what exactly you feel. Then, you can show it, using colours, symbolism, texture - anything, really.” He explained in full focus as he talked about something he knew so well as he patted the space next to him to invite Tina to sit next to him.

“So.. how about instead of missing your sister, and thinking of what she does, you think of what you feel and what you want to do?” He looked at her when he said those words and extended a paint brush if she only wanted to accept his offer.

You rang the doorbell as soon as you found yourself in front of Rafayels house. It was late by now, the mission took much longer than expected, and you felt bad about leaving Tina with Rafayel for so long while you were the one who was supposed to take care of her.

He didn't answer, so you used the key you had and opened the door yourself. After you closed it and went into the living room, you saw Tina and Rafayel talking and painting while sitting on the floor. They were so deep into the conversation that they didn't even notice you at first, until Rafayel spotted you after a few minutes.

“Ah, there you are! Started to think you forgot about us. You took your sweet time.” He teased as he stood up and walked over to you while Tina continued her artwork. She looked much happier and energetic now, you noticed.

“I'm sorry… the mission was much more intense than we all thought. I brought you some food though! And I found some pretty flowers nearby as well, I thought you could make some nice colours out of them.” You responded as you handed him the payment for taking care of Tina. You felt bad but you hoped that it would be enough to make it up to Rafayel.

“Hmm..” Rafayel inspected the flowers, before he picked one up and then tucked it into the hair behind your ear. “I think this one should stay with you, it contrasts your eyes nicely.”

His smoothness somehow always threw you off guard, even after dating for a while. A small romantic gesture yet it made your heart flutter.

“Thank you for the food though, but I ate already. We had some seafood for dinner.” He said as he took the takeout bag from your hands.

“Really? You made food?”

“Why are you surprised? I can cook if I want to, besides, someone had to feed the kid since you left her all alone.” He said as he pointed to Tina.

“She wasn't all alone, she was under your care!”

Tina, who probably heard her name being called, soon ran up to you holding her masterpiece in her hand.

“Look what I made with uncle Rafayel! Do you think she will like it?”

“I know she will love it!” You said as you patted her head. Uncle Rafayel? That was a new one, she seemed to have gotten along with him quite easily.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Rafayel. You really did me a favour.” You thanked him as Tina was getting ready to leave his studio. You were quite happy because Tina looked much more open now, you wondered how he did it.

“It was no issue, really. The kid is smart, we just talked a bit and painted, I did nothing.” He said nonchalantly, though in your eyes - he did a great job. It was endearing almost, how easily he got along with her and even without much knowledge on kids, he did his best to care for her. Perhaps in the future, he would care like this for other kids as well.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 25

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n thankyou so much to everyone that left comments on the last chapter, i forgot how much i love hearing from you! and thankyou to everyone that came back, even the lurkers, this chapter is only here because of you

previous | masterlist | next

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[EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT: STRAY KIDS X JYP 'ALL IN' SPECIAL INTERVIEW]

- Q4: How did you come to the decision to add another member to Stray Kids two years after their debut?

JYP - Ah...as a company, we had a trainee that was the right age to debut, had been with us a long time and proved that she was an extremely hard worker and very dedicated, and had developed all the skills to debut - but we didn't have a group that we could envision her in. And so we discussed, the possibility of debut as a solo artist...or the opportunity to  replace the vocalist that Stray Kids had lost a year ago - a year before - and she's an absolutely stunning vocalist, a really capable singer - and through those discussions, and recommendations from her trainers, and looking at our, our vision for the future, we decided that she just matched the energy and the personality of Stray Kids too perfectly to let it go.

Bang Chan - At first...at first we didn't think we would need a ninth member anymore, but as a team we heard about Y/N and the idea to bring her in as a member, and we heard her sing and - well first, I thought that voice was amazing, and of course it was very different to any of ours and a whole new colour that we could bring to our music. And we heard about her hard work, and when we met we liked her, and so we decided that maybe she was a Stray Kid too, and she joined our group, and she is a very trusted member of our family now and our loved noona and still the hardest working member, and we're very happy the way that we are.

Changbin - Yes, our noona~

Felix - Yes, yes.

-Q5: Y/N, how do you feel about what JYP just said, and what was it like to join Stray Kids?

Y/N - It feels...very good. Very good. I've worked hard for a long time, and missed many chances, so to be able to join this group and finally find a place to belong and go forward with my dreams is...is a dream. To hear JYP PD-nim say that the company saw all my hard work and wanted to keep me on with them even when the debut with Midnight wasn't an option; it's very humbling, I didn't know that, and when the kids say that they liked me and wanted to welcome me to their group-

Han - It's awkward, right?

Y/N - It is! But I'm so grateful. And I'm working very hard to bring my own colour to Stray Kids and to represent the group as best as I can.

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TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[kissboybyler]

it gets to me so much sometimes when i think that, in whichever fandom, the GA or just most people tend to ship two characters just because they are canon. Like mike and el, for instance, they are canon, they have kissing scenes and they dance at the ball and they…hug?! But what do they even talk about? What’s the music playing in the background? What’s the context of their interactions? Why, why do they love each other? Do they make each other better, do they find missing parts of themselves in the form of another person? Are there hints and tells and color-codes that just…exist to symbolise their love?

Why do we ship these characters? What’s is it about their love that is so strong? And don’t get me wrong, i also believe -like many other bylers/ fans of the show- that mike and el grew to love each other, to appreciate and kind of need each other. But not for the right reasons.

I mean, mike needs to be needed, to be able to help or even save another person, to feel loved and wanted. But he also needs to allow himself to be who he is, outside of “forced conformity” (“that’s what’s killing the kids” after all!)

El, on the other hand, needs to find who she is, but firstly she needs to have a safe place where she is allowed to kind of just exist and then blossom into her true self. And bumping into mike, who eventually grew to appreciate and embrace her, she felt safe for the first time. And alongside her, mike felt needed, like he could protect her and be there for her and make her happy.

But now el, who has established both meaningful familial relationships and friendships, needs to find out who she is. How can we expect her to grow when she’s in a relationship with the first person she met right after she broke out of the lab (her literal prison), who can’t even talk about any other part of her that he loves other than her powers?

And i’ve read many many other people write about this, about how in s4, when mike wasn’t with el he embraced his geeky, nerdy and weird self but when he finally reunited with el, he had to hide himself from her (as did she!). He just…couldn’t be himself around her.

But like, apart from the problems in their relationship, i really just don’t understand why people ship them. It’s just…mike cant be himself around el and el doesn’t have room to find herself when she’s with mike. It literally doesn’t make any mathematical sense.

And then they say we’re delusional for thinking, for proving, that there are astronomically higher chances for these two not to be endgame, for el to be single and for mike and will to get together. Because it makes sense…right? Like, el will be able to find herself outside of a relationship, she won’t be dictated by anyone but her own self, and mike and will… do i really have to elaborate? Like, in every single aspect of stranger things, from musical titles and colour-codes, parallels and loving, longing stares, hand touches, over-protectiveness, deep and meaningful understanding to posters and freaking funko-pops, interviews and good ol’ fashioned cinematography and storytelling… it all points to them, if you connect the dots.

And how, how is it possible that so many dots have been put into such perfect places, to make such a beautifully crafted imagery, just for all of this to be a coincidence? When, when has anything ever in stranger things been coincidental? Ever?

Edit: I’d just like to denote that, when i said “(mike) can’t even talk about any other part of her that he loves other than her powers” i didn’t mean that mike loves el JUST because she has powers, fuck no, BUT when the time was right for him to note all of the other aspects of her character that make her a remarkable person (ex. her selflessness, her compassion), he decided to focus on her powers. The very thing that she herself thought dictated her.

just wanted to make that super clear.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Costume Party

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~5.8k

Summary: You and Wanda go to a Halloween party

A/N: This one was mostly for my own benefit tbh...

Warnings: fluff, lusting over wifey, angst

You’ve never done something like this before.

Correction. 

You’ve never done something like this before with Wanda. 

You’d lost count of how many parties you’ve gone to since starting at the clinic you were hired at right after graduation. There had been Halloween, New Year’s, and Christmas parties over the years, but it was no surprise to anyone which was your favorite. 

The parties were usually held at one of the doctor’s houses or a venue in town. Somehow, you’d avoided having to host at your place because although it was large enough, you definitely didn’t want anyone snooping around. You also knew it would be nightmare for security. One year you’d used Pietro’s house and that had gone pretty well, but you didn’t want to put him out again. Especially since he hadn’t been able to attend. 

This was exactly what you and Wanda were dealing with today.

You’d wanted Wanda to come with you to this year’s Halloween party hosted by the lead doctor at work. You’d thought about it a lot and you were convinced that if she dressed up enough, she would be unrecognizable. When the idea first came to you, you did extensive research to pick the best option for Wanda. Rather you picked the top three ideas and then presented them to your wife with a hopeful expression. You’d immediately disregarded matching costumes because that was one cliché you weren’t into. Your options had been narrowed down as well, and since you loved a good top hat, you were going to put together a steampunk outfit somehow. 

Wanda had met your options with reluctance. Not because she didn’t want to go with you, but as always, she was just worried that her disguise would fail. She didn’t want to be conceited enough to think that she’d be easily recognized, but she also didn’t want to risk the fallout associated with the alternative. You’d agreed, which is why all of the options for your wife included full, if not over the top make up.

“I’m not…can you explain this one again?” 

You remember how Wanda had shot you an uncertain look as she gestured to the picture you’d printed out of the costume you really wanted your wife to choose. 

It was from one of your favorite artist’s music videos and it involved pink hair, a suit, and makeup that made her look like a skeleton. 

A very hot skeleton.

You’d told your wife some of this, and since she’d recognized the artist’s name, she’d finally decided to go with it. 

“You’re sure you can find someone to do the make up?” 

You’d certainly considered this since as much as you’d like to give it a shot, you didn’t have the necessary skill. You talked to Nat and she’d used her connections to find someone in school to be a makeup artist. They’d already confirmed that they could do any of the three choices, and they were willing to sign an NDA.

It was all just up to your wife now. 

“Okay, let’s do that one then. It looks…cute.” 

You’d laughed at this, and you smile at the memory as you stand in the living room waiting for your wife to finish up.

It was the night of the party and you were already dressed and ready to go. Granted your costume didn’t involve quite as much work as your wife’s, but you’re still a little antsy to get going. You glance at your pocket watch. The one that you bought to go with this costume. It looked old and fit the theme perfectly, and it somehow cost less than $50. You know you’ll probably rarely use it after tonight, but it’s still worth it.

You’re excited to finally introduce your wife, or at least her alter ego, to everyone that you work with. You know it’s causing Wanda a fair amount of anxiety, but you’re going to do your best to reduce this as much as possible. You’ve prepared answers to any questions and you’ve practiced with Wanda a dozen times since she agreed to go to this party.

You’re ready.

Wanda’s regretting her decision to say yes to you. 

As much as she loves you, she’s not sure that this was the best idea. Her costume is coming together nicely, and she can’t say that she even recognizes herself in the mirror, but she’s still nervous. 

She has blue contacts in and her make up is almost completely done. Her pink blonde hair looks so out of character that she’d laugh if she wasn’t afraid of scaring her make-up artist. They already appeared a little on edge when they started, but as they’d gotten into their work they luckily seemed to relax. Wanda was trying to make small talk, but her own nerves made that minimal. 

She nearly jumps when she feels something brush against her legs and the hands in her lap. She glances down just enough to avoid getting poked in the eye, and she spots Rogue looking up at her curiously. She smiles at him and scratches his head before she realizes that he’s getting fur all over her. Luckily she’s not changed into her suit yet, but she’d hate to ruin the effect by showing up covered in fur.

Then again, if anyone will understand the plight, it will be a bunch of people in vet med. 

“Hey bud. Are you getting bored? We’re almost done here.” 

Not that she thinks Rogue will be any less bored soon since he’s not allowed to come tonight. The invite had kiddingly said that all pets were allowed, but there would be no pet sitters at the party. Not only did that sound like hell, but she is certain that Rogue would not do well. He’d probably stick to her side all night and she didn’t want that. She wanted to try and enjoy her time with you, and that would be much easier if she wasn’t worried about her dog while trying to maintain her cover.

Almost half an hour later, you glance up at the sound of the bedroom door opening. You smile when you see Rogue run out first, but you nearly drop your phone at the sight of your wife.

“Holy shit.” 

You’re smiling widely as you watch Wanda descend the stairs in all her glory. You try to focus on each part of the costume before taking it all in at once.

She hadn’t wanted to dye her hair for this so she’d found a very convincing wig. It’s long enough that the pink falls past her shoulders and down her back. 

The simple black suit with a white top looked tailored within an inch of its life, and you were obsessed with it. The dress shoes she wore were so new they shined and you don’t realize you’re staring until suddenly you catch a hint of your wife’s perfume. You look up and are immediately rendered dumb again at the precise, surprisingly flattering makeup. 

“Wow.” 

Wanda hadn’t failed to notice your attention, but she was a little preoccupied by your appearance to comment immediately. 

She’d seen you collecting pieces of your costume over the past few weeks, but this was the first time she was seeing it come together. She doesn’t realize that she’s stopped short and Rogue’s stumbled into her as she takes in your unreasonably attractive look.

You’re wearing a dark red tailcoat that extends down past your calves that are adorned in black boots that fall just short of your knees. Wanda focuses on the leather of the coat and how it tapers into a material that matches the red of your tight pants. Her gaze drifts back up to the elaborate belt and the corset that nearly makes her bite her lip. The corset dips into a V to reveal a hint of the black collared shirt you’re wearing underneath. 

“Well fuck.” 

You’re smiling widely as your wife finally meets your gaze before it flits to your personal favorite portion of your ensemble. The hat. 

You are wearing more jewelry than you usually do, and you’re not sure you can eat anything in the corset, but the look on your wife’s face is so worth it. 

“You like?” 

The unnecessary question is just met with a silent nod as Wanda reaches out for your gloved hands. She admires the gauntlets you’re wearing and the attention to detail that your costume required. She meets your gaze again with another muttered curse as she reaches up to touch the goggles that you have secured around your hat. You only considered wearing them briefly until you realized how hard it was to see through them.

You also had considered wearing a skirt or a dress, but this was a work party, and you didn’t want to overdo it. 

“You look fantastic, detka. Shit.” 

Wanda’s really regretting her decision to go to this party now because that means they need to leave soon, and she’d want nothing more than to stay here with you instead. She’d love to take off this costume piece by piece, but unfortunately, she’s going to have to wait.

You’re reaching out for Wanda, stopping just short of touching her face before your hand falls to one of her lapels. You play with Wanda’s fake pink locks with a grin of your own that tells your wife all she needs to know. That said, it never hurts to hear how much you appreciate her, out loud. 

“Thanks, babe. I’m a bit at a loss for words. You look so much better than I ever imagined. You did a great job, Lane!” 

The makeup artist that Wanda just realized was still here smiles politely before offering you a rushed thanks. You ask them to take a picture of you two before you let them flee to the car that brought them here to be escorted home. You gave them a hefty tip on top of their paltry fee, and since they signed the necessary documents to ensure their silence, you let them go with a thank you, but not another thought. 

“I’m kind of wishing I didn’t say I’d go to this party after all.” 

Wanda can’t help but laugh when you say this, and you have to resist the urge to lean in and kiss her. You don’t want to ruin her makeup. She sees you lean in slightly before falling back again and she offers you a sly grin.

“That’s going to have to wait. I’m also a little worried I can’t eat or drink anything at this party.

You’ll find out later that she can do both, she just has to be careful about it. You arrive a fashionably 30 minutes late only to be greeted by the lady of the house.

You smile widely and Wanda prepares herself for a night of niceties and subterfuge. 

“Y/n! Wow you look great! Oh goodness you must be Linda. It’s so nice to meet you!” 

That was the other thing about tonight. 

You had to remember that you were married to ‘Linda’ tonight, and that the woman beside you was in life insurance. It sold itself, but it was honestly not something very interesting to talk about which was key. 

You accept a hug from the taller doctor, and you send her a silent thank you when she just shakes Wanda’s hand before waving the two of you in. You can tell that Claire’s house is already full of your coworkers and their spouses, and you have to bite back a smile at the glee you feel at finally being able to introduce Wanda to them. You lead Wanda down the hall by the hand as you turn around to glance at the blonde with a knowing look.

The theme tonight had been very loosely thrown out by several people at work. Pop culture or media. Being the person that you were, you were very anxious about dressing up wrong, and Wanda had to remind you that it honestly didn’t matter. Pop culture or media could encapsulate practically anything.

Including a movie character. 

You pause momentarily before you speak up loudly enough for Wanda to hear you. She gives the blonde beside you a once over before realizing that she never would have guessed her costume if you hadn’t just told her.

“You look so much like Uma Thurman right now that it’s a little scary.” 

You note the yellow and black jumpsuit as you walk farther into the house where you catch normal music instead of something Halloween themed playing. That was one thing you didn’t enjoy about the holiday. The cheesy music. 

Claire laughs as she follows you to the open living room that has nearly two dozen people either talking, dancing, or enjoying the food and drinks. 

“It was Rick’s idea. He dressed up as Bill for some reason. I think he’s trying to tell me something, but I’m not quite sure what it is.” 

You stifle a loud laugh as you catch sight of the blonde’s husband at the counter mixing drinks dressed the part of a villain. 

You and Wanda make the rounds before either of you bother to grab a drink. You’d met multiple couples dressed up in a variety of costumes, and you think your favorite was a female couple dressed as Dracula and Freddy Krueger. 

Wanda’s paranoid as always and gets some bottle of beer while you get whatever was in the punch bowl. You smile at your wife lovingly as you lean against the small alcove beside the kitchen you’ve managed to escape to. You take a sip and spend the next few moments admiring Wanda’s still perfect suit and makeup. You are dying to kiss her, but as you watch her carefully sip from her bottle, you know that you’ll ruin her lipstick. The black lines carefully drawn across her lips have the effect of looking like teeth, and if you think too much about it, you’d be a little scared of her. 

The makeup doesn’t just stop at her face either. It extends down her neck, and any other exposed skin to make her look the part of a skeleton. The fingers circling the bottle are meticulously drawn on, and you’re surprised to see they’ve held up well to shaking half a dozen hands. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

You realize you’re caught when you meet Wanda’s gaze to see her shooting you a suspicious look. You don’t have time to respond before someone over her shoulder catches your attention. 

“Dr. Y/l/n, oh my God, I barely recognized you! You look so good!” 

You stand up a little straighter and offer a wide, genuine smile as you look over the younger woman’s outfit.

Meghan is one of the newer vet assistants at work, but she’s so quick to catch on that it feels as if she’s been there for years. She’s smart, a great multitasker, and you’re seriously going to miss her when she goes to vet school in a year. 

The brunette is dressed as Medusa and her long locks are styled to look like the snakes on top of her head. Her green dress glitters and has the appearance of scales that really bring her costume together. You say something about her hair, and she just smiles before she turns her attention to Wanda. 

“Thanks! I think that you win the coolest hair though. I was dying to wear pink but couldn’t make it work with this outfit.” 

She holds out a hand to Wanda who doesn’t hesitate to take it as she slips into her unthreatening wife-of-a-doctor persona. 

“I’m Meghan one of the vet assistants. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Wanda nods in agreement which you can tell is genuine. Of all the assistants at work, you talked about Meghan the most because she was usually a huge help on days you were there. You have to stop yourself from reacting when Wanda speaks up. 

“Linda. It’s nice to meet you too. Y/n has nothing but good things to say about you.” 

You watch in amusement as Megan blushes before she hurries to change the subject. She’s still so shy, and she tends to underestimate her value. She reminds you of someone else you know. 

“Oh, thank you. Now I have to ask since I know a bit about Dr. Y/l/n’s taste in music, but was the costume your idea or hers?”

You try not to flush at the question and the follow up questions that you’re sure your wife will ask. If not now, later. You usually mention your surgery days if they’re especially interesting, but you don’t think you’ve ever told Wanda about if they’re more relaxed. On these days, depending on who else is working, you’ll have music playing in the surgery suite, and sometimes your tastes are all over the place.

The last surgery day where you’d just had 5 dog neuters in a row, you’d been listening to early 2000’s pop. 

When you see Wanda smile wickedly, you know what’s about to happen. You’re just grateful that she chose Meghan to confide in because you’re certain you would have died of embarrassment if she’d told anyone else this. 

You watch Wanda lean in as if she’s telling a secret before she thoroughly throws you under the bus. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d be a little insulted that she spent nearly two weeks watching all of Lady Gaga’s and Brittney Spears's music videos to figure out my outfit.” 

From Meghan’s expression, you can see that the brunette can’t tell if Wanda’s joking. She quickly clears this up though as she shrugs and offers the younger woman a smile.

“I’d already thought of an idea myself, but I didn’t want to spoil her fun. I’m just glad she didn’t ask me to dress up as a dog or something.” 

Meghan laughs as you roll your eyes because seriously? You wouldn’t waste the opportunity to dress up your wife by putting her in a dog suit that drowned her. You suppose that putting her in that costume would have helped hide her identity, but you hadn’t wanted to do it like that. Selfishly, you wanted to show her off. You wanted people to see how beautiful and smart and kind your wife was. 

Maybe not so kind right now, but that was fine. You could take what she dished out. 

“That’s hilarious! I’m actually surprised she didn’t bring either of your dogs tonight. The costume she made Boone for Halloween was so cute!”

You had to admit that you’d done a pretty good job with his costume. You’d worked on Halloween and you hadn’t wanted to dress up, but you definitely hadn’t passed on the opportunity to put Boone in a cute outfit. You had dressed him up as a dogtor because it was practically expected. He had his own little white coat that you’d fitted out of one of your own. You gave him a fake stethoscope and bought him scrubs that wouldn’t be too hard to tailor to fit him. You’d honestly put in an entire weekend getting it together, but you didn’t regret it at all. Even when Boone peed in it because you’d overlooked one crucial detail. 

“Did she tell you how long she spent on it? Hours! I thought she was just going to buy something to have him carry around, but I honestly should have known better.” 

As your wife and Meghan laugh and talk about you like you’re not there, you glance around the room curiously. You’ve met most of the people here already and you’re honestly getting a little tired. Tonight, has been a lot, and despite having fun, you can tell that your social battery has drained a lot since walking through the front door. You find your host and smile at the sight of her talking to a Velma and Daphne. You take another sip of your drink, but you stop short when something fuzzy brushes against your leg. You look down and see a small tortie staring at you. Your smile widens as you kneel to scratch the purring cat.

“Wan—Um Lin, look a cat!” 

Wanda looks down at you a little startled, but this quickly melts away when she sees the furry creature head butting your knees. She offers a small smile before she shakes her head with an adoring look that makes you glad that it’s too dark for anyone to see you blush from down here. 

“Cute. Leave it to you to find a cat to hang out with.” 

You start slightly when the cat jumps onto your knees, but you recover quickly and scoop her up into your arms. You scratch beneath her chin as you come face to face with your wife who is such a big faker sometimes that you can’t help but point it out. 

“Yes, cats are the worst. I don’t know how you even have one when you can’t stand them.” 

The teasing tone is the only reason that Wanda doesn’t start an argument right here in the middle of a party. She reaches out to scratch the adorable cat who’s getting fur all over you as she glances at you before sparing Meghan a look. She can’t have the brunette thinking that she actually hates cats. She’s married to a vet for Dog’s sake. 

“You’re one to talk, detka. Fletcher knows I love her and that’s why I’m the favorite.” 

Meghan snickers at this and you’re temporarily distracted by the pet name that you didn’t think Wanda would risk using here. You just sigh and smile dopily as the cat that has basically adopted you starts to play with Wanda’s bowtie. Her claws sink into it and she bites it furiously until it starts to give. You consider rescuing your wife, but she looks the most relaxed she’s been since walking in here, so you let it go on for her sake. 

You hear someone call Meghan’s name, and you turn to see another couple of assistants with what look like shot glasses. You’re so grateful to be out of your twenties. Meghan gives them the universal sign of ‘one second’ before she turns back to you with a smile. 

“Duty calls. It was good seeing you. Have fun with Misty.” 

You realize belatedly that this is the cat that Wanda’s still snuggling with, and you grin before something occurs to you.

“Have fun with all that alcohol. Find me before you leave? I brought the many pins you let me borrow last week.” 

Your costume, although cute, had been close to falling apart when Boone kept tripping over his stethoscope. Meghan had come to your rescue with nearly 10 bobby pins that you’d only realized you’d forgotten to return when you arrived home that night.

Meghan nods in agreement, and waves goodbye to Wanda before she’s off. You and Wanda are left alone, relatively speaking, with Misty the cat.

“She’s lovely.” 

You figure that Wanda’s talking about Meghan, and not the cat, but you can’t be sure. You only nod in agreement before reaching out to free one of Misty’s claws from the crumbling bowtie. Wanda smiles at you and then her eyes widen in surprise when Misty turns toward you and starts to swat at your face. Or more specifically your hat. 

“Y/n, she’s --.” 

You don’t have time to flee before Misty reaches out her paw for the feather that’s tucked beneath the goggles on your hat. You curse and try not to freak out when suddenly you have a cat clinging to your hat and hanging in front of your face. Wanda reaches out to grab her and you’re carefully, but quickly extricating yourself from your hat when hear laughing. 

You have an armful of cat in your hat by the time you realize your boss has come to your rescue. You see Claire walking toward you with Bill—Rick, who has a feather toy in hand. You try not to feel ridiculous as you drop to the floor and try to roll Misty onto the carpet. 

“I should have warned you, Y/n. She’s obsessed with feathers.”

You laugh despite thinking ‘no shit’, but you breathe a sigh of relief when the tortie spots her favorite toy and leaves your hat on the ground with nothing but a lot of fur to show for it. 

You stand up and brush out your hat as much as possible before you shoot the blonde a smile. 

“To be fair, I shouldn’t have to be warned about that.” 

You and Wanda take a moment to gather yourselves. After you help her untie her ruined bowtie, and leave it hanging from her neck in a way that’s somehow even hotter, she puts your hat back on your head.

“You’re so cute, Y/n.” 

You want to defend yourself because you’re sure Wanda’s poking fun at you, but you don’t get a chance. Wanda carefully leans in and presses her lips to yours in a soft kiss. She figures that it was worth it when you pull away a little dazed and free of the black streaks that cover her own lips. She smiles at you again before reaching out to grab your gloved hands. She brushes the cat hair off of them and your corset before she sighs inaudibly.

“Are you having fun?” 

Wanda asks this a bit later after you’ve finished your drinks and met a few more people. It’s nearing 10 o’clock and you’re honestly ready to leave. You figure you need to find the host before you duck out, but you decide to take a couple of minutes to hold your wife close where you’re settled on one of the loveseats. You are surrounded by people, but you only pay attention to Wanda who’s pressed into your side and leaning her head against your shoulder. 

You eventually nod before looking around for Claire. You don’t see her immediately, but you’re not too worried. She’s been an impeccable host as always, so you’re certain she’ll catch you right as you head for the door. 

“I am, but I’m getting tired. We better get home before I don’t have the energy to take all of this off.” 

Wanda opens her eyes when you say this and she spares your outfit a glance, as if she hasn’t been looking at it all night, and hums. She makes sure no one is within earshot before she offers you a smile. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Y/n. I’d be happy to help you.” 

You don’t doubt this, and you smirk before summoning the energy to sit up. You suddenly want to be home. 

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I would of course, love to return the favor.” 

Wanda laughs at you as you stand up and hold out a hand to help her to her feet. She grabs it and you tug her to her feet fast enough to make her yelp in surprise. She shoots you a glare when you laugh at her, and she makes a point of dropping your hand and walking away without looking back. You roll your eyes with a smile before you hurry after her obediently and meet her in the kitchen where Claire’s reappeared. She’s collecting dishes and stacking them in the sink for later when she spots the two of you. 

“Hey, calling it a night?” 

You smile before you nod and glance around the cluttered kitchen. There are glasses, cups, bottles, and plates everywhere. Wanda stands behind you, likely surveying the area with a similar intention.

“We were, but we wanted to see if we could help with anything before we headed out.” 

It took a bit of convincing, but you’d helped throw out some of the bottles and get the dishes loaded into the dishwasher before you were being shooed out of the kitchen. You hugged the other doctor again before thanking her for hosting. You and Wanda are near the front door before you remember what you’d told Meghan. You mention that you’ll grab them from the car and bring them back in, and Claire simply nods before claiming that she’ll give them to her for you. 

You keep chatting as you walk to your car with Wanda, and you vaguely register the presence of other cars as you duck into the passenger side and reach for the console. 

“Here they are. Thank her for--.”

“Freeze! Don’t move!”

You jump in surprise and then nearly stumble back in terror as you turn and see someone pointing a gun at you. They’re standing by the street but they’re crossing the lawn in quick, purposeful steps. You stiffen and faintly register Wanda gripping your arm tightly as she pulls you back against her. 

“Y/n.” 

She realizes before you do that this person isn’t a threat. They’re dressed as a cop and they’re not even looking at you or her. Their focus is on Claire who’s already scowling at the new arrival. Wanda doesn’t know who this is, but that’s less important to her than addressing your obvious anxiety. 

“Campbell what the hell are you doing here?” 

The brunette with the fake gun leers before he closes the distance between them in a hug that Claire looks like she’d refuse if she could.

“Don’t be like that Sis. I’m here for the party.” 

You’re just starting to breathe again as you watch the exchange play out with a dull sense of awareness that’s clouded by your anxiety. You try to shake your shock, but it’s hard and you’re still looking terrified when the duo turns back to you. 

“You’re about three hours late for that, but go on. Rick’s inside.”

Campbell is about to head inside, but he spares you and Wanda a look first. You’re not sure what he planned on saying, but the look on your face must be enough to clue him in. Wanda bites back a curse and you flinch at the question and the unwanted attention.

“Shit, you okay?” 

Claire turns to you and you force yourself to speak before she gets a chance. You’re not even sure if you’d decided what to say before the words are falling out of your mouth. 

“Fine. You startled me, is all.” 

You see the exact moment that Claire gets it, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling in shame. It would have been impossible to get off work for so long without disclosing to your boss what happened to you. At least the extent of your injuries. When you’d been kidnapped from work and then hurt by Rumlow, well you’d taken months off of work. You’d been in the hospital for a while, and even though you can’t be sure because of all the drugs you were on, you think that Claire visited you.

You’d told her later that you’d been shot, and despite returning to work without any complications, the incident stuck with you. It was impossible to ignore the effect of the traumatic experience.

Even months later, the idea of someone pointing a gun at you nearly threw you into a panic attack. 

You feel Wanda press herself against your back as an arm circles your waist, but you can’t relax. Not yet. 

“Campbell go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Her brother looks like he wants to argue but instead he just shrugs and heads out. He says something to you that you completely miss along with Wanda smiling politely in response, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. You’re in survival mode and you immediately work out how you can get out of here as quickly as possible. You glance up at Claire before your gaze darts to the front door where you see Campbell disappearing. Someone’s standing in the doorway though and you nearly curse when you see Meghan looking confused.

You nearly shove the bobby pins that you miraculously held onto into the blonde’s hand with a pained smile.

“Here you go. Thank you again for tonight.” 

Wanda’s reaching into your pocket for the car keys, but you barely notice as you watch a range of emotions play out on your boss’s face. Concern, confusion, and then understanding.

“Are you going to be alright?” 

You manage to make your smile appear a little more genuine before you nod and manage a quick one-armed hug before ducking into your car. 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” 

You wait until Wanda says her goodbyes and gets into the driver’s seat before you take a deep breath. You watch in the rearview mirror as Claire hesitates for a moment before turning around and heading back into the house. If you had to guess Campbell’s going to get an earful, but you can’t think about that right now. You watch both her and Meghan disappear into the house before you realize that Wanda’s holding your hand. She’s started the car, but she’s turned toward you with a concerned look. She reaches out for you, but she stops short when you flinch. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry he scared you. I’m not sorry that Claire’s going to chew him out for it, but he didn’t know. He’s not a threat to either of us, okay?” 

You just nod a couple of times as you try to process what she’s said. You take a deep breath before removing your hat and holding it in your lap. You feel like you can’t breathe deeply enough in this outfit, and you really want to get home so you can take it off. Wanda seems to realize your dilemma as you start to take slow deep breaths. She buckles up and starts off down the street toward home. 

“Let me get you home, so I can take care of you.”

You crack a smile at this and you can’t help but sneak another look at your wife’s suit. Damn you hope she wears it again after this. You fiddle with your hat for a moment before you clear your throat. 

“I seem to remember you promised to help me take all of this off. Is that still on the table?” 

Wanda rolls her eyes at the question despite the fact that she’s glad to hear you ask. She doesn’t think that what you’d originally intended is still on the table, but she’ll just have to see what happens. Usually anything that triggers your anxiety like this leads to overwhelming exhaustion shortly after. 

Either way, she’s happy to do whatever you need to feel better. She doesn’t want tonight to be tainted by this incident. She’s glad she came out with you, and she’s even happier that you seemed to have fun. She would have to do some serious damage control, but hopefully dressing down, cuddling, and spending time with your fur babies will be enough. 

“We’ll see, detka.”

Masterlist

[aspenmissing]

Hello again! I've sent you this request:

"Heyyy! Would you be able to write a friends-to-lovers story with Reader x Young Silco? Where they have their special moment like Ekko and Powder had in the timebomb episode from season 2 🥰"

Sorry for the irritation! I've meant the dancing scene between Ekko and Powder. Where Ekko was happy for the first time in yeaaars.

Maybe Silco and Reader spending a nice evening with their friends (Vander, Felicia) in "The Last Drop". Reader loves to dance and Silco is watching her from afar. Felicia animates him to dance with Reader (and that he'll maybe finally confess his feeling to her). But he don't need to ask Reader for a dance, because she is already pulling him to the dance floor.

The two of them share a moment of joy and Silco starts to realize his feelings for Reader. Maybe he'll confess during the dance or afterwards. It's up to you :D

ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 1048 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ɴᴏ ɴᴏ ɴᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏ ɪʀʀɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛᴇꜱᴛ! ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴀꜱ ɪʀʀɪᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ! ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ Qᴜɪᴄᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ꜰᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ! < 3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜰᴇʟɪᴄɪᴀ

The Last Drop was alive with energy that night, filled with laughter, music, and the scent of cheap ale and warm food. The dim lanterns flickered against the walls, casting golden hues over the gathered patrons. The rhythmic pounding of feet against the wooden floorboards blended with the melody of a lively tune, strings and percussion weaving together into something that made the very air hum with life.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N danced.

She moved effortlessly, spinning and swaying to the beat, a bright contrast to the smoky air and the rough crowd. Her laughter rang out, light and unrestrained, as she twirled away from one partner and into the arms of another, drinking in the moment with abandon. She was radiant—unapologetically alive in a way that Silco had never been.

From the shadowed corner of the bar, he watched her.

Silco leaned against the counter, fingers curled loosely around the rim of his drink, his mismatched eyes following her every move. He told himself it was just a habit—watching, observing, calculating. But that excuse had worn thin long ago. The truth sat heavy in his chest, impossible to ignore.

“Stars above, you’re staring,” Felicia teased, nudging his arm with her elbow. She grinned knowingly as she took a sip of her own drink. “Again.”

Vander chuckled beside her, shaking his head as he lifted his tankard. “The boy’s got it bad.”

Silco scoffed, tearing his gaze away just long enough to shoot them a glare. “I’m simply observing.”

“Observing,” Felicia echoed with mock seriousness. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Silco exhaled sharply through his nose and brought his glass to his lips. “Yes.”

Vander let out another rumbling laugh, slapping a heavy hand on Silco’s shoulder. “Come on, mate. You think we don’t notice? You’re always watching her. Always making sure she’s safe. Always finding a reason to talk to her.”

Felicia smirked. “You should ask her to dance.”

Silco stiffened. “I don’t dance.”

Vander took a long sip of his drink, considering. “You sure about that? Seems to me the only reason you don’t is ‘cause you’re afraid.”

Silco bristled. “I’m not afraid.”

Felicia arched a brow. “So you’re saying you’ll do it?”

“I—” Silco started, but before he could finish, the universe decided to conspire against him.

Y/N turned, her gaze scanning the room as if she had heard their conversation. The moment her eyes landed on Silco, she smiled—that soft, knowing smile that had always had the power to unravel him. He barely had a moment to react before she was moving toward him, weaving through the crowd with undeniable purpose.

Felicia barely stifled her laugh. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Silco tensed, gripping his glass as if it could anchor him. But when Y/N reached him, all sense of stability vanished.

“Come dance with me,” she said, her voice warm with laughter.

Silco opened his mouth to refuse, but before he could protest, she reached out, fingers curling around his wrist. And then she pulled.

Y/N was deceptively strong for her size. In one fluid motion, she had him stumbling after her onto the dance floor, leaving behind the chuckles of Vander and Felicia. He barely had time to process what was happening before she spun to face him, her hands lifting to guide his into place—one at her waist, the other clasped in hers.

=

The music slowed, shifting into something deeper, smoother—a melody meant for two. The bodies around them swayed and twirled in pairs, but Silco only saw her.

“You’re terrible at hiding your feelings, you know,” Y/N murmured, amusement dancing in her voice.

Silco blinked, caught off guard. “I—”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” she continued, tilting her head slightly to look up at him. “How you always make sure I’m safe? How you always find an excuse to be near me?”

Silco felt heat rise to his face. Damn Felicia and her meddling. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he swallowed and tightened his hold on her, letting himself move with her, guided by the music, by the moment, by her.

“And if I did have feelings for you?” he asked, voice quieter than before.

Y/N smiled, leaning in just a little closer. “Then I’d say it’s about time you admitted it.”

Silco exhaled a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still dancing with me.”

He had no argument for that. He simply let himself exist in the moment, in the warmth of her touch, in the way she fit so perfectly against him. The world outside the Last Drop faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in something unspoken yet undeniable.

The song began to fade, the last notes lingering in the air, but neither of them stepped away.

“I—” Silco started, then hesitated. It felt as though he was standing at the edge of something vast, something terrifying and exhilarating all at once. But Y/N was looking at him, waiting, and he suddenly found that falling might not be so bad.

So he took a breath, steadying himself. And then, softly, deliberately, he said, “I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, Silco feared he had made a mistake. But then she smiled—a smile that made his chest ache in the best way.

“Good,” she murmured, tilting her chin up. “Because I’ve loved you just as long.”

Silco barely had time to process the words before Y/N closed the space between them, her hands sliding up to cup his face. Her lips met his, soft yet insistent, and Silco found himself sinking into the kiss, his grip on her tightening as if she might slip away. The noise of the bar melted into the background, the warmth of her touch eclipsing everything else.

From the bar, Vander and Felicia exchanged knowing glances. “Took him long enough,” Vander muttered, chuckling into his drink.

Felicia smirked. “Told you he just needed a push.”

Neither of them noticed, nor did they care. Because for once, Silco was too lost in the moment to care about anything else.

[writing-mlm]

When Will I see you again?

Summary: After the second task, Cedric can’t keep his feelings for his best friend a secret. Things don’t go as plan after the third task, though. Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Male!Reader Wc: 5.3k tags/warnings: ravenclaw reader, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, coma, draco is a dick, HP slander a/n: obligatory I would curb stomp jkr if given the chance

The Great Hall’s entrance was filled with students, all of whom were waiting for the clock to strike eight and the doors would open. Partners from separate houses were finding each other on the edges of the crowd; thankfully you hadn’t been one of those. Ever the gentleman Cedric had waited at the top of Ravenclaw’s staircase for you. Even if he hadn’t asked you in a romantic sense and said you were going as mates. Cho had declined his offer and you weren’t all that interested in the girls at school. 

No other reason. 

Soon after getting to the crowd Professor McGonagall had called the champions to the front of it. You’d seen Krum and Hermione and took a second for yourself, surely the eighteen-year-old Quidditch star hadn't asked out the barely fifteen-year-old Hermione? 

You didn’t feel strange in the line of pairs, standing behind Hermione but in front of Parvati. It felt right to be considered Cedric’s partner for the Yule Ball. 

Cedric carefully wrapped his hand around your elbow as the rest of the students entered the Great Hall. His grip was loose until McGonagall told the champions to follow after her where his fingers tightened around your satin blazer. You felt him take a deep breath with each step, the applause from all sides felt deafening but at least most of the attention was on Harry and not the two guys walking together. 

But it wasn’t as though you weren’t known together. While Cedric was known as the human embodiment of the Hufflepuff values, you were his Ravenclaw best friend. Friends since your first year after he’d helped you get the courage to get on a broom during lessons. Such good friends that other Ravenclaws stopped being surprised when you cheered for Cedric during Hufflepuff Vs. Ravenclaw games.

It’s just now you’re older and slowly growing out of the hormonal phase that awakened certain things in you. And Cedric. Although smart as you were, you were convinced he was thoroughly set on dating Cho Chang. And she's lovely, if you were into the girls at school you’d probably go for her, too. 

Your eyes catch her on the dance floor, dancing with some random Gryffindor guy with a tight smile and barely hidden boredom whenever they would talk between dancing. The guy looked fine, though. Content even. 

You admittedly hadn’t danced much that night, at least not nearly as much as other people did. On Cedric’s own account, he would’ve had a heart attack if he held you so close again without being able to hold you closer. He couldn’t bear staring at your face as he held you without his face turning red. How his hands would get so sweaty he’d need a second to wipe them on his shirt without you taking notice because you’d been trying to do the same thing. 

So, sitting and eating was the next best thing. Laughing and talking about whatever you wanted until it was time to leave. He’d found Harry and told him about some of the tournament business while you waited at the bottom of the staircase, messing with the yellow corsage he’d gifted you at the beginning of the night. 

That night he walked you back to the top of the tower and lingered behind, feeling as if he ended the night on such an open note it would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

—

Anyone who’s friends with Cedric knows he wakes up an hour before breakfast. He spends thirty minutes getting dressed and then spends the rest of the time wandering about the grounds before it’s time to eat. Everyone also knows that at some point during the wandering, you appear at his side. 

His routine was a little different today considering today was the second task and he was a bit anxious. This time he waited near Ravenclaw Tower for you, he’d seen most of your housemates walking past him and then one of your roommates. Cedric catches him before he can walk too far away and asks about you. Your roommate shrugs, they haven’t seen you since last night. 

Now, Cedric doesn’t panic. You’ve probably fallen asleep in the library again and you’re waiting in the Great Hall. That happens about once a month. So, he goes to the hall and looks around for you. He sees the blue robes from your house but he doesn’t see you. 

Now he’s a little worried. His leg bounces as he eats his breakfast, eyes focused on the hall doors before McGonagall once again gathers the champions and he’s off to the lake with Fleur and Krum. He notes that Harry isn’t there yet but that wasn’t where his focus was. 

He stares into the lake, wondering where you are as his fingers dance across the yarn of your friendship bracelet made with the grace of a twelve-year-old boy. 

He doesn’t catch when Harry arrives right before the task starts, his head snapping over to Bagman when his voice booms through his ears. 

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…three!” A whistle echoes through the cold air, quickly drowned out by the sound of cheering from the stands. 

Cedric quickly uses a bubble charm before he dives into the icy water. He fights the urge to swim back up as his body shivers, fighting against the water as he swims aimlessly in the deep gray-lit water. Fish dart past him as he swims and he panics at the sight of an arm in his peripheral when he gets closer to the bottom of the lake. There’s no one else around him, though. He double-checks and then triple-checks. He can’t see anyone— no, he squints through his bubble and sees Harry. He’s spotting whatever they’re chasing and he swims in the same direction. 

He fights through the wildlife and creatures that try to attack him, namely the grindylows emerging from the weeds. But his focus is more on what he’s approaching. There’s a statue of a merperson and attached to its tail are four bound people. Fleur’s sister, Ron, Hermione, and you. All of whom look to be sleeping, heads lax on your shoulders, and bubbles rising from your mouth with each breath. 

He panics— blinking wildly at the sight because he’d been so worried something happened to you and this… this was crazy. What if he hadn’t known the charm? What would’ve happened if the merpeople had turned on you? What if he didn’t make it down within the hour time frame? 

(We've taken what you’ll sorely miss— that’s what the clue had said. But past an hour, the prospects black. Too late, it’s gone. It won’t come back.) 

You won’t come back to him if he’s late. You’re what he’ll sorely miss and he knows they’re right. He knows deep in his heart that taking you was like taking his oxygen, taking you would destroy him in ways he couldn’t— doesn’t want to— imagine. 

Somehow Harry’s already there, arguing with merpeople who stop him from freeing everyone. He tells Harry to hurry, he knows Fleur and Krum are close behind him and as much as he wants to win he also doesn’t want Harry to get anything less than second place. 

He pulls out a knife from his pocket and cuts through the ropes of weed. Once his knife drags all the way through, he grabs you by the waist and swims up. He doesn’t waste his time checking on Harry or the others. He only cares that he gets you up to the surface. That you wake up. 

His head breaks through the surface of the water and the cold air stings his face as the bubble pops. Immediately his eyes check on you, the voices from the sounds nothing but noise until your eyes open and you cough up some of the lake water. 

“Thank Merlin,” Cedric pants and drags himself to the edge, pushing you up before he pulls himself up to the bank as well. 

“You won?” You chitter, the cold hitting you all at once. Someone hands the two of you thick blankets as Madam Pimfrey shoves a hot potion down your throats that wakes the two of you up a little bit. 

“I thought you were dead,” He admits, opening his blanket to let you inside. You shake your head as you sit on a bench, head resting on his shoulder because despite having slept for hours, you’re quite tired still. 

“Dumbledore bewitched us to sleep, last night McGonagall asked to see me. Thought she found out about me sneaking books out of the library,” You joke to try and lighten his clearly down mood. He hasn’t looked away from you since the moment he resurfaced, his heart hasn’t stopped hammering.

He never wants to experience worry like this ever again— even if in hindsight there was never any real danger. He blinks, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare at him, worried because he hasn’t said anything aside from that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? How he feels about you— about this? Surely that isn’t it. 

Cedric is Hufflepuff’s golden boy. Truly he is Hogwarts' golden boy; he’s the kindest, most honest person to grace the infamous halls. He always has a smile on his face and he stands up for what he knows is right. But he’s afraid he hasn’t been entirely honest with you. His best friend. 

He doesn’t know how to flat-out say he’s in love with you, that he has been since your fourth year. 

“Cedric,” You whisper, wiping a tear from him. He’s been thinking so much that everyone has come back and he hasn’t noticed. Missed that Fleur didn’t finish the task and Harry had brought her sister up instead. “I wasn’t in danger, I’m alright.”

“I…” He blinks, holding your wrist. “I’m in love with you.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision!” Bagmen announces and you flinch but don’t look away from Cedric. Your eyes are wide and your heart thumping behind your ribcage. He doesn’t look away either, looking between your eyes. 

“I have been for a while but I was… terrified seeing you down there,” He continues and you tune out Bagman until you hear Cedric’s name. 

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the crowd cheer. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.” 

“One minute off,” You whine, rolling your eyes. Cedric laughs, his forehead pressed against yours as the judges list off the remaining scores. Krum had gotten forty and Harry had gotten forty-five, putting Cedric in first place for the task and tied with Harry for first overall. 

You smile at him as you tell him your findings. He just nods, his nose knocking into yours before you’re herded into the castle by Madam Pomfrey to get dry clothes. He holds your hand the whole way there, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

The two of you are put in separate rooms to change, as are the other champions and the hostages and it gives the two of you entirely too much silence and time to overthink. 

Being in love with your best friend is difficult, especially if you’re queer. There’s the added layer of are they also queer? Because you know for a fact Cedric had real feelings for Cho, so he’s not gay. But there’s a plethora of things he could be… into you wasn’t one you really thought about, though. Even if you joke kissed that one time at a post-game party after a dare. 

Being in love with your best friend and admitting it is crazy. Cedric spends the whole time getting changed worrying that he’s ruined everything. He’s sure he’s going to leave the room and you’re going to ignore him. That things are going to be different for all the wrong reasons but he couldn’t keep it a secret for another second. He just couldn’t. And he’s not sorry about that. 

But, he’s pleasantly surprised when you’re waiting in front of the room he was changing in. Your back pressed to the wall with your hands behind you, staring at the floor until you heard the door opening. Standing up straight, you smile at Cedric and fix your jumper over your pants out of nervous habit. 

“Hi,” 

“Hi,” He carefully closes the door behind him while you look up and down the corridor. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm… I just…” Staring at him, you shrug. “Do you want to go on a date next weekend? Madam Puddifoot’s Tea shop, maybe?” He smiles brightly and nods all the while you try and contain your own reaction. “Cool… well… they’re also having a celebration for you winning first place after dinner. Ravenclaw’s hosting, I’m supposed to bring you,”

“So we have three hours to plan our date?” He holds his hand out for you. 

“I doubt we’ll need that much time,” You laugh, taking his hand. He just shrugs and guides you to where the two of you normally hang out. “Besides, I’m taking you. You don’t get to plan anything!” 

“Fine,” He dramatically sighs. 

—

By the third task, you’re still not an official couple. There’s no rush on putting a label just yet, you both agreed to it when a friend mentioned that for two people going on weekly dates, you two don’t seem any closer to dating. 

Besides, there’s a tournament to win. 

You settled in the stands of the Quidditch field which looked completely different with the twenty-foot tall hedges that ran all the way around the edge. You spot Cedric amongst the champions as he fiddles with his wand. He spots you, too, waving as you sit next to his father and mother. You’re unsure of why you’re allowed to sit in the family stands, but it’s all the same to Cedric— easier to spot the three most important people in his life, too. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Trizward Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each— Mr. Cedric Diggory, both of Hogwarts School!” You cheer along with the rest of Hogwarts, loud enough that the birds in the forest fly away from the harsh noise. 

Harry and Cedric go in first and once they disappear, you can’t see them. There’s no magical broadcast and so, you’re left in the dark of what’s happening inside of the maze. So, you talk with his parents and then Ron’s family to pass the time.

You’re unsure of how much time passed before you see Harry slam into the ground with Cedric. Everyone cheers but you squint. Surely you’re seeing it wrong, right? That’s not what you’re seeing.

“Mr. Diggory…?”

“I see it, too,” He whispers and the two of you break into a sprint down the stands. By that point, Harry and Cedric are crowded by Fudge, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dumbledore as screams echo throughout the stands. 

You make it there long before Mr. Diggory does, sliding on the grass once you're close enough to reach him. He’s laid there, eyes closed and body unmoving. He looks as though he’s in pain yet still as if that’s how he… 

You cup his face, sobs bubbling through your chest and out your mouth, as he lies there. Your head shakes as you examine him and Harry keeps muttering something. An explanation, apologies— you don’t know. You can’t hear anything over your sobs and the shouts from Mr. Diggory. Cupping his face again, lay your head on his chest before you feel it. 

…thump….thump thump….

You gasp and sit up, checking his neck before you cry out. 

“He’s alive!” You choke, pulling him into your chest and rocking him back and forth. “He’s alive!” You declare as Mr. Diggory approaches, carefully, you set him back down so he can see for himself. He checks for himself as Dumbledore calls over Madam Pomfrey and he cheers, kissing Cedric’s head and holding his limp hand tightly in his. 

—

The killing curse. That’s what Harry said. Voldemort or someone had used the killing curse on Cedric after they both grabbed the portkey. He was dead. Cedric was dead for over five minutes. They don’t know what happened but he was dead one second and alive the next. You didn’t care for answers, how could you when all you could hear was the fact that he was alive? 

Sitting at his bedside, you stroke his hairline as he sleeps. A coma, alive but in a coma. It was better than dead, you keep reminding yourself when you find yourself frowning at his sleeping figure. Mr. Diggory allowed for him to remain at Hogwarts, he and his wife agreed that when Cedric wakes up, he should be somewhere he’s familiar with. He’ll want to see you as soon as possible. 

It’s only been a week but they’ve visited him on the weekends. You think they’re staying in a nearby inn for the time being. He looks about the same, though. He doesn’t look ill or dead. Just asleep. The magic Madam Pomfrey and medical professionals use on him keeps him alive and thriving according to them. You try to learn about it when you can but your brain is mush half of the time. The other half is replaying how he looked when he was dead. 

“Would you like to comb his hair?” A nurse asks and you nod, thanking her as you grab the comb and start gently working through his hair. You tell him about your day, about classes. About how he and Harry were declared the winners of the tournament. Harry declined the trophy altogether, insisting that it goes to Cedric instead. 

You glance at it on his bedside table. You’re unsure of who brought it, probably Dumbledore or something. You describe it to him, how shiny it is. How it looks like a giant goblet and you’ll definitely pour some good booze in there as soon as you can. Celebrate with him. 

A part of you waits for him to talk, to fill in the caps of silence but it doesn’t come. But you still talk. You talk about how there’s some new drama in your house. About how Cho keeps asking you if he’s okay. She wants to visit but she doesn’t know if she should. She doesn’t want to impose. You laugh and ask him if there’s someone you need to worry about. 

He still doesn’t answer. 

Setting the comb down, you stare at him for a while before checking the time. It’s nearly dinner time but you’re not hungry. You haven’t been for a week but you still eat. You guess skipping one dinner wouldn’t be so bad so you climb into the bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. 

His heart is a steady rhythm under your ear, there’s a warmth to his body that makes you want to fall asleep faster and you do. 

Sometime later, when visiting hours officially end, Madam Pomfrey goes to tell you it’s time but finds you fast asleep. She sighs and debates waking you up before she decides against it. She’s not cruel. 

—

“And then Snape had the audacity to assign a mountain of homework,” You grumble as you angrily eat your lunch next to Cedric. It’s been two weeks of the coma, fourteen days of spending all of your free time in the infirmary, three hundred and thirty-six hours of not knowing if Cedric is going to wake up again. You know he is. He has to. You don’t just survive the killing curse only to die in a coma. He wouldn’t do that. You know it. 

Rather frustratingly Hogwarts is currently split in two on the topic. There are those who think he won’t wake up and those who know he will. No one talks about it around you, though. They’re not that insensitive, you guess. You still hear it, of course, whispers travel far, and first years aren’t all that good at whispering. 

You don’t care about either side. This isn’t some weird little bet like it was with Harry and Cedric. It was weird and you’ve been slowly dealing with it. Nothing harmful, not in a way they could prove, at least. It’s hard to trace back the sudden appearance of zits forming the words Prat on someone’s forehead. 

“Our professors are still giving me those sad looks,” You admit, pushing the food around with the back of your fork. “It’s like I walk into a room and suddenly all they can think about is how I’m… here? I don’t know. But they keep asking me if I'm okay and that I should sleep more.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “They’re the ones giving us crazy amounts of homework. I don’t envy the work you’re gonna do when you wake up. But I’ll be here to help you study, of course.”

The doors open and you peek behind you, seeing his parents walking inside. They look how you feel but they smile as you look at each other. You wave as you stand up to give them space with their son.

“Ah, your folks are here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” Squeezing his hand, you collect your stuff and leave for your dorm where you sleep until you’re woken up from your nightmare. From there, you sneak down to the infirmary and sit on the floor next to his bed. 

It’s incredibly quiet inside of there. Only one other student is there for breaking a bone. She’ll be out in the morning. You find yourself hating her for that and have to stop yourself from getting angry at a thirteen-year-old for being able to walk around. 

Madam Pomfrey catches you during her rounds and crosses her arms as you sheepishly smile at her. She sighs and motions you to lie down. You thank her as you lay next to Cedric but she doesn’t acknowledge it as she walks away. 

—

The infirmary is cold, colder than you would’ve expected but it is starting to snow so you guess it’s to be expected. Thankfully, you’re wearing Cedric’s Hufflepuff sweater to keep you warm. It still smells like him, you don’t know why you expected it not to, but when you put it on you’re ashamed to admit you cried for nearly an hour. 

“If this is payback for the second task,” You start, your voice wavering as you stare down at Cedric’s unmoving body. “It’s gone on entirely too long. Wake up, Cedric. Please,” Your voice cracks as you fall into the chair. Covering your mouth, you stare at him as he remains unmoving. You just want something, anything to prove that he’s not a husk of a person. Something other than his breathing. Maybe a cough. You’ll even take a wheeze. A sneeze. Anything. 

“Merlin,” Looking away, you inhale and look back at him. “I’ll do anything you ask, promise! I’ll eat those nasty snacks you like that taste like puke. I’ll drink cold tea for a year! I’ll… it doesn’t matter what you ask as long as you wake up!” But he doesn’t move. He hasn’t moved since they set him on that fucking cot. He doesn’t stir, he doesn’t snore. He just lays there and you’re expected to be happy that he is. That the only sign he’s alive is his shallow breathing and his chest rising. 

A nurse walks in for his daily medication and you don’t watch as she makes him drink it. You just hold his hand, playing with his growing nails before quietly asking for a nail clipper. He doesn’t like them long, they poke him. It also gets caught on his clothes, so he keeps them pretty low. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna paint your nails if you don’t wake up,” You decide as you’re clipping his nails. “Yup. Neon pink and green. So, you better wake up soon.” Dusting his nails off, you look at him for a sign that he’s listening. Any sign, really. But there’s none and you quietly sigh before climbing into bed next to him. 

Looking up at him, you kiss his shoulder before tucking your head into his chest. It’s not dinner yet, it’s barely even lunch but you don’t want to be awake right now. You’re tired of the reminders, tired of looking at him in the white bed under the white blanket. You miss his smile and laugh that you can only see in your dreams now. 

—

“I got detention for a week,” You angrily admit as you toss yourself onto the chair next to him. It’s been four weeks of him being in a coma. His hair has grown a bit, you didn’t notice until recently. “They were going to give me longer but said because of my situation it’ll only be a week.” You use air quotes as you say ‘situation’, angrily looking around as though someone was going to agree with you. 

“Bloody Malfoy running his fucking mouth about you. Laughing with his little mates who have their tongues down his throat, his little lap dogs without a fucking brain! Talkin’ about you being a lost cause and a…” You stop as you find yourself getting angry again. “I knocked him out. He’s awake now, I wasn’t allowed in here until he left.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You need to calm down. Talk to him about something happier. Talk about the positives of your day. 

“My parents wrote, they wish you well. They invited you and your folks over during break and said they can’t wait to see you again. Can’t wait for you to meet Tate’s little puppies. They’re the cutest and maybe your dad would let you guys keep one,” You smile at the nurse as she brings over a comb and brush. Quietly, you thank her before moving your chair closer to the bed. 

“I’m not sure if you noticed but they upgraded your cot. It’s roughly the size of your dorm bed; I think they did that ‘cause I keep sleeping here.” It’s been nearly every night that you spend down in the infirmary. Students who come and go with their own injuries have mentioned it to their peers. Apparently, you cry in your sleep and it keeps them up. Although no one is blaming you for that, they’re mostly just pitying you at this point. 

Combing through his hair with the brown wine tooth comb, you give Cedric his usual hairstyle and smile down at him. 

“I reckon this length looks good on you, hopefully, you don’t cut it. I quite like it,” Gently brushing his hair away from his face, your lip wobbles and you force yourself to look away. “I have class but I’ll be back, I promise.”

—

Six weeks. A month and two weeks. More days than you care to admit. 

He’s doing better, according to the doctor who visits on Mondays. She said he should wake up soon but she didn’t give an estimate. Soon could be a year, apparently. 

Unfortunately, today has been exceptionally rough. Snake’s been a larger prick, you tanked your history quiz, you overslept and missed your whole first period, and worst of all, you waited a whole thirty minutes at your usual spot waiting for Cedric before you remembered. 

Wiping your eyes with your hands, you pull your legs up to the frame of his bed and lay your head on your thighs. 

“I’ve been looking for spells to get in your head,” You admit through quiet sobs. “Maybe then we could talk. I miss your voice. I miss you so much. It’s getting harder and I’m not blaming you. I know this is a good outcome, I know I should be grateful you weren’t left in that cemetery to rot. I know I should be jumping for joy because you’re alive but it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’m losing you.” Blinking down to the floor, you chew on your bottom lip. 

“Break is coming soon. They’re going to transfer you during it, so you’re not alone. I don’t know if they’ll let me sleep over still. You’ll be so far from me, too. Five hours by car, I checked. I’m sorry if I sound selfish, I keep talking about me. But I don’t know��� how to talk to you right now.” Looking at him, you reach over and grab his hand. 

“If you want to… go… you can. I don’t know if you’re in pain or something. I just want you to feel better, even if it means you’ll be gone.” Blinking rapidly, you tuck your head back between your legs and cry. You don’t know how long you’ve sat there like that but you get startled at the feeling of his limp hang gripping yours. 

It’s not tight but you know it’s there as you look at him. His eyes are open, just barely but they’re open. You shudder at the sight, nearly falling from your chair.

“Cedric,” You whisper and he cracks a smile. “Oh Godric,” Smiling, you squeeze his hand before hugging him. Smiling into his neck, you feel him start to hug you back. 

“That’s my name,” He mutters, voice dry and hoarse but it’s his. Madam Pomfrey walks over for her rounds and gasps at the sight of the two of you before rushing to send for his doctors. Slowly, you pull away and look at him. “Is there water?” Nodding, you reach over and grab your bottle from the table before giving it to him. 

He struggles to sit up, giving you a pleading look and you prop him up without question. You help him drink, too, trying not to cry because he’s sitting up. He’s not laying down anymore and his eyes are open. 

He’s awake and alive. 

“What did I miss?” He asks. 

“I spent six weeks giving you updates and you didn’t hear a single word?” You snort. “Of course,” 

“Six weeks?” He echos and you slowly nod. “What happened?”

“Short story; you died and came back but you were in a coma. The long story is for later. When you’re back to normal. But you won the tournament! Uh, your parents have the trophy but I don’t doubt they’ll be here soon. They’ve come every Saturday and Sunday,” 

“They do?”

“Mhmm, I left the three of you alone so I don’t know what you guys talked about.” Silence falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other. 

“Were you crying?” He softly asks and you shake your head. 

“Allergies, I decided playing with a cat was better than being able to breathe properly,” You lie and he doesn’t believe you but lets it slide and pats the bed. Sitting back down, he pulls you down and strokes the top of your head. Sighing with content, you look up at him and smile. , 

“I love you,” He kisses the top of your head before he speaks. 

“I love you, too.” He waits for a second. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Yes, dork, it does,” You snort and he frowns, complaining that you’re being mean to him after he just woke up. 

“Wait,” He shifts a little and you hum. “Why are my nails pink and green?”

[marvelrivalsimagines]

A Blessing From the Gods

Characters: Hela, Moon Knight, Scarlet Witch, Winter soldier

Prompt: “could you do Moon knight, Bucky and any other character of your choice with another avatar of a Greek gods?” - anon request

Author’s note: I tried to keep which God you are the avatar of vague so you can imagine whatever kinds of powers/backstory you’d like. Also I’m not sure if the requester wanted the HCs to be romantic or platonic but I think these can be read either way. 

Warnings: None!

When Hela sees you for the first time she is immediately intrigued by your presence, for better or worse. She can tell that you are definitely no god yourself, yet she can sense that you have brushed with divinity frequently. She has had brief, and awkward, conversations with Moon Knight about his connection to Khonsu so she realizes that you must also be an avatar. But an avatar of which god? As much as Hela likes to pretend she’s all knowing and above childish emotions like curiosity, she can’t satiate her burning desire to know more until she finally talks to you for herself. 

Hela approaches you with her usual confident smirk and a snide comment about how there appears to be “yet another mortal avatar running about”. As you share your first conversation Hela's face is stoic as she bluntly asks you her burning questions, but if you are observant enough you can see an amused look in her eye. Hela is pleasantly surprised, you are far more interesting to her than Khonsu’s little knight. 

As Hela learns more about your relationship with your god she says she finds herself even more thankful for her dominion over death, preferring to rely on her legions of Hel to do her bidding over having some weak and fickle human. A lot of your conversations have this same energy lol. It sometimes feels like the goddess looks down on you, but it’s undeniable that she enjoys your presence simply because she keeps coming back to you.

A lot of the other heroes think that Hela has it out for you with how much she picks on you. It isn’t common for Hela to have good intentions for anybody outside of herself, not even her own brothers. But with all the time you’re starting to spend with the goddess of death, you’re able to pick up on the subtle tone of affection in her voice when she speaks to you. Even if her words are just as demeaning as what she would say to others. 

If you have a more adversarial relationship with your God, Hela is always eager to listen to your complaints and she always takes your side on arguments. Hela doesn’t have many good relationships with the other gods but she likes you, so as far as she’s concerned you’re always right. Hela also loves stirring the pot between other gods, so sometimes she’ll give you less violent ways to get back at your god. For example, she’ll tell you stories of something embarrassing that happened to your god centuries ago and then tell you to bring it up to your god whenever they start to bother you.

To be completely honest, the Moon Knight system doesn’t pay you much mind when you first join the fight for the multiverse. The Fist of Khonshu is here to carry out his god’s will so his senses are focused on the mission at hand, not necessarily the people around him. Marc knows you’re there as he’s cautiously aware of all the people around him, but it’s the old bird who brings his attention to you. Khonshu, with his knowledge of the other gods and their avatars, recognizes you and then proceeds to yap about your god in Marc’s head for 5 minutes straight. 

How your first interaction with Moon Knight goes depends a lot on what Khonshu has to say about your god. If he speaks positively about your god then Marc is definitely curious about what kind of a person you are. Khonshu historically hasn’t played well with the other gods, so Marc can’t help but wonder what kind of deity you’re wrapped up with if Khonshu can get along with them. If Khonshu doesn’t like your god then Marc may be pressured by Khonshu to confront you in an attempt to settle some 2,000 year old beef between gods. I’ll pray for you if that’s the case 

But whether your first encounter is out of Marc’s own curiosity or because of Khonshu’s petty drama, as the two of you inevitably talk Moon Knight feels a small connection starting to grow with you. Marc’s connection to Khonshu has always seemingly alienated him from the other heroes who think he’s plain crazy, but as a fellow avatar you’re both able to share some of your experiences with each other. Whether your relationship with your own god is as turbulent as Marc’s or not, Marc feels a slight weight lifted off his shoulders as he’s able to speak with someone who can truly understand the pressure of constantly being beneath a god’s gaze. 

Marc doesn’t let many people into his life, but when people do get close to him the entire Moon Knight system becomes very protective over them. So if you have a bad relationship with your god, or really anything in your life starts to go south, Moon Knight’s first instinct is to seek out some sort of revenge for you. However it’s obviously not possible for him to go against a whole god on your behalf and that fact is really frustrating for Moon Knight. Be careful what you complain about around Moon Knight, he will throw hands for you at a moment's notice lol.

Wanda is unfortunately another one who doesn’t pay too much attention to the people around her, so she might not acknowledge you at first. She’s worried about preserving the very fabric that holds her reality together, so you’re gonna have to do something kind of eye-catching to initially get her attention lol. 

As one of the most powerful magic wielding beings and the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, one thing that will definitely make her interested in you is any magical abilities your god may have bestowed upon you. While Wanda is concentrating on controlling her own chaos magic on the battlefield, her mind is still able to recognize a kind of magic she has never seen before. Cue her now being mildly distracted as she low key tries to watch you and fight the enemy team at the same time. 

Instantly Wanda has a need to know everything about your abilities, and as soon as the battle is over she’s trying to speak to you. What kind of magic do you wield? How did you get these powers? Are you just a beginner at magic or can you show her some of your advanced spells? Honestly it might kind of feel like when you tell someone you have a skill, like drawing or speaking another language, and someone just immediately puts you on the spot and asks you to do it for them. It’s especially intimidating if you know that she’s the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, like how are you supposed to impress her lol? But don’t worry Wanda means well, she’s just very blunt and is curious about the different kinds of magic people have access to in these new universes <3

Wanda isn’t known for being very social, but whenever there is down time in between missions you two tend to seek each other out now. Whether it’s a conversation about your personal lives over some lunch, or the both of you focusing on honing your magic in complete silence, Wanda is so used to your presence that it starts to feel strange when you’re not around. In her universe she’s constantly holding reality together, constantly fighting off magical threats, constantly trying to gain more control over her powers. But here with you Wanda greatly enjoys feeling more like a ‘normal’ person. 

You know, if you’re having a problem with your god you’ve now got a whole Sorceress Supreme on your side, and Wanda isn’t afraid of talking back to gods and higher beings. In her timeline she is constantly trying to stop power hungry gods from collapsing her universe, so if you need someone to just casually intimidate your god into being a bit kinder to you, Wanda has more than enough experience to get the job done. She will ask to speak to the manager for you.

Everything that’s happened in the first few weeks of the time stream entanglement has become a blur for Bucky. Suddenly he’s in another dimension with a new (and tentacle-y?) metal arm and he’s fighting alongside other heroes from different dimensions for the fate of the universe. Alright, cool. This is fine. Before all of this mess started, meeting you and being told that you’re an avatar of a Greek god could have shocked Bucky, but now that fact somehow seems like the most normal thing he’s been told in his life. 

As you, Bucky, and the rest of your team head out on your mission Bucky has heard a little bit about your background from Steve, who gave him a brief on all of their strange new teammates. As you clash with the heroes on the other side of the fight Bucky finds his normally focused senses drifting to you. Divine powers tend to be pretty flashy, and a trained soldier like Bucky can immediately see how skilled you are at what you do. As Bucky gets caught off guard by a diving Psylocke, the flash of your abilities is a welcome sight as you help him fend her off. Your reward for helping Bucky? A gruff “Thanks”, before he hones in on another enemy. Isn’t he dreamy <3

After that fight you’ll most likely have to approach Bucky first. Bucky knows he should probably give you a proper thank you for your help, but unfortunately Hydra brainwashing will do a number on your social skills. When you check in on Bucky after the fight is over, you’ll find that he’s slightly more talkative than usual - really just towards you, Steve, or Clint though. He has a lot of questions he'd like to ask you, he’s not as familiar with all these gods and aliens as some of the other heroes are, but he also doesn’t want to accidentally offend you. Bucky knows that he certainly doesn’t have a happy or inspiring story behind how he got his powers, so he doesn’t want to accidentally be too invasive. 

As the two of you grow closer you notice that Bucky tends to stick by your side a lot, both in and out of combat. In combat, Bucky sticks by your side as he knows that he can rely on you if things get rough. He also wants to be there in case he needs to return the favor and help get a diver off of your back. But when you both are just relaxing in between missions, Bucky finds comfort in your presence. Consciously or subconsciously, Bucky knows that you’re a person he can let his guard down around, which isn't a very common experience for him. With everything that he’s been through in life, the fact that the former Winter Soldier trusts you means a lot. 

Bucky really empathizes with you if you have a bad relationship with the god you serve. He has a lot of experience with being used as a living weapon, being treated like your only worth is what you can do for the person giving you your orders. He can’t stand to see another person live that way, especially not when it’s you. Bucky knows that he can’t go up against a god, and he knows enough about these kinds of power dynamics to understand that trying to stand up for you might actually make your situation worse. So Bucky commits himself to supporting you in whatever way you ask him to.

[4lexnilsen]

“mhm,”   a soft hum of agreement escapes alex’s lips,  pressed against the rim of the glass in an attempt to refrain from grinning.   he’s surprisingly thirsty and takes another sip,  blaming it on the sweet churros dipped in an even sweeter sauce.   “been feelin’ this way since i first saw you.   made my heart sink when you said you had a boyfriend,  forgot i had a girlfriend of my own.”   it’s a shameless confession,  but suddenly all inhibitions are lost on him.   “you got a little…   here.”   he gently takes the crumpled napkin from her small hand and wipes the sticky droplets that have landed near the corner of her mouth.   “nah,  make-up ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”   finding her giggles infectious,  he hears himself chuckling.   “is just the way you are.”   gazing at her all dreamily,  there’s a strange buzz humming low,  deep in his chest,  softening the edges of the world around them.   “on halloween,  when i —”   a small hiccup interrupts him.   “put that,  uh,  ridic’lous deer makeup on you…   wow.   ya still looked like a millllion bucks!”   that’s how he knows it has nothing to do with makeup.   she has the face of a supermodel.

hearing helena explain how she’s feeling about walking in on harry with another woman,  alex nods excessively and a little too enthusiastically,  his lids growing heavier.   “ew!   i mean,  y-you dodged the bullet here.   you could’ve gotten harpies!”   his thoughts have gotten a little fuzzy,  but they’re more free now,  tumbling over each other like a stack of unsteady paperbacks.   “hair-piece.   wait,  how do you say that?   you know what i mean…   the disease that makes your lips blister and stuff.”   herpes.   “that’s what you get when you kiss someone who been eatin’ rotten takeout.”   apparently,  his drunk self is too respectful to say the word pussy in front of a lady.   his own hand flying up to where her fingers are digging into his bicep,  giving it a gentle pat,  then a squeeze.   “we’ll do that…   umm,”   pausing as if he had to check his calendar for a slot to book them another brawl with harry,   “tuh-mahh-row.”   his finger jabbing the smooth surface of the bar with each syllable,  emphasizing.   “das when we do it.”   tonight they have more important matters to attend to,  clearly.   “your tongue’s a…   oh,  is so red!”   he laughs,  sticking his own out in an attempt to examine it.   “does it t—”   taste.   “tasht like…   strawb’ries?”   drool dribbling down his chin,  his tongue still hanging out of his mouth.

“oh,  no,  no,  no,  helena.”   growing serious once again,  he shakes his head in a dramatic manner.   brows inching closer together.   “thass no ‘scuse.”   he downs his drink and beams at the bartender,  getting them a third round.   “y-you ain’t ‘bligated t’sleep with ‘im.   he shou’ be able to keep it in ‘is pants if he loves you.   fuck ‘im.   thass no real man,  lil cat.”   another shake of his head.   the world is spinning a little faster when he does it,  and it amuses him.   he’s aware of the slight fog settling in,  the kind that makes you feel like you’re in a dream,  detached yet fully present.   his mind swaying on that line between feeling invincible and just plain exhausted,  emotions heightened.   “nah,  heleni…   wha’ makes it sh-shtupid,”   well,  that’s a surprisingly difficult word to pronounce,   “is…   it’d be jus’ a reg’lar friends trip.   shou’ be a honey —   hon’ymoon,”   he giggles when she tickles his cheek,  leaning in closer because the sensation makes his belly all fluttery and light.   words making a lot of sense in his mind.   he likes her too much to call it an ordinary summer trip.   he would happily take her on a honeymoon,  though.   

“LIKE?” honey eyes go wide, nearly choking on the drink. like like or like? drink splattering onto the counter top as the words don’t like her like poppy has her doing a SPIT TAKE. quickly dabbing at her chin with a napkin, she’s smart and pretty too? he’s either really good at lying or crazier than she thought. “why am i pretty? hm. it’s because of my new makeup?” kittenishly smirking, cupping her jaw in both hands at herself in her makeup box’s mirror before head throws back in bubbly laughter. “i don’t know,” ruby lips suddenly purse, sharp nail swirling the water droplets on the counter. sad emotions swiftly poured into all these happy ones, “i’m so glad harry made us done. but it hurts the WAY it was done. he — he really was going to jus’? he was REALLY going to jus’ do explicit RATED R things with that girl then come home to me?” voice squeaking in anger, the idea making her livid, “oh my god— i think we need to go and kick his ass some more, that scum! his tongue alex,” grabbing his arm, getting animated in her disbelief, “his tonguee was just a smidge from YOU KNOW WHERE,” exclaiming in horror, pointing at her red tongue she sticks out, “i can’t believe it…” voice shrinking to a lower octave as she lets go and suddenly turns back forward, about to start crying all over again until she remembers her makeup. “but i get it… i didn’t want to whore out in the twenty four months we were together so he needed a whore but still!?” angrily snatching her drink, sipping aggressively. “wait , what do you mean stupid trip sir? what’s stupid? what makes it stu-pidd? you won’t go with me because i’m smart and pretty, in your own words, so that makes it stupid?” HUH? helena lifts her braid in the midst of her word vomit, using the fluffy end to rub against his cheek.

[sdv-confessions]

Seeing alot of discourse so, I'm gonna say something about all the characters i can remember myself, to try n lighten the mood!

Sam would use a LOT of emojis when texting. i mean Look at him. he also gets very insecure about how he comes across after sending texts.

sebastians bong no longer exists because he kept smoking up his room and it got confiscated because just walking in could render someone high.

I think Abigail could probably bake decently! no clue if its been said otherwise or not, i just think she would be able to. she also would be an amazing reptile/bug parent, please give our homegirl a katydid to care for.

Robin, she's a decent cook but theres some things she absolutely can't make. she's sometimes tasteblind and thats fine. Also no doubt, but she smells like burnt wood constantly.

Demetrius can bake, really well for some reason, but he also sucks at certain baking activities. he's also judges food very bluntly, if he dislikes it, you'll know, BUT if he realized he upset you, he'll try and give you tips on how to improve it.

Maru, she also likes motorcycles like Sebastian does, but she'd rather put one together than buy one. it's just more interesting in the long run.

Jodi, I don't know much about her. but I can definitely see her giving tips and stuff when she can to other parents in town.

Kent, I really think he'd like oatmeal raisin cookies? I also don't know much about him, i love oatmeal raisin cookies myself. i think he'd like cross stitching, even if he isn't good at it.

Pam, I think she and Willy hang out on occasion to fish together, chat about old times because it makes her happy, i also don't think she gets on well with alot of the other townsfolk in recent times since she seems to be quite self isolated like her own daughter. so the times she does talk with others can lighten her day, She also has a habit of being abit rude to those she cares for in a joking manner.

Willy! That man and Clint are friends, Good friends! though I don't think Willy is on bad terms with Anyone. besides being annoyed with lewis sometimes, but he still cares for him. something tells me he likes knitting scarfs and mittens. but thats when he isn't able to fish. He can't knit a sweater and he swears he gets worse every time he tries.

Clint, i think Clint is also good at baking, though he surprisingly has a habit of burning his hands, keeps thinking he can grab the pans he's using without consequences. i think his favorite to make would be Blueberry or Carrot muffins :]]

Emily! she tries her best constantly, and is actually very nervous of how to make a good first impression, but she also acts on impulse which can be a rocky mix. i think she really likes roller skating, Haley probably does to, so its probably one of tbe activities she cherishes because its time she can spend with her sister.

Haley, It think she'd actually really be able to get into the punk/rock scene if you take the time to introduce her to it. she wouldn't change up her style no, but she'd be able to enjoy something outside of her usual comfort zone.

Alex. i think he couldn't roller skate for the life of himself. and would take alot of time to accept help in learning how to. but he doesn't want to admit it because he has an easy time ice skating and thinks he should be able to roller skate just fine.

George, He likes to go rock picking, and when i say that I'm not just saying that because of how many rocks he gived you, i think he likes to search for agates, has afew glass containers full of his favorite finds, And wouldn't admit it, but he'd be really happy when people join him in the little hobby kf searching

Evelyn, i think she actually really likes fishing, and used to fish at some point, but can't really do it nowadays, but i think she'd like to hang out near the river and talk to Willy when he's there.

Marnie, she's a heavy metal girl, she secretly knows so many metal bands it would surprise you. she'd be elated in a surprized reaction from whoever she's telling. She knows alot of niche bands aswell.

Shane, he once got an eyebrow piercing, but it rejected so badly he couldn't build the courage to get any other form of piercing for ages, He does now have ear piercings though.

Pierre, he has really bad luck, and by that i mean he's extremely clumsy, He walks into so many things, accidentally shuts cupboards and doors on his fingers or foot. curses like a sailor afterwards, likes to jokingly blame Joja for bizarre happenings as abit of an inside joke. Also he's the one usually cooking.

Caroline, THAT WOMAN, i fully believe she knows kick boxing, i just, get that vibe from her. She totally would, She also does most of the hard work around the house as her husband sits around looking pretty. Strong lady, can't convince me otherwise.

WIZARD, He can't cook, not at all, he keeps saying he'll learn, but its just not working for him, It should be just as easy as potions right? No, but he is really good at making tea. he has several blends he favors, and he wishes to share them with someone again someday.

Morris? He actually does feel abit bad for the inhabitants of pelican town, be he can't pinpoint why, so he blames it on the idea that he's just sorry they won't accept Joja. as mean as he is, i do think he has a heart somewhere beneath the Joja logo in his chest cavity 😔 I think he's also the son of the CEO. But I also think he worked Really really hard to get to his position. Morris also has a habit of not actually getting sleep. like, to the point he'll just crash in the work place and get woken by an employee clocking in, Usually Shane. Because Yoba knows Shane wouldn't hesitate to dig in to the fact Morris was sleeping on the Job. Morris used to have slight buck teeth but got them shaven down, (This is lowkey because of an inside joke that takes a LOAD of different characters from different fandoms and chucks them into the same family, because they have similar characteristics.)

FIZZZZ, theres not much on him, But i think he likes to play up on the stuff he does, such as practically scarying the player, He's playing it up, Morris is scared of him. but also has mad respect for him. I know that just because they're some of the only Joja workers that aren't exactly important, that i shouldn't immediately decide they know eachother, BUUUUT, I think they're actually friends, like, MORRIS crashed on Fizz's couch often, his own house was too far back in zuzu city for him to get there on time and still have enough time to sleep, and that they'd also be friends with Dobson if he was part of the game. Though Dobson wouldn't share the sentiment .

Dobson. Dobson should be real, Not just left in code. Thats not a headcanon, just sadness. But I think that if he was in the game, he'd be even harder to convince of not being a member of the Joja workforce than Morris or Fizz would be, he'd be Devoted to it. absolutely devoted. Theres a cardboard cutout of a heart in his chest, and when you turn it around Joja. Co is written across the back in blaring blue ink.

The Cashier girl! She actually is good friends with Sam, Sam was helping her come out of her shell while she worked there, but, when Joja mart is ran outta town, she had to leave aswell since she just oustide of town, (someone help her she had to drive quite the ways to work.) She HATES Joja but she needed the income. She doesn't hate anyone who works under joja, but aren't high ranking ranking, she pities them knowing they aren't actually evil, just, stuck in a hard work environment. I agree that her name is Carrie, it just suits her.

Gunther, That man is literally so gay, You can't tell me otherwise, that man is a fruit. Also, he is related to the guy who sells mermaid pendants, something tell me they are.

Elliot, he's learned how to fish from Willy. he was more than thankful to be taught, i think he's been learning alot from afew of the residents, Like Evelyn, and Caroline, i think they taught him how to Garden, Leah told him alot about nature. Abigail Sebastian, and Marlon told him how to get out of a pickle if he's dealing with monsters if he ever gets stuck in the mines.

Linus, I think everything i can say for him is expected, but i think he used to take great joy in crocheting.

Leah? I'm shocked to say i know nothing about her and i can't make an accurate judgement, same goes for Harvey.

Sorry if I left anyone out, and I'm sorry its easy to tell which characters i am hyperfxating on. peace out. - 🔹️

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