#being a ghost is unexpectedly complicated

[soft4changbin]

Louder than words

Ateez Wooyoung x quiet!reader

Summary: You and Wooyoung start as quiet lovers in the background of his idol life, but as rumors grow and doubts creep in, he proves his love isn’t a secret—it’s something worth fighting for, even out loud.

Word count: 2,401

The thing about dating someone like Wooyoung is this: the world doesn’t expect him to fall in love quietly.

He’s loud, dramatic, affectionate in the most obvious ways. He hugs hard. He laughs louder.

And when he loves, he does it like he’s not afraid of anything.

But the part they don’t see—the part you get—is the stillness in the in-between.

The way he rests his forehead against yours when the cameras are off.

The way he squeezes your hand under the table when anxiety bubbles up in your chest.

The way he listens—actually listens—when you speak, even if it takes you a while to say the words.

You’d met long before either of you expected anything serious.

You were a makeup assistant filling in for a last-minute emergency. He was already Wooyoung: confident, mischievous, quick to joke around with the staff.

He noticed you the second he walked into the room.

“New face,” he said, eyes narrowing like he was sizing you up—but not unkindly. “You shy or just pretending to be mysterious?”

You gave him a small smile, too nervous to banter back, and hoped someone would save you.

No one did.

But he didn’t tease further. Not that day.

Instead, he watched you through the mirror as you adjusted his mic, hands steady despite your pounding heart.

“I like your hands,” he said quietly. “They’re calm.”

You didn’t know it then, but that’s how it always started with him—something playful, followed by something unexpectedly sincere.

Weeks passed. Then months. You saw him regularly—at shows, backstage, during long rehearsals. He never pushed, never flirted in ways that made you uncomfortable.

But he did linger.

He brought you iced tea when he noticed you didn’t drink coffee.

He learned your favorite snack from the vending machine.

And he always found you in a crowd, eyes locking with yours for half a second longer than necessary.

The first time he asked for your number, he did it with all the drama you expected from him.

“Listen, if I’m going to keep pretending I need help with my eyeliner just to see you, we might as well text.”

You laughed. “You don’t even wear eyeliner.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

You gave him your number anyway.

The relationship bloomed quietly—slow, careful, hidden in the cracks of both your schedules.

Dates were rare. Most nights were spent on the phone, him rambling about dance routines or members’ antics, you telling him about the weird things that happened in the makeup room.

He never made you feel small for being quiet. He filled the silences so you didn’t have to.

And when you spoke, he made it feel like your words mattered more than anyone else’s in the world.

But things got complicated, as they always do.

Dating an idol means learning how to live in the shadow of a spotlight.

You weren’t insecure about him—you were insecure about everything else.

The rumors started subtly. Someone saw him at a coffee shop near your apartment. A blurry photo surfaced on a fan forum. A tweet speculated about the girl in his phone wallpaper, even though it was just your hand holding his pinky.

He brushed it off. “They don’t know. They’re just guessing.”

But the noise got louder.

Staff started whispering. Fans dissected his mood in every fancam. A few even blamed you—an unnamed ghost in the background—just for existing.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t want to be “the problem.” You didn’t want to be the reason he had one more thing to worry about.

But he noticed.

Of course he did.

One night, after a performance, you waited for him in the hallway. You thought maybe you could talk yourself into smiling through it. But the second he saw you, he frowned.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Too quiet—even for you.”

You looked away. “I just don’t want to make things harder.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re not.”

“I don’t want people to hate you because of me.”

His hand dropped. “I don’t care what they say.”

“But I do,” you whispered.

The silence that followed was heavy. And then—

“Do you want to break up?”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

You shook your head. “No. I just want to know if we can survive this.”

Wooyoung stepped closer, his voice low and firm. “Then stop acting like you’re a burden. You’re not.”

“But—”

“No. You’re not a secret. You’re not a scandal. You’re not something I regret.” His voice cracked slightly. “You’re the only thing that makes this chaos feel like it means something.”

Your chest ached.

“Then why don’t you say it?” you asked. “Why don’t you just tell them?”

He stared at you for a long moment.

“Because I’m afraid they’ll make you hate me.”

After that night, things changed.

Not drastically. But enough.

He didn’t post cryptic lyrics anymore. He stopped dodging questions with vague jokes. And he started being more open—still careful, but honest.

He mentioned someone who helped him stay grounded.

He thanked “a certain person who always makes sure my eyeliner is straight, even when my head’s a mess.”

The fans picked up on it.

And for the first time, some didn’t tear you apart. Some defended the mystery girl. Some said, “If it’s real, I hope she makes him happy.”

It didn’t fix everything. But it gave you room to breathe.

The first time he said “I love you,” he didn’t say it during a dramatic moment.

He said it while you were curled up on his couch, watching a rerun of some old variety show.

You were half-asleep, head on his chest, when he murmured it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you.”

You blinked up at him. “Did you just—”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly. “And I meant it.”

You tucked yourself closer to him. “Say it again.”

He laughed and repeated it, louder. Then whispered it. Then sang it. Then mumbled it against your hair.

Until it didn’t feel like a confession anymore—it felt like a home.

You don’t remember the exact moment when the fear faded.

Maybe it was when he started walking beside you without looking over his shoulder.

Maybe it was when he kissed your hand in the car, knowing the manager could see.

Or maybe it was when you realized that loving him didn’t mean hiding—it meant choosing each other in the quiet moments and the loud ones.

Because Wooyoung never loved you quietly.

And now, neither do you.

[askthehospitalghost]

"Hello, people in my cellular device. I have come to ask for advice."

"How does one explain to the legal system that I am not doing identity fraud, and this is actually my tax information. I am not committing tax fraud, I am unfortunately just dead."

"...and want pretty clothes..."

"...and stuffed animals."

"...also a pool noodle, some foundation and some liquid latex. For purely scientific reasons, of course."

"Send help. Or gift cards. This isn't a scam, I promise."

Ask blog status: open

[pasiione]

Take All theTime You Need (18+)

Summary:

Bucky Barnes isn’t the easiest man to get close to. Gruff, guarded, and haunted by a past that keeps most people at arm’s length. But with you, he’s different. Softer. Safer. What started as a quiet friendship—late-night movie marathons, easy banter, and lingering touches neither of you ever talked about, slowly became something more complicated. Something heavier.

You’ve always wanted him. Not just the former soldier with the haunted eyes, but the man underneath. The one who listens, who remembers the small things, who lets down his walls when he’s with you. But wanting him and admitting it are two very different things.

One movie night changes everything. When a scene on screen stirs up feelings Bucky hasn't let himself feel in years, he confesses more than you expected: his fear, his inexperience, and the aching truth that he doesn’t remember what it feels like to be wanted. To be touched. To be loved.

So you offer to show him.

He’s forgotten what it means to be touched like he matters. You’re ready to remind him.

And suddenly, the line between friendship and something deeper isn’t blurry—it’s gone.

[End of Summary]

You’d always liked him, long before tonight, long before he started looking at you like maybe you were the only safe place left in the world. It crept up slowly, the way most real things do. Not because he flirted or made himself easy to fall for—he didn’t. Bucky was guarded, gruff, always keeping people at arm’s length like it was the only way to survive. With most, that wall never came down. But with you... it was different. He didn’t become someone else around you, he just let more of himself show.

The version of Bucky that only you saw was quieter, warmer, unexpectedly funny in that dry, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. He let you see the small things, like how he always made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, or how he’d remember your coffee order even when you forgot it yourself. You noticed every time. And somewhere along the way, those details stopped being background noise. You started looking forward to them. Craving them. Craving him. Not the version everyone else saw: the soldier, the asset, the ghost of a man trying to piece himself back together—but this version. The one who let his shoulders drop when he was with you. The one who made you feel like maybe you were the only person he trusted not to run.

There were so many moments when you almost told him—times when the words hovered at the back of your throat, aching to be spoken. But you always pulled back. Because as much as you wanted more, you couldn’t risk breaking what you already had. If he didn’t feel the same… you weren’t sure you could stand to lose the closeness, the quiet comfort of just being with him. So you held it in, tucking your feelings somewhere deep, convincing yourself that alone friendship was enough.

Even when it never really was.

-

You both decide on a casual movie night in the Avengers tower’s private theater. The movie had been fun at first—easy, mindless banter between characters, a few good laughs, the kind of thing you both needed after a long week. You and Bucky were curled up in the back row of the tower’s private theater, a shared blanket draped across your legs, a bowl of popcorn half-finished between you. Just friends. As always.

It was safe to say you hadn’t really been watching the movie—not when you were too busy sneaking glances at Bucky’s face, every sharp angle and soft flicker of expression etched into your mind like a favorite photograph. You’d nearly gotten caught staring once, his eyes flicking toward you just as you looked away a second too late. After that, you forced yourself to focus, pretending the movie actually held your attention. You’d both picked something light, a romantic film neither of you had seen, easy and harmless on the surface. But then that scene came on. Slow, steamy, drawn out—the kind where the tension bleeds off the screen, where the characters can’t keep their hands off each other. It lingered too long, just enough to make the room feel smaller. Warmer. You didn’t dare look at Bucky now. The air between you had shifted, and you could feel it, thick with everything unspoken. You tried to ignore the feeling.

But then the whole tone of the environment shifted.

Soft lighting. Heavy breathing. A slow, sensual build that had nothing to do with plot and everything to do with tension. You barely registered the actors anymore—your focus was entirely on the man beside you, and the way he suddenly stopped moving.

Bucky shifted in his seat. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Cleared his throat like he could cough away the tension building in the air. His gaze was locked firmly on the floor.

You smirked, nudging his shoulder. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen people make out before.”

His mouth twitched. “Not in surround sound.”

You laughed, but his discomfort didn’t fade. He was fidgeting now—picking at the seam of the blanket, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to go.

So you teased, lightly:

“C’mon, what, you don't watch this kind of stuff in your free time?”

That was meant to break the ice. Instead, Bucky went still.

He blinked. Swallowed. Then shook his head, once, barely. “I don’t,” he said, voice low. “I haven’t... I don’t really do that. Any of it.”

You turned toward him, more serious now. “What do you mean?”

A long pause. He looked at you, then away again. “I haven’t been with anyone. Not in years. A long time." He laughed, bitter and soft. “I think I forgot how to want something like that. Or maybe I just convinced myself I'm not allowed to.”

That landed in your chest like a punch. The man who had saved lives, carried more weight than anyone ever should, sat there next to you—vulnerable, exposed, scared.

“Bucky…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I just don’t want to mess it up,” he added quickly, eyes searching your face. “I don’t want to get it wrong. Especially if it’s with someone who... who matters.”

You were quiet for a moment. And then, gently, you reached over and took his hand.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re not messing anything up.”

His eyes flicked to yours. Still cautious. Still waiting for the ground to fall out from under him.

You let your thumb brush against the back of his hand. “If you wanted to... I could help. No pressure. Just... let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like. No pretending.”

Bucky froze. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come.

So you leaned in, slow, close enough that your breath ghosted across his cheek.

“Only if you want me too.”

A beat passed. Then another.

And then—he nodded.

-

Your fingers stayed laced with his as you led him gently toward the sofa in your room, each step slow, deliberate. When you reached it, you gave him a soft, guiding push. He sank down without resistance, settling awkwardly into the cushions, eyes lifting to meet yours—wide, unsure.

“What now?” he asked, voice so innocently and earnest that it made your chest ache.

There was something comforting about the way he looked at you—like he genuinely didn’t know what came next, like he was handing you control of his body and trusting you not to break him. You felt your heartbeat stutter, not only just from desire or lust, but also from the tenderness of it all. He had no idea what you were thinking—what you wanted to do to him. If he did, you weren’t sure he’d be able to keep looking at you with that kind of wide-eyed wonder.

Your gaze dropped to his lips for half a second too long.

The urge to kiss him, to taste him, to pour every aching thought into the press of your mouth against his—it hit hard. You could already imagine the way he’d feel, the sound he might make, the way his hands might tighten if you just leaned in and gave in to what you both wanted.

But you pulled yourself back, barely, grounding yourself in the present—because Bucky wasn’t a fantasy. He was real, and he was right here, looking at you like you were something precious. And you didn’t want to rush that.

“Now…” you murmur as you slowly move to straddle his lap, your voice soft, teasing, edged with something warmer. You drag your tongue across your bottom lip without thinking, eyes locked on his. “...we can do whatever you want to.”

And then you pause.

You settle there, your knees bracketing his thighs, the space between your bodies charged and crackling—but you don’t move. Not yet. You wait. Watching him. Giving him the chance to lead, to decide. Because even though your body is already aching for him—desperate, and you know it—you want this to be his choice. His pace.

Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch you. The air feels thick with tension, thick with everything you’re both trying not to say. You miss the way his hand felt wrapped around yours earlier—solid, grounding, warm—and now all you want is more. More of him. However he’ll give it.

Desperate, desperate girl, you think, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. But you don’t move. Not yet. You just wait—for him.

Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides before he finally lifts them, slow and uncertain. You can feel how hesitant he is—not because he doesn’t want you, but because he’s not sure he can want like this again. Not the way you deserve. His fingers brush against your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll flinch, like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You watch his eyes flicker down, then back up, and he swallows hard. There’s a crack in his voice when he speaks.

“Is this... okay?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again, even though you’re already in his lap, already pressing so close he can feel your heart beating through your skin.

You lean in, slow, letting your forehead touch his. “Yeah,” you whisper, softer now. “More than okay.”

Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His hands steady on your hips, but they’re still cautious, like he’s worried he’ll push too hard, go too fast. You can feel the restraint in him—not out of control, but out of practice. The desire is there, raw and rising, but tangled up with nerves he can’t hide.

You shift just slightly against him, and his breath catches. He doesn’t move, doesn’t press into it. He just looks at you, eyes wide, like he’s still not sure if he’s dreaming.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you murmur, brushing your lips near his cheek, “just... be here with me. Take all the time you need.”

He nods, a little too fast, like he’s grateful for the patience. Like he needed you to say it out loud.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice is quiet, rough around the edges. “I just… I haven’t done this in a while. Not like this.”

“I know,” you say, one hand coming up to tangle gently in his hair. “That’s why I want you.”

Something in him shifts—small, but real. He lets himself breathe. Bucky’s hands still linger at your waist, heavy with hesitation. You can feel how tightly he’s holding back—like he’s afraid of overstepping, of moving too fast and scaring you off. Or worse, messing it up. You cover one of his hands with yours again, grounding him.

You lean in slowly, giving him time to stop you, but he doesn’t. When your lips finally touch his, it’s the softest brush—barely there. He exhales shakily against your mouth, but doesn’t pull away. You kiss him again, deeper this time, and his fingers twitch against your sides. You feel the way his body tenses under you, like he’s caught between instinct and restraint.

“You’re allowed to touch me,” you murmur between kisses, your forehead still resting against his. “Whatever feels right.”

Something in that permission seems to unlock him. His hands lift, slow but more confident now, sliding over your hips, the curve of your back. The contact makes you shiver, but it’s his expression that undoes you. Eyes open, watching your face like he’s afraid to miss a single reaction. You press closer, tilting his chin up gently, and kiss him again.

And this time—he kisses you back.

Not perfectly. Not polished. But with more certainty. His mouth moves against yours with a slow, almost reverent pace, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the way your breath catches when he tilts his head just right. Your fingers curl in his hair as you sigh into him, and that sound seems to do something to him. Like a switch flips. Suddenly, his hands tighten, still careful, but no longer unsure. He pulls you closer, until there’s barely space left between you. The heat of him seeps into your skin, grounding and overwhelming all at once. One of his hands slips under your shirt, just resting there, warm and steady on the bare skin of your back.

It’s like his body remembers what his mind forgot.

Your pulse kicks up as he deepens the kiss on his own this time, lips parting with yours just enough to taste you. You gasp softly, and he pulls back for half a second—checking, always checking—but you don’t give him the chance to spiral. You chase his mouth, dragging your nails gently along his nape, and he groans against your lips. It’s the first sound he’s made that isn’t restrained—and it causes the heat between your legs to grow.

“See?” you whisper, breathless now. “You didn’t forget.”

He laughs, low and disbelieving, mouth brushing your cheek. “It’s… coming back to me.”

You smile, dipping your head to kiss along his jaw, down the column of his throat. He shivers under you, the sound he makes completely unguarded.

“That won’t be the only thing coming,” you murmur—then instantly cringe, the words hanging awkwardly in the air. Gosh, why did you say that? But before you can backpedal, Bucky actually laughs, a real one. It was low, warm, and genuine. It rumbles through his chest, and just like that, your embarrassment melts into nothingness. You’d tell a thousand awful jokes if it meant hearing that beautiful sound again.

“I’ll remind you,” you say after a beat, voice softer now, threaded with something deeper. “As many times as it takes.” And the truth is that you really did. You wanted to pamper him and make him feel as good as humanly possible. You did appreciate the fact that he was trying, you wanted to show him just how good you can make him feel.

You start to slowly remove yourself of his lap, not breaking eye contact. He looked at you with confusion. You reassure him that he did nothing wrong, and to trust what you are doing. You start to slowly kneel down in front of him, putting both your hands at the top of his upper thigh, slowly making your towards his knees where you can make a space between his legs for you to fit in between.

Bucky's breath hitches the moment you settle between his legs. His hands grip the edge of the couch like he needs something to hold onto. But he doesn’t pull away. He just watches you—wide-eyed, lips parted, as if unsure whether to speak or stay silent.

You let your hands glide up his thighs again, slower this time, more deliberate. “You’re doing good,” you murmur, voice low and steady. “Just breathe. Let yourself feel it.”

His jaw clenches for a moment, but not out of resistance. You can see it in the way he’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid one wrong move might ruin this thing between you. But your touch is gentle, patient. You want him to know he’s safe here, with you.

“I’m not… I don’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper. It’s raw aching with vulnerability.

Your hands pause at his hips, thumbs brushing soft circles. “You won’t. You couldn’t.”

He doesn’t answer with words. He just nods, once, fully trusting you. And when you lean forward to kiss just above the waistband of his pants, you feel the way his whole body reacts—tense at first, then slowly relaxing into your touch. You trail your lips gently along his skin, your hands never leaving his thighs. You're not rushing. You’re reminding.

His hand finds your shoulder—hesitantly, barely there, like he's still asking permission even now.

You look up at him from where you kneel, your voice warm and sure. “It’s okay, Bucky. You don’t have to hold back.”

He swallows hard. The muscle in his throat bobs, and you see the way his eyes darken, the way his body is starting to move not with hesitation—but memory. His hand tightens slightly, and this time, when your mouth finds him again—lower, slower—his breath stutters out of him.

You can feel it happening.

Not just arousal—but awakening. His body remembering what it’s like to be touched without fear, to be wanted without expectation. Every reaction you draw from him is a reclamation, a spark reigniting deep within him.

You keep going, not to tease, not to overwhelm—but to give. All of him, every tense and tender inch, deserves to be reminded that he’s still capable of this. Of pleasure. Of softness. Of being loved.

And as your hands rise again, grounding him while your lips worship the parts of him time had buried, Bucky finally exhales—long and deep.

His hand on your shoulder steadies, fingers curling with more certainty. His hips shift, just slightly, in answer to your mouth—his body moving without conscious thought now, guided by something older, something deeper. Not bravado. Not performance. Memory. Muscle memory, buried beneath layers of silence and fear, finally breaking through.

You don’t rush him. You keep your touch slow, your movements purposeful, as you give him the kind of attention that demands nothing in return. You want him to feel it—not just the pleasure, but the care.

Above you, Bucky lets out a sound—half gasp, half groan—his voice rough and surprised like it startled him on its way out.

“God,” he breathes, head falling back against the cushions. “I forgot... I forgot what this feels like.”

You smile against his skin, hands still steady on his thighs. “Glad I could remind you.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You lift your head just enough to look up at him, your mouth swollen, breath warm, your voice barely above a whisper. “That's the goal.” You say with a wink. You assumed he liked what you said because  he leans forward and pulls you up, arms around you, mouth finding yours.

The kiss is messy, urgent, full of years of want and aching restraint finally snapping loose. His hands bury in your hair, like he needs to hold you close just to believe this is real.

You straddle him again, your knees on either side of his hips, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands roam your back, your sides, not aimless but reverent—like he’s learning you with touch alone.

But then something in his expression shifts. A hesitation. You feel it in the way his grip falters, his breath hitches. He looks up at you, brow slightly furrowed, like he’s wrestling with something.

“What is it?” you whisper, your fingers brushing gently through his hair.

“I just…” He shakes his head, eyes flicking away for a beat before locking back onto yours. “I can’t keep pretending.”

Your heart thuds. “Pretending what?”

“That...” he says quietly. “...that I haven’t wanted you like this for a long time.”

You blink, stunned. “Wait… what?”

Bucky lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “I thought I was hiding it. God, I thought I was doing such a good job. But I’ve been crushing on you for a while. Watching you. Wanting you. Trying to convince myself that being near you was enough—even if I never said a word.”

You stare at him, all the breath in your chest gone. “Bucky…”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I told you and you didn’t feel the same, it’d break what we had. And that scared me more than anything.”

You exhale, a disbelieving laugh slipping from your lips. “You have no idea how many times I almost said something. But I didn’t because… I thought it’d mess everything up. I thought I’d lose you.”

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with wonder.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I noticed the little things. And they made me fall harder every time. But I thought they were just part of who you were. Kind. Loyal. Protective. I didn’t think they meant something.”

“They did,” he says simply. “They all did.”

You feel your eyes sting, emotions swelling too big for your chest.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’ve been trying not to, but I do.”

He breathes out like he’s finally exhaled after holding it in for years. And then his hands are cupping your face, pulling you into another kiss—slow this time, deep and aching and full of everything you’ve both kept buried.

When you break apart, your foreheads still touching, you whisper, “Say it again.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “I love you.”

And you kiss him like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

His hands are still careful, but no longer afraid—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like anything less would undo him.

You can feel the way his body responds to yours now. Needy. And it stirs something deep inside you, a matching hunger that has nothing to do with conquest and everything to do with connection. You roll your hips, just a little, just enough—and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening.

“Tell me what you need,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Anything. I’ll give it to you.”

He breathes out your name like a prayer, eyes fluttering shut. “You. I just… I need you. All of you.”

And you smile, your heart aching in the best way, because that’s all you’ve ever wanted to give.

“All right,” you say, kissing his jaw, then lower. “Then take me, Bucky. I’m yours.”

And this time, you don’t lead. You follow.

His grip on your hips shifts, no longer tentative. He holds you like he means it, like he’s claiming not just your body, but the truth of what you’ve given him.

“I’ve got you,” he says—no question, no doubt. Just fact.

You nod, heart thundering. “Yeah. You do.”

And he does.

His gaze drags down your face, to your lips, your neck, your chest—and when he meets your eyes again, there’s nothing hesitant left. Just heat. Hunger. The kind that’s been buried so long it comes back sharper, deeper. He cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and then leans in slowly, like he wants to savor the anticipation. Like he wants you to feel how much he wants this.

Wants you.

He kisses you again—deep, controlled, possessive—and it sends a shiver down your spine. His tongue strokes yours with intention, not rushing, not chasing. Just taking his time. Like now that he finally has you, he’s going to enjoy every second of it.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the command softened by the warmth in his eyes.

You do, sinking into the cushions, your chest rising and falling fast, anticipation buzzing under your skin. He shifts above you, knees settling between yours, palms braced beside your head as he hovers—watches you. His gaze pins you in place more than his hands ever could.

“Look at you,” he says, a faint shake of his head like he can’t believe this is real. “You’re so damn beautiful. And you’re mine.”

You reach for him, but he catches your wrists, gently, bringing them above your head and holding them there with one hand. The move is effortless. Confident. You gasp a little—not in fear, but in surprise. In surrender. Because he’s not asking now. He’s showing.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, kissing just beneath your ear. “Let me show you what you do to me.”

Your body arches beneath him as he trails kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your skin. He’s deliberate now, working his way down with a focus that borders on reverent. He takes his time undressing you, not all at once, but piece by piece, like each layer is a gift he’s been waiting to unwrap.

Every brush of his fingers over bare skin feels like a promise.

He watches your reactions, drinking them in. The way your breath stutters when his mouth finds your collarbone. The little gasp when his hands cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over already-sensitive skin. The way your thighs shift, restless, trying to close, then open again—wanting more.

“You’re already shaking for me,” he murmurs, lips curving into a smug smile against your skin. “God, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. Like this.”

His metal hand is cool as it slides up your thigh, a perfect contrast to the heat of his mouth still working lower, lips brushing down your stomach, your hip, your inner thigh. When he finally gets between your legs, he pauses—looks at you.

“I need to taste you,” he says, voice ragged. “Been thinking about it for so damn long.”

And then he does.

And it’s not rushed. It’s not a tease. It’s devotion.

He worships you with his mouth like he’s starving for it, like this is how he says I love you when words aren't enough. You cry out, hips bucking, but he’s unmovable—strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you here with him.

Every flick of his tongue, every moan that vibrates against you, drives you closer. You don’t even realize you’re begging until you hear yourself say his name—over and over, a plea.

You moan his name, arching into him, and he grins against your skin. Grins.

“Yeah,” he growls, his voice full of that dangerous, perfect confidence. “Say it again.”

“Bucky—”

“That’s right.” He kisses down your stomach, lips teasing, fingers gripping your thighs. “You’re gonna say my name a lot tonight.”

He doesn't stop until you're coming apart for him, trembling, voice breaking, fingers tangled in his hair. Even then, he doesn't let up. He draws it out, lets you ride the edge until you're wrung out and breathless beneath him.

And only then does he rise, kissing his way back up your body, slow and thorough, letting you feel the weight of him again—solid and warm and yours.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, voice rough with want.

You nod, dizzy and dazed, pulling him down for a kiss. “Yes. God, yes.”

And when he finally pushes into you—slow, thick, deep—you both gasp. His forehead drops to yours, breath ragged.

“This,” he growls against your lips, “this is what I’ve been needing. Not just the touch. You. All of you.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, anchoring him to you, grounding the moment. And he moves—deep, steady strokes that make your breath catch, your body tighten around him. There’s no urgency now. Just intensity. He makes love to you like it’s his mission, like every thrust is another way to tell you how much he feels.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, hand slipping between your bodies, finding that perfect spot. “So perfect. You were made for me.”

You’re already close again, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how connected, how seen. He brings you there—keeps you there—until you’re falling again, clinging to him like he’s the only real thing left.

And when he follows, it’s with a raw sound, your name on his lips, his body shuddering above yours as he spills into you, every muscle tense, then softening all at once.

You lie tangled together, flushed and breathless, chests rising and falling in sync.

He strokes your hair, presses a kiss to your temple, and whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you.”

You smile against his skin. “I think I do now.”

And when he pulls back to look at you, that cocky little smirk tugs at his mouth again.

“That thing you said earlier?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “About ruining you?”

He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, voice low and satisfied.

“Too late, sweetheart. You already did.”

And you know, in every beat of your body still echoing with his, that he means it.

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter three

it could change but this feels like, like the calm before the storm

a/n: you’re welcome & don’t forget to leave feedback! 🤍

tw: a bit of angst, brief mention of anxiety & rough pregnancy

2.208 words

There were times when you wondered how things would’ve been if Lily never existed - an unbearable thought, since you adored her more than anything in the world and would obviously do anything to make her happy, but where would you be now if you never met the love of your life? You frequently thought about how things would’ve been if Mason never shoved you away, nor ghosted you before you told him about Lily. So, besides your life, two others were living rent-free in your mind and the question “What could’ve been?” was constantly echoing in a soft yet agonising voice.

You never opened Mason’s message on your insta DM, but you never blocked him either for there was no point. The damage, if you could even call it one, was already done and you were more than certain about it on a Tuesday night, when Willow dropped Lily at your’s and her green eyes screamed “I’m so sorry”. Before you could question what had happened, your daughter walked in dragging her backpack and her usual cheerful personality, telling you what a fun afternoon she had with Summer, her mother, and her uncle Mason.

“I took Lily for ice cream like you said I could and they were there,” Willow was sharp to clarify when your widened eyes met hers - you watched your friend swallow hard, anxiously waiting for your reaction.

“Go to your bedroom, Lilian,” your daughter frowned at you and you noticed she pouted a bit. You sighed. “It’s alright, peanut. I just need to speak to auntie Willow, okay?”

Lily mimicked you and let out a sigh too, something that’d make you laugh if you weren’t so nervous. Still in her ballet clothes, you watched your daughter blow you a kiss and make her way to her bedroom, leaving the door open as you always instructed her and that made your heart melt a little. You were the luckiest mum in the world, how could you ever think of a life that Lily wasn’t a part of?

“Y/n, I swear to God I had no idea they’d be there. I didn’t even notice them there, it was Summer who spotted Lily and it was just her and the mum - what’s her na-”

“Jaz,”

Willow nodded, nervously. “I assumed it was okay to stay with them since the girls like each other so much and I didn’t even see him coming. I promise,”

“Will, it’s fine…” you sighed, defeated. This whole crisis was happening because of you, there was no one else to be blamed.

You were the one hiding your child from her father and his family - her family.

“I tried to leave immediately but Lils had just started eating her chocolate fudge and-”

“Oh gosh, was it a big chocolate fudge?”

“No,” Willow shook her head, chuckling. “We shared.”

You nodded, allowing yourself to breathe deeply and close your eyes for a second, feeling unexpectedly exhausted. “How was it?”

“He was very charming, particularly when she introduced herself,” you felt Willow run her hand up and down your back and found comfort in her eyes. “Lilian Maisie, she said.”

“Gosh,” you felt your gut wrench, heart pounding against your chest.

“I know this won’t make things any easier for you, but I think Jaz will probably try to reach you because she’d keep staring at Lily and Mason all the time.”

“Gosh,” you repeated, feeling your whole body weakening. Willow helped you sit on the sofa. “It’s because they look exactly like each other, isn't it?”

Willow slowly nodded, a sigh parting her lips. “The resemblance is undoubtedly uncanny,”

She didn’t stay long that evening, and you had to spend a few minutes reassuring Lily that you weren’t mad at her and that, sometimes, adults were complicated and needed to talk about important stuff - to which she wisely replied that you were a person before being her mummy and still loved you more than anything.

What made you obsessively wonder was: would she still love you when you tell her that her best friend’s uncle was also her daddy?

Willow’s prediction was confirmed when Jaz’s name popped on your notifications, asking when you’d finally accept her invitation to go out for lunch without the girls. It annoyed you a bit how much she insisted, not only because you didn’t feel prepared to face her, but also because things at work were hectic with the Holidays right around the corner. You also had your dad calling nonstop to know if he could take Lily to the Cotswolds before you had planned - according to him, she’d have a lot more fun staying there with her grandparents than with you, occasionally having to go to the office with you. He wasn’t wrong, but there was still the ballet recital on the weekend, so you two agreed he could take her the next day.

When Jaz started to call you instead of texting, you knew it was time to finally give in. Instead of going out, you two agreed it’d be a good idea to enjoy the opportunity to cook a nice meal, so your apartment was the chosen place and you were in charge of the groceries while Jaz fetched dessert and a bottle of white wine for you.

“I’ll have to make you a mocktail,” you said, giving her space to walk into your apartment.

“I definitely won’t decline it,” she giggled, and you noticed how her eyes quickly scanned your place. “I love the decoration. How do you keep it so tidy with that little hurricane?”

“You probably won’t believe it, but Lily is incredibly organised.”

“Hmm,” she muttered. “She got it from you, then.”

It was hard to swallow those words, especially with the knot that formed in your throat. Jasmine was so sure. You knew that she knew, and she knew that you knew - confusing, but clear as the day. You hadn’t been with Jaz many times and they had all been at the ballet studio, you spoke a lot through messages, but you felt oddly uncomfortable around her and you forced yourself to keep in mind that it wasn’t her fault, it was entirely yours.

“So, uh…” you started. “I never asked what we should cook but I’m trying to stay focused before the Holidays.” You giggled, Jaz mimicking you and nodding.

“Me too!”

Cooking made you feel relaxed, so despite the reason why Jaz practically forced this time together, you finally felt at ease again as you talked about the ballet recital and shared Holiday plans - you pointed at a photo of you, Lily, and your parents at Foxwoods House, surrounded by its beautiful garden. One your mum took great pride in.

“The estate has been in the family for a few generations and my great-grandfather built a small chapel there, to marry my great-grandmother,”

“That’s insanely romantic!” Jaz’s sigh was followed by a giggle. “I suppose your grandparents and your parents married there too?”

“Yes, it’s sort of a family tradition. My cousins married there too, and the babies were christened… It's really lovely, very private, and family-centered. The whole family is extremely close.”

“But the estate is your dad’s?”

“Yes and no,” Jaz raised an eyebrow and you chuckled, dividing your attention between her and chopping tomatoes as she focused on the garlic. “My grandpa was sort of inclined to gambling and almost lost the estate, but my dad saved it. It’s his, but like I said, we’re all really close so it’s not like he bans the rest of the family to go there and enjoy it when they need an escape.”

“Because you all grew up there?” you nodded. “Your dad sounds like a fantastic man.” You smiled at her, nodding too. He indeed was, and has always been the most supportive of all.

“He’s extraordinary. Lily is completely crazy about him to the point she’d move in with my parents without thinking twice.”

Jaz flashed you a sweet smile but said nothing. She wasn’t exactly discreet and her facial expression gave it all away, but she soon engaged in rambling about baby shopping, preparations for the baby’s arrival, and how her house was upside down with baby furniture arriving last minute. Rambling wasn’t your favourite thing, but it was better than her throwing hints about Lily’s father - the white wine and the smell of the red sauce cooking also made it easier to handle.

“Pregnancy was fucking hell for me, you know,” you blurted, interrupting Jaz, but she didn’t mind and seemed interested for you to continue. “The first 6 weeks were marked by HG, I was always in and out of the hospital, and the stress made it all worse.

“Stress?”

You nodded. “Lack of emotional support. My parents were incredible but I was still a single mum.”

“Look, Y/n-”

“I tried to tell him.” Jaz gulped. “I need you to listen to me and let me finish the story without any sort of judgement.”

“I’ll do my best.”

This was it, the moment of the truth.

You left the chicken roasting at medium temperature and stood up on the other side of the marble kitchen island, watching Jaz taking a seat while holding her massive bump and taking a sip of her apple juice. Focusing on her bump seemed the best thing to do as you tried to find the proper words, and watching the way she softly stroked it made memories overflow your mind.

“It was just a one-night stand.” you sighed. “I don't want to justify my actions, I know I’m on the wrong side of the story here, but as young as I was, having the father of my child shoving me off the way he did when I went there to tell him just freaked me out.”

Then, you proceeded to tell her the whole story, but also how incredible it was being Lily’s mum. How giving birth was the complete opposite of the pregnancy and you were fortunate that things went as smoothly and as peacefully as possible, that your whole life changed once you held Lily in your arms and fed her your milk - you could see Jaz’s eyes sparkling with tears because she understood what motherhood meant and how you’d do anything and everything to protect your child from what you thought it could be a disappointment for her in the future. Mason turned his back on you that day before you could tell him, so how could he even support you?

You never said his name, but Jasmine’s next words were so full of confidence, that you knew you didn’t have to.

“You should’ve insisted, Y/n.”

You just nodded. “I know, and I want you to know that I regret it deeply because I had no right to deprive my daughter of being around her cousin, her amazing aunt…”

“Gosh,” you watched a single tear fall down her cheek. “He would’ve supported you.”

“You weren’t there, you didn’t see how badly he treated me. I was-” you sniffed. “I was so frightened, so lost.”

“Mason would’ve supported you.” The mention of his name made you finally allow some tears to roll down your cheeks. “And you named her after him…”

You nodded. “I wanted him to be around, somehow.”

“This is extremely tough for me but I don’t want to judge, so…” Holding her bump, Jaz stood up and unhurriedly made her way to you, her hand reaching yours and softly squeezing it. “I’m here for whatever you need, I’m here to be the aunt Lily needs and to support the both of you because I know that’s what you need.”

“Oh, Jaz,” you wanted to cover your face with your hands but Jasmine quickly pulled you to a hug, a clumsy one.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready to tell Mason, and I can’t wait to tell Summer that her bestie is her cousin.”

The rest of the day was followed by you showing Jasmine all of Lily’s baby pictures, telling her all the stories, and even repeating some of them - even if you insisted that it’d be incredible for her to find out everything about Lily by herself, Jaz said it’d still feel like the first time until she got used to being an aunt. She mentioned it was scary to see how much Lily and Mason look alike, that “Maisie” is the perfect middle name, and that she couldn’t wait to see their dynamic together. The hard parts were left out, but you knew that a paternity test would eventually happen for obvious reasons, no matter how much Lily looked like her father.

Jaz assured you that although Mason’s reaction would most likely be negative about what you’ve done, it wouldn’t extend to Lily and he wouldn’t reject her but it’d be a rough path navigating through the fact that he was a father and that his daughter wasn’t a newborn. And like she was reading your mind, she also assured you that he wouldn’t dare to try to take Lily from you.

This was the first time in five years, you knew that, somehow, things would end up fine no matter how hard the in-between was about to be.

next chapter

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: A Bleak Picture

Unsure whether they've been trapped inside a painting or been cast back in time, the party must venture through the desolate ruins of a once warm and familiar place to rescue a number of innocents that've gone missing after being abducted by some shadowy force.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive in the town of Valasren on innocuous business, following the rumors of a ruin, attending a nearby shrine, or visiting some old friends. When they arrive they're given an unexpectedly amiable welcome by lord Lucas Kevral, who's heard of their earlier exploits and wants to cultivate a good relationship with such aspiring heroes. While taking him up on an invitation to dine at his castle, the party spy a gloomy painting depicting Valasren in ruins. Lord Kevral explains that it was painted to commemorate the near destruction of the town some generations ago, when one of his ancestors left the settlement defenceless to go off seeking glory in war. His grandmother commissioned the painting from one of the survivors, and hung it in a place of honour so she nor any of her descendants would forget their duty to defend the people.

As the party pursue their mission around Valasren they'll begin to notice a number of disappearances that only seems to climb as time ticks on. Rumors begin to circulate about something moving in the night, stalking people, creeping into their homes when they're asleep, leaving only open doors and empty beds come daylight. These rumours become all too real when the party awake one morning to find one of their number missing, taken without a whisper from where they slept. A scattering of untrustworthy witnesses say they saw an unnatural figure carrying a sack up the hill towards the Lord's castle, giving them at least a ghost of a trail.

Following the trail back to the palace eventually leads the party to the painting, an inexplicable cold draft intermittently drifting from its now permeable surface.

Background: The painter who witnessed the destruction of Valasren was a true master, and was years later able to immortalize the hopelessness they felt in that moment through their skill with the brush. There is power in such emotional resonance, and transformed the painting into an overlap with the shadowfell, where the town's sorrow had likewise been reflected. Not quite a portal, the painting never did much harm but making the already drafty castle hall a little more cold and unwelcoming at night, at least until recent days.

Drawn by the warmth of life and merriment on the air, A Snatcher has discovered the painting and forced its way through, one by one dragging inhabitants of Valasren into the upside down for an unknown purpose.

Challenges & Complications:

Once the party figure out there's something up with the painting, cut to the abducted player waking up in the ruined shadow-town. There's no corresponding painting anywhere to be seen, and because they were taken while they were asleep they're likely a bit exhausted and missing most of their gear. They'll have to be quiet and clever to escape the nightmare things and lingering spirits that dwell within Valasren's shadow, but doing so may give them vital clues about what's really going on. Keep the tension on until the isolated hero is backed into a corner, then have the rest of their friends arrive.

It's a grim irony that before war came to Valasren, the painter was working on capturing the beauty and peace of their home town on canvas, only for that work to be destroyed in the town's raising. Thinking it lost forever, the painter added it in as a detail nearby the burnt out remains of their workshop as a meditation on the happiness thought taken from them. Like many things lost to the mortal world, an echo of the painting has come to reside in the shadowfell, and acts as the exit portal back into the land of light. Finding it though is a problem, the snatcher has removed it from it's resting place and given it over to the terrible entity lairing in the castle. Where they've put it, who can say?

Numerous townsfolk have been pulled into the shadowfell and are scattered about the echo of a place they thought they knew. Lost, affraid, and isolated, many of them have run for cover or have started to sink into the spirit siphoning torpor that afflicts all to dwell too long in shadow.

Extra special thanks to @dm-tuz , who's monsters are ALWAYS an inspiration.

Artsource

[cheezeybread]

Anon McGee is back to wreck the ol inbox :)

Not an Alice related thought this time [I'm ashamed to admit I've never actually played the game myself, I just remember my sister playing it when I was younger. That being said, supposed to get my hands on it this weekend, so we'll see if that sparks new thoughts 🙏], but I've been listening to a lot of Ghost lately and bring you something related to that instead. Just some short headcanons for the housewardens with an s/o who's, regardless of their aesthetic, an unexpectedly avid listener of things like Ghost [which is predominantly nu[?] metal with other genres in some of their other songs]. Like it just doesn't match up at all and it's just kind of jarring.

It's funny to me to imagine it as a sort of scenario where maybe the pair is busy doing something and one of them suggest they share a pair of earbuds to use as background noise and the mistake is made to give the reader control over what they're listening to and that's how the [to at least some of the housewardens, but likely not all of them] appalling reveal of reader's music taste is made. It's definitely not THAT bad, but it's like a punch in the gut when the last thing you're expecting is THIS.

[Also, just a side note, but if you've never listened to Ghost before, I recommend at least listening to "Darkness at the Heart of my Love" and "Mummy Dust" so you can get an idea of the range of their music. Maybe "Cirice" too. It's been kind of a hit or miss on talking to people about them lately, but with the movie having come out recently, I think they're getting around a bit more?]

YOU'VE NEVER ACTUALLY PLAYED THE GAME?? YOU TRAITOR! But at least you're getting the game now, atoning for your sins and whatnot- any new thoughts come around, feel free to wreck my inbox with them! XD

I've never heard of Ghost before, honestly- my music taste is absolutely an abomination! All I listen to is Fall Out Boy, musical songs and cheesy songs that have a veeeery clear storyline to them (I gotta picture a scenario to every song, it's easier that way, don't question it!), but honestly, those Ghost's songs are kind of a bop? I might add them to my Hype up playlist idk!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Poor buddy didn't get to listen to any music with words in it as a kid! He was only allowed to listen to classical orchestra music...so when he got to NRC, Riddle was absolutely overwhelmed by the fact that there were so MANY different genres!

His taste is still pretty old-timey, though.

He's the sort to put on a "Wolfgang Mozart's BOPS" playlist (if their world has a Mozart...) and bust it down to some sick piano notes if he's alone lmao

So when the two of you are studying in the courtyard, you get on the topic of music and how it might help with studies. Riddle explains his tastes, and you try to explain yours with a mumbled "it's complicated..."

In the end, he goads you into playing some of your music so he can understand how you think

He nearly passes away when you first hit play

DRUMS??? GUITARS THAT ARE ELECTRIC MAYBE??? BEATS THAT AREN'T KEPT IN TIME BY A METRONOME IN THE BACKGROUND???

He's convinced you were one of those rebel-teens like Deuce was for a moment, before dismissing the idea.

Riddle just...can't come to terms with the difference of vibes between what YOU give off and the music you listen to.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"Huh."

That's literally all he has to say on the matter for a few hours, as you blast your music on a speaker while you join the Savanaclaw dorm for their morning workout (whether you were actually working out, or just providing encouragement)

The other dorm members are vibing to it, for sure! Ruggie especially is busting down a move every time he gets a break

But Leona? He just says "huh" and...that's it. He doesn't seem too interested in it while he's practicing and working out.

At the end of practice, he comes up and sits with you in the shade, gnawing on a piece of jerky. After a little while, he mentions how he didn't expect a herbivore to have decent music tastes.

"Oh, so you liked it?" You question

"I didn't say that." he responds.

So does he like it?? Does he hate it???

You may never know???

Jk, Ruggie tells you in secret later that Leona was listening to Ghost in his room that afternoon.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Lounging around the Mostro Lounge after closing time, waiting for Azul to finish his "managerial" duties, Floyd convinces you to put on some "Human Vibes"...in other words, music. So you pull out your phone and set it in a glass cup to make the sound louder, and put on one of your main playlists.

Floyd is absolutely crushing it with the dance moves to the songs (literally "crushing it", he's about to crush several plates as he tries to dance while washing dishes)

Jade is silent throughout the ordeal, probably not even hearing it over the vaccuum he's running all over the lounge.

A few songs go through before Azul bursts out of his VIP room, looking absolutely furious.

He yells at Floyd to turn off the music, but the eel just shrugs and points at you without explaining

Azul turns to you, absolutely confused. You turn down the music to a reasonable level, apologizing if it disturbed his work

"What....do you listen to in your spare time?" Is his main question. You can't tell if he's disgusted or simply confused. Flabbergasted might be the best word for it, honestly.

After you explained to him that, yes, this was your music taste, Azul takes your hand in his and gets on his knees, pursing his lips

"We'll get you fixed, don't worry, you'll be fine." :'(

Don't worry, though, he's just kidding, for sure!

He won't even pretend to understand why you listen to it, but he's not going to be completely opposed if you were to play that sort of music every now and then!

KALIM AL-ASIM

Dude!! He loves it fr fr!!

He tries his best to like everything that life has to offer, appreciating it however he can, but he genuinely likes this! Even though he can safely say that he didn't expect you to like this sort of things.

But fully expect him to go down a rabbit-hole for Ghost. He's going to go through a hyper-fixation with it for a few weeks, adding in their songs to the playlists that he puts on a speaker during the dorm's parties and casual hangouts

For some strange reason, though, he wants you to know that he likes the music as much as you do, so Kalim might randomly burst out into one of their songs and insist that you dance with him to his own singing??

He's so silly, but isn't that why you started dating him in the first place?

VIL SCHOENHEIT

"Oh, love, this most definitely isn't the right music for you, are you sure?"

He's so concerned when you play it during a "spa night" in the Pomefiore dorm. He genuinely thinks that you're possessed by a ghost or something. With the way you acted half the time, this was...not the sort of song he was expecting.

It's okay, though, he'll come around, you just have to gentle-parent him with your music taste for a while.

"Aww, come on, how do you know that you hate it if you don't try it~?" (Speaking as if you're trying to get him to eat vegetables LOL)

But after a while, maybe, hopefully, he'll tolerate it just a little bit more...maybe

IDIA SHROUD

I'm ngl, Idia strikes me as the type to listen to this group (and music in general) on occasion, mainly when he's intently engaged on projects and needs to focus, and when he's doing reading in the library- although he rarely goes to the library to to his projects since it's in a public space, he's rather not have his music accidentally blast out while some pop music is playing...he'd much rather have it be Ghost.

So when you're over at the Ignihyde dorm to assist him with some new gidget, he asks you to put on some music to alleviate the silence (not that he particularly minds silent moments when it's around you, but music helps him focus). You don't even think twice before putting on one of Ghost's songs.

His shoulders IMMEDIATELY tense up because Idia's thinking "oh my gosh they got onto one of MY playlists, they're going to see everything I have, they're going to judge me omg omg"

But then you apologize for your music, and poor Idia relaxes straight away when he realizes that it's your music you're playing instead of his!

He definitely didn't think you'd listen to that kind of stuff, but who is he to complain when there's a common music-vibe between you two??

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Hey, Mal, you want to listen to some of my music?" You ask, holding out an earbud as the two of you sit together in the library.

Of course he's going to jump on the opportunity to hear some human music! Now, Malleus has mostly heard classical music, but he's heard bits and pieces of other pop songs here and there!

But as soon as he pops in the earbuds (after you painstakingly explain to him how to wear it), he goes silent and stock-still.

His eyes dilate and he's...just totally frozen (have you seen those memes of people listening to hardcore metal and putting their headphones on little hyperactive kids, who then go still? Yeah, that's how he is)

"This is superb music, my darling, did you make this yourself?" He's so excited, finally speaking once you turn off the music. You have to explain to Malleus that no, you didn't make any of this music, it's all stuff from other people.

Nonetheless, despite whatever vibe you give off, Malleus thinks that it's wonderful, and now will continue to associate this type of music with you forever and all eternity. Expect it to be playing every time you visit the Diasomnia dorm.

And everyone else in the dorm is going to be subjected to listening to it, as well. They all need to be well-versed in different genres of music, Malleus claims, and this kind especially is important (because it's your music!)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[urne-buriall]

i miss sotw dean

so do I. and sometimes I think about what would've happened if Cas had been at home the day Dean brought the bread, the night after their ill-fated first kiss:

Dean left Cesar’s making straight for Cas’ place, chewing on his thumbnail as he drove into town. Would Cas even be home? He’d probably be at work. Dean was counting on him being at work. He’d made bread, but he didn’t have anything like a speech prepared and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw Cas again.

He drove right past the laundromat, turned to go around the block, slowing himself down on purpose. Cas wouldn’t be there. Dean would leave a note. Because if Cas was there it could be very strange. Would he even want to see Dean? Would he want to invite him inside? The way Dean had shut him down last night, completely unwarranted, the bread might not be enough to counteract that. Dean briefly doubted whether Cas even wanted him that way to begin with, as if he might’ve made it all up. But his lips felt the ghost of Cas’ all over again. So passionate, so all-consuming. It was what all the couples in romance books kissed like. He knew how it felt, now. He hadn’t made that up.

He hid the trembling in his hands as he got out of his truck and made his way to the alley behind the laundromat. Vented air from the building smelled like detergent and dryer sheets, warm and thick. He’d feel like a criminal just heading this way if he hadn’t already visited so many times for GED studying. Those moments, too, he now thought of in a different light. Instead of sitting on the futon to go over notes, Cas might press him back into the couch with kisses…

Dean was convinced Cas wouldn’t be home, so when he rounded the corner and saw the motorbike parked, he stopped short. But Cas was walking distance from the vet clinic and used the truck for work, so he might still be out. Dean cast a glance up before he started up the metal steps. The sound of his feet announced him before he would even reach the top landing outside Cas’ front door.

He might not be home. Dean could leave the conchas on the patio table with a note. But if Cas was home, he would’ve heard someone come up the steps. Dean should knock and hope for no answer. He pulled back the screen door so he could knock on the door proper, then waited a fast moment.

Good. Nothing. He could release this complicated feeling of fear and disappointment and leave the container on the table.

The door opened before Dean could turn away.

Cas wore an old university t-shirt and a pair of dark green khaki shorts. He stood in the doorway very still, as much taken aback as Dean to find him standing there.

“Dean,” he said, voice lower and more gravelly than usual. For a moment Dean didn’t know what to think of being under Cas’ gaze again, wondering what he looked like to Cas in this moment, wondering what he thought. And then Cas’ eyes flicked past Dean towards the empty staircase. It was brief—already Cas was looking at him again—but it was telling.

He was afraid Dean had come here with others. He was afraid Dean had come with ill-intent.

“Cas, I—” Dean’s voice caught in his throat. He had to clear it unexpectedly. “I um. I made you bread.”

Cas looked down at the container Dean offered out, then back up at Dean with a furrowed brow like he didn’t understand.

“They’re, uh, conchas,” said Dean. “Like we had at Cesar’s after we brought the mustang.”

Cas’ head began to tip at an angle, putting pieces together but not with much confidence.

“I spent the morning there,” Dean finished. “Making these. Talking to Cesar. I— I wanted to give you something. To say sorry.”

Cas slowly took the container from Dean. He remained strangely still, taut, his face giving next to nothing away. “Sorry?” said Cas.

“For not letting you say anything last— last night,” said Dean. “You wanted to talk and I— I wasn’t very nice.”

Cas dropped his gaze down, mouth looking sad and severe. He took a breath and said, “I’m not sure what you want me to say now.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea. Dean felt like he’d been as clear as he could be, dropping those breadcrumbs. He’d talked to Cesar. He made conchas for Cas. He was sorry for not giving Cas a chance to talk, but he wasn’t sorry for the rest of it. But Cas wasn’t a guy who worked with coded messages.

“Well,” said Dean, and he looked from around the landing back to Cas. This wasn’t the kind of thing you stood outside for. “If you wanted to invite me in, we could start there?”

“You want to come in?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I— Yeah,” said Dean.

Cas looked thoughtful but he stepped back, letting Dean inside. Dean’s heart beat faster just passing close by Cas. The room was warm but there were a couple of windows open and Cas had the fan going, keeping it from feeling stuffy. Cas passed Dean to set the container of conchas on the table. He stopped there, looking down at them, far from confident in his next step.

Dean wondered for the first time if he really had broken things irremediably. He thought he could bring some bread over and make things right just like that? After breaking Cas’ heart into pieces by being so careless and cruel the night before?

“I freaked out.” Dean’s own voice surprised him. Quiet and strained and uncertain. He didn’t even know where the words came from, unbidden but completely honest. “I never even thought of— of kissing a guy before.” It was so vulnerable he looked down at his shoes, feeling red touch his cheeks, even as he could tell that Cas now looked over. “And I just— I like you so much, Cas, and I was worried I ruined everything, and I got scared, and then I did ruin everything. But uh, you know, my whole life just changed less than twenty-four hours ago and I just… wanna make it right.”

“Changed?” said Cas, taking a step closer.

“I’ve been trying to be something I’m not,” said Dean.  “My whole life. And then you came along. You came back. And I— I didn’t know what it meant to me. Until last night.”

Cas lifted his chin, his shoulders evening out from their previous despondent slope. “So when you said… You’re ‘not like that’...”

Dean shook his head, meeting Cas’ gaze even though it was terrifying to be so bold and honest. “It wasn’t true,” said Dean. “But… I needed some time to figure it out.”

“You talked to Cesar,” said Cas, fitting that piece of information into context now.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “I’m sorry about icing you out last night. It wasn’t fair. Are you… are you okay?”

Cas’ head tipped again as if he hadn’t expected that question. He had to think about the answer. He eventually said, “Yeah. Now.” He wet his lips and said, “Dean. I wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to say… all these things to you. I wasn’t going to push. I would’ve listened.”

“I’m sorry for that part,” said Dean. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you.”

“I was afraid I ruined things,” said Cas.

He was afraid of more than that. Dean couldn’t forget the way Cas glanced at the steps as if Dean might’ve turned up here with backup. Dean took a small step forward. “Can we start over?” he asked. “Forget I made such a mess?”

Cas glanced at Dean’s lips, a telling gesture. Exactly what Dean wanted. “Starting over,” said Cas. “Does that mean…”

“I wanna kiss you again,” said Dean. “And this time I won’t run away.”

Cas closed the last distance between them. His hand rose to cradle Dean’s jaw and Dean swore his heart leapt to his mouth in time for their lips to meet. This kiss was so tender and yet it was so much more than Dean had ever felt with any of the rare girls he’d agreed to date. Cas felt so much more real, so solid. And while this felt so much more enlivening than any other kiss, Dean found himself drifting within it, as if he’d been unmoored into a dream.

When they kissed away they kept their faces close, Cas’ head bowed and resting against Dean’s forehead. His thumb brushed across Dean’s chin, tracing just faintly against Dean’s lower lip. Dean’s heart thudded in his chest.

“You aren’t running away,” Cas stated.

“No,” said Dean. “I wanna stay right here.”

Cas made a sound like his breath catching. “Stay,” he said. “Please.”

There was something else in it. Something deeper than Dean understood. Not dangerous, not bad, but imbued with meaning he didn’t have all the clues to decipher.

[kotaro-yumekuma]

A Butterfly Ensnared by Sweetness #01 : Night of Tender Love

Chapter : 01 02 03 04 +Extra

Silvery moonlight spilled through the window like liquid mercury, casting a ethereal glow across the hushed sanctuary of our inn room. As his towering frame shifted away from me, an inexplicable emptiness bloomed in my chest. His wheat-colored hair, still damp with the evidence of our passion, caught the moonlight like spun gold as his broad shoulders disappeared into the shower room. The absence of his warmth left an almost tangible void. These moments after intimacy had always been difficult for me.

We were staying at an inn away from the busy streets of this large port town where our ship was docked. "Can't make noise on the ship, can we-yoi?" he had whispered in my ear, his thoughtfulness stirring something deep in my chest. As I gathered our scattered clothes from the floor, my eyes met my reflection in the mirror. The rose-colored marks blooming on my neck brought back vivid memories of moments ago. My heart clenched as I recalled how his normally peaceful azure eyes had darkened with desire. I loved Marco's touch. His soft lips leaving kisses, the warmth of his large hands—everything was filled with love. But beyond that... The tenderness of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze that set my heart racing—these moments held such pure affection. Yet in the throes of passion, the gentle phoenix transformed. His usual warmth gave way to raw, primal desire, stirring an inexplicable unease in the depths of my heart. This wasn't unique to him. Marco wasn't my first, so I knew a few men. But they all changed in that moment. That transformation had always left me unsettled.

The shower stopped, and the door opened. Droplets traced down Marco's muscular chest from the towel draped over his shoulders. There was something wild and alluring about the way he drank water. "Aren't you going to shower?" His low voice made me tilt my head. "I'm sorry... always." The words escaped my throat, hoarse. "Hm? For what?" "Well... even though Marco tries so hard, I... I can never reach climax." I confessed, looking down, barely able to force the words out. "Being apologized to makes a man feel complicated, you know." His troubled smile made my heart sink further. "I'm sor— ah, um..." My flustered words came out unexpectedly. "If I'm not enough... you can go to those kinds of places, you know." His expression clouded instantly at those words. Furrowing his brow deeply, he reached out and pinched my nose. "Idiot. Don't say things you don't mean. You'd just cry in secret if I did that." A bitter smile escaped me as his words hit their mark. "But—" As I tried to protest, his fingers gently touched my lips. "I want you. Only you." His sincere gaze sent warmth rushing to my face. "Haha, look at you getting all flushed-yoi." At his teasing tone, I couldn't help but pout. "Geez, I'm seriously worried here." "Don't rush. We can take it slow." Marco's voice held its usual gentleness. "Yeah... I'll go take a shower now."

Warm water cascaded over my skin as steam curled around me. Behind closed eyes, memories surfaced unbidden. Marco's gentle touch on my shoulders, his voice a low murmur against my ear. He'd been so patient tonight, each caress measured and tender, sensing my anxiety. Yet my body remained stubbornly unresponsive, registering only the ghosting touch of his fingertips without finding the pleasure he sought to give. "It's alright." His voice still echoed in my ears. The feeling of his warm palm trailing down my back should have been pleasant. Even when I accepted Marco inside me, I only felt the intrusion, unable to find any pleasure. The shower's warmth traced my skin as if trying to comfort me. Despite how much Marco cared for me, I couldn't respond in kind. He put so much thought into making our time together precious, and all I could do was feel more apologetic. Recently, I had confided in a nurse I was close to. "Have you tried doing it yourself?" At first, those words had made me freeze up, face burning red. But if I truly cared about Marco... Driven by such thoughts, one night, I finally worked up the courage to try. In my private room, holding thoughts of Marco in my heart, I fought through the embarrassment to explore my own body. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel any pleasure—only sadness remained. After several attempts, I resigned myself to the fact that this just wasn't for me. A deep sigh dissolved into the steam. When I returned to the room, Marco had fallen asleep with his book open. He must have been waiting for me. But today had started with early morning sailing before reaching this island. The afternoon's errands had worn him out. I gently removed the book and placed it by his pillow. His usually dignified features looked as soft as a boy's in sleep. This was a rare vulnerable moment for the man who always looked after me. "...I'm sorry." I whispered, touching his shoulder. His body heat felt pleasant. As I slowly covered him with the blanket, I rested my hand on his strong back. Marco had business tomorrow too. How should I spend my time on this island we hadn't visited in so long? Maybe I'd buy some books. Or perhaps explore the port town's market. It would be nice to find a shop he'd like. As I pondered, my eyelids grew heavy. When I lay down, Marco's warmth enveloped me comfortably. Just before falling asleep, he rolled over, his large arm naturally drawing me close. That unconscious gesture melted my heart with warmth. "Good night." My whispered words disappeared into the quiet room's air. Outside the window, the port town's lights twinkled in the distance. With peaceful thoughts, we sank into deep sleep.

◇

As gentle sunlight through the thin curtains gradually colored the room, my drowsy consciousness slowly surfaced. The warmth beside me was already gone, replaced by the soft rustle of clothing. Opening my eyes, I found Marco by the bed, buttoning his open shirt. His sun-kissed, healthy skin gleamed in the morning light. "You're awake?" At his usual gentle voice, I gave a small nod. Still wrapped in the soft touch of the sheets, I tried to sit up. Marco approached, his large hand tenderly stroking my hair. The warmth from his fingertips gradually awakened my sleepy consciousness. "Crazy bed head." With a chuckle, he carefully fixed my disheveled bangs. "Mmm, still sleepy..." When I murmured childishly, Marco pressed his lips to my forehead. "I've got to head out now-yoi. Sorry I can't keep you company today." His fingers buttoning his shirt showed traces of reluctance. Through the open collar, part of his beautiful tattoo caught the morning light. "Let me make it up to you tomorrow." "Okay..." As I responded, still in a dreamy morning haze, he came back to my bedside. "I know you know this, but stay off the back streets. And..." Marco nodded toward my bag. "Keep the baby Den Den Mushi with you at all times." I remembered the adorable little creature that could fit in my palm, which he had bought for me during our voyage several months ago. I recalled his shy profile when he handed it to me, saying, "For when we want to hear each other's voices." "Don't worry, I always have it with me." When I responded with a smile, Marco seemed satisfied and kissed my lips. "I'll call you later-yoi." "Yeah. Be careful." I watched his retreating back as he raised his hand in a small wave. With the sound of the closing door, morning silence filled the room. I slowly rose from the bed and began choosing clothes for the day by the window. Through the gap in the curtains drifted the morning air of the port town, carrying the scent of the sea.

Chapter : 01 02 03 04 +Extra

[wearethekat]

February Book Reviews: Rules for Ghosting by Shelly Jay Shore

I picked up this book because it was recommended by author KJ Charles as one of her best books of 2024. In Rules for Ghosting, trans Ezra has separated himself from his family's Jewish funeral home business because he can see ghosts. But when Ezra unexpectedly loses his job at the same time his mother leaves the business, Ezra is forced back home to help with the accounting--in close proximity to both the ghosts and Ezra's handsome, recently widowed housemate, who volunteers there.

This is a sweet romance novel focused mostly on Ezra's family drama. He's a recovering ex eldest daughter, and struggles with anxiety and feeling unsupported. On top of which he has to deal with being furloughed from his job, and the family crisis when his mother confesses to having an affair with a woman and leaves the family. Ezra's crush on Jonathan, who lives in his house as well as volunteers with the funeral home, takes second stage to Ezra's complex relationship with his parents and two siblings. The paranormal aspect trails at a distant third--there's no underlying paranormal worldbuilding, Ezra just has the ability to see ghosts mostly as a convenient plot device and thematic element about being haunted by the past.

I also liked that Ezra is an observant, practicing Jew, which isn't very common in romance novels. While Ezra has complicated feelings about his religion, it's something he's deeply embedded in regardless. Ezra's mother confesses to the affair during Passover seder, and a major plot point occurs while eating kosher marshmallows during Lag B'Omer. The plot important family funeral home does Jewish burials and is struggling to hold out against being bought by a big conglomerate.

Recommended for anyone who'd enjoy a romance light on the romance but with excellent family dynamics.

[theizzifromosaka]

I'm Back

Remember when I made those monster categories and said I'd test them out? I went out and looked for some monsters from various sources to try and categorize, and my system mostly holds up.

Here's that post btw, TL:DR the categories were Natural, Extraterrestrial, Paranormal, Artificial and Deific

Reporting my findings, source by source:

Pokemon are mostly what you'd expect. Mostly Natural, a few Paranormal, extraterrestrial and Artificial and a handful of Deific.

There were a few interesting cases I found all in the same vein, where the Pokemon appears artificial or supernatural but is organic

Digimon isn't all that complicated past the initial concept, they're interdimensional beings who can only exist in digital form outside of their home dimension, so they're all Extraterrestrial.

Classic Movie Monsters are once again pretty simple for the most part, but things unexpectedly started to get a bit complicated here.

Dracula, The Wolf Man and The Mummy are all paranormal, Frankenstein adds Artificial to that and the Gill-Man is completely Natural. Surprisingly it was the Invisible Man that threw a wrench into the works, his story is he developed a chemical that rendered him permanently invisible, which I initially made a judgement call on and placed into Supernatural.

Toho is where my earlier judgement call would have to be made again, and where I initially considered making a new category. A lot of weird monsters come from here.

First, a few of the easy ones. Mothra has some vague details in her backstory but it's pretty clear she's either Paranormal or Deific. Jet Jaguar is a human made robot so he's Artificial and Mechagodzilla is a robot of extraterrestrial origin so he's Extraterrestrial/Artificial and many others such as Gigan are simply aliens.

The guy Goji himself, as well as several other monsters such as Biollante and Orga, however, brought up the same issue as The Invisible Man. My phrasing of Paranormal in my previous post was simply "things that should not exist", which ends up encompassing these monsters in a way I didn't really expect.

Godzilla and Orga are monsters who started off much more ordinairy before being mutated in differnt ways, and Biollante and The Invisible Man were intentionally mutated. As a result, I'm considering adding a new category for creatures like this:

Mutant

An otherwise normal creature that has been altered in a significant way, usually ending up as something completely unique

I'm still not sure about this as a category, and I may also change the description to exclude Cyborgs, or the name to better include them, which the description I wrote is vague enough to encompass.

Yu-Gi-Oh also introduces a new complication, though this one's pretty easy to sort out. Specifically, many of its monsters exist in many states which vary the monster's categorization.

The first stage that includes just about every Yu-Gi-Oh monster is the in universe and IRL card games, in which the monster's categorization heavily relies on the card's flavor text if it's present, and must be intuited if not.

The second stage which includes very few monsters is the in universe origins of the monsters depicted on the cards, which don't vary as much as they work very similarly to Jojo stands or Personas from the Persona series. They're mostly supernatural, with exceptions including the Egyptian Gods, who would be Deific.

The same separation concept exists in Scooby-Doo funnily enough (maybe it's a hyphen thing), where there's the perceived nature of the monster, for instance Space Kook being an alien or The Phantom being a ghost, and the creature's true nature as a regular human, which I guess would put them under the Natural category.

Scooby-Doo will occasionally subvert this trope by having the monster being real, such as Charlie the Robot being an actual robot or the Zombies in Zombie Island being real. There are many examples, though the series has been going on for so long it's still relatively underutilized. Other than that it's usually straightforward.

I still need to see if "Mutant" is even necessary, and if it is it needs to be reworked, but my system held up surprisingly well.

[ninja-muse]

This month's last-minute review is brought to you by something of a reading slump. I've read a fair number of good books this month, if you look at the ratings I've given them, but no books that I've gotten excited about, that I've felt were unexpectedly good enough that I had to talk about it.

Until now.

Lovecraft Country was my first Matt Ruff, and it's not going to be the last. It's well-written, with strong characters and good humour, and a really interesting structure. It's a smart book, and feels very grounded and real. Is it an astounding book? No, but it does its thing very well and I enjoyed reading it more than I thought I would.

Let's start with the structure, because that's one of the things that impressed me most. It's a novel-of-stories, with each chapter being a different character on their own adventure, but there's still a narrative arc for the book, clues the characters gather and the readers pick up on, and nastiness that builds and builds until the final showdown. It's a tough structure to pull off, but Ruff's done it.

I also liked that the structure lent itself very well to a sort of puzzle-box story. You get all these clues and hints about what's truly going on, even if you don't realize that till later, and even though you kind of know where the book is going, watching everything slowly slot into place and trying to put everything together before the characters do is a good part of the fun. It's a lot like watching good SFnal TV, which Ruff's author's note says this was meant to be; you get invested in the characters and the individual "episodes", but there's meaning in that key, that comic book, that thing in the forest. Surely there must be, but how?

And the characters! I loved all the point-of-view characters—they're smart, opinionated, complicated, aware of the forces acting against them and doing what they can to avoid them. I was scared for them, I wanted them to succeed, all that good stuff. The white people are also believably drawn, in that they're self-important, greedy, and used to power, but also, when the story allows for us to see it, sympathetic and complicated all the same.

It's hard to say whether this is science fiction or fantasy, but it's definitely in that wheelhouse rather than being a straight-up historical novel. There are ghosts and monsters and grimoires and secret dimensions and a lot of other stuff you might expect to find in a book that's influenced by pulp fiction and early sci-fi and horror. But, as with a lot of genre work that tackles such things these days, Ruff has fun with this stuff while also adding a social twist to them. In this case, having a Black cast allows Ruff to illuminate and comment on the racism inherit to the 1950s. There's humour to it, but in a way that helps the points hit home.

And that brings me to the last thing I need to mention: that this is a book about Black people written by a white man. It's also written primarily for white people, as far as I can tell, because while the characters take redlining and sundown towns for granted, Ruff doesn't assume that his readers will even know what those are or, if they do, be aware how they actually impact people. However, Ruff's also done his research and tackled the subject thoughtfully. The characters don't conform to stereotypes but are definitely informed by their pasts. The stuff they face goes beyond the usual talking points of Black History For White People; there's mention of boycotts of racist businesses, the Tulsa race massacre, the intricacies of buying real estate while Black, the difficulties of loving science fiction when everyone who writes it hates you. And of course he acknowledges that dealing with racist BS on a daily basis and constantly being underestimated puts you at an advantage when there's some really massive BS going down. I thought Ruff handled it all very well, without being heavy-handed or going into anything that he couldn't do justice. (Well, maybe Ruby's story. I need to think about that one more.)

So yeah, I was surprised by this book on a few fronts, and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The humour and love of SF tropes, balanced with the antiracism and social commentary, was right up my alley, and the way Ruff told the story was the cherry on top. Like I said, it's not an amazing book—it might have pushed the boundaries of speculative fiction when it came out but it certainly doesn't now—but it entertains and enlightens and does so cleverly. This won't be my last Matt Ruff, like I said above, but I'm also not likely to pick up another one for a while. Maybe in a year or two when I get a hankering for the sort of stuff he does.

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Corruption of Hollis Brown by K. Ancrum

"'You're just a house I'm haunting.'"

Year Read: 2025

Rating: 5/5

Thoughts: Holy shit. It's unprecedented for my first book of the year to be a five-star read, but this is exactly my kind of weird. I adored Ancrum's The Wicker Man, and fans of that one are sure to find a lot to like about this. The vibes are very similar, and anyone who didn't like it is going to run into similar problems here. While I would argue this book is at least as much romance as horror (and even surprisingly wholesome at times), it's still very much a horror novel, and I would maybe tack a "dark" onto that romance descriptor as a warning. But it's also right in the description that Hollis falls in love with the being possessing him, so… were you expecting it to be all fluffy and wholesome? It's complicated and dark and toxic at times, and since I'm disturbed (obviously) I love that about it. As with most enemies to lovers stories, it turns out it's very hard to hate someone once we understand them.

Hollis and Walt's relationship is the main focus of the novel, and I adored both of them. They're the best kinds of shades of gray characters, neither entirely good nor entirely bad. I'll admit it's creepy as hell when Hollis is first possessed. It's not often a book gives me genuine chills like that. It's also surprisingly erotic for characters who can't touch each other in the usual ways, and there are some unexpectedly sweet moments too as they come to learn and care for each other. There's so much emotion packed into this book, from terror to love, and both boys are heartbreakingly seventeen. The relationship reminds me of Symbrock (Eddie + Venom) without the superhero angle, in that it's nontraditional and a little codependent but also ultimately symbiotic: they are better together than they are apart. I also liked Hollis's two best friends, Annie and Yulia, and they bring some additional queer/poc rep to the novel.

Ancrum's chapters are so brief, it made me feel like I was flying through them. The only time the pace lagged a little for me was after the exorcism, when the characters spin their wheels a bit trying to decide what to do about Rose Town. Admittedly, that plot isn't as strong as it could have been, and the conclusion for it is a bit quick and obscure. At that point, I didn't really care though. The main thrust of the novel is Hollis and Walt's relationship, with the ghost town being more of a side plot. Overall, I loved it, and I'll be looking for a copy for my shelf when it comes out. I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at HarperCollins.

[blogger360ncislarules]

Ghosts’ Season 4 Christmas special checked off several items on our holiday wish list, including the much-anticipated twist that let Jay see the spirits.

The hijinks began while Sam and Jay were trying to fix their broken water heater ahead of his parents’ visit. Unfortunately for the couple (but fortunately for us viewers), they forgot to turn off the power and were zapped, resulting in Sam and Jay being possessed by Nancy and Pete, respectively.

Sam was able to eventually “evict” Nancy, but only after the ghost went to town on some guacamole and unexpectedly bonded with Jay’s disapproving mother. Getting Pete out of Jay’s body, however, proved to be more complicated since he has the power to leave the property without being expelled. So Sam staged an exorcism — but Pete’s soul is so pure that it was Jay who got kicked out of his own body! At least the concerning turn of events allowed Jay to finally interact with the ghosts.

Meanwhile, Pete kidnapped Jay’s body to go visit his daughter, who is moving to Australia. As “Jay” told her how proud her father would be of her and hugged her, Pete’s spirit separated from Jay, leaving Sam’s husband in a zombie-like state. Using the faulty lamp and Sonic fries as bait, Sam lured zombie Jay into being zapped so her hubby could come back to life.

Below, stars Rose McIver and Utkarsh Ambudkar talk about how they tackled the double possession, how getting to see the ghosts will bring Sam and Jay closer together, and which possessions are on their wish lists for each other.

TVLINE | What a gift of an episode for the both of you. You get so much to do, from the double possession to meeting Jay’s parents to Jay getting to see the ghosts. What was your favorite part? ROSE MCIVER | It was incredible to get to play, especially Nancy and Pete, they’re just such iconic characters, and to get to throw a dart at who they are and what they bring… Especially for Sam, I found it so liberating, being able to kind of shake off her properness or her sort of sense of making people happy and appealing to other people, and just to be able to be completely free and liberated. Nancy was such a joy. UTKARSH AMBUDKAR | Well, I’m happy that we get to see Rose be sort of the comedic engine of the first half of this Christmas special. I think she has to do so much technical heavy lifting every episode as Sam to just let everybody else shine. She facilitates a lot of other people’s success. So for her to have a chance to really go for it was super funny. Watching her eat that guacamole was disgusting, and she went to town on it. MCIVER | You mean gorgeous? AMBUDKAR | It was harrowing to look at, but it was really funny. It was hilarious. She made me laugh so much. MCIVER | Do you remember that lunch, I had bought my lunch in advance, and it was a guacamole quesadilla? That is what I had ordered for lunch, and then I finished that scene and I, honestly, looked at the lunch box and wanted to be sick. AMBUDKAR | Yeah, no, thank you. And I was so glad that Jay’s parents get to join us finally, and now we’ve met all of the sort of immediate relatives of our two humans. MCIVER | And honestly, that stuff where you’re talking to your dad about Mahesh, naming [the restaurant] after him and this storyline, it was so resonate. We have a lot of people who’ve immigrated to different countries or families that have immigrated to different countries in our immediate cast and crew, and people were really affected by your performance and what you were saying, what you were talking about. It was a great storyline. It was [a] surprisingly moving moment for being on set of a comedy where we’re normally laughing all day, every day.

TVLINE | When you see that you have a double possessions storyline coming up in the script, how do you prepare for that? Did you go back and watch old episodes? Do you start paying more attention to your co-stars? MCIVER | I definitely went back and watched old episodes, and then also, Betsy [Sodaro] was so generous and recorded herself performing all of the lines that I would be performing as Nancy, and she sent them to me. She filmed them at home. [It] would have taken a substantial amount of time. It was very kind of her. And she said she felt like she was auditioning to play herself, which is pretty surreal and very unfair experience to have at this point. She should not be auditioning for anything ever, in my mind. Then on set, she was also able to come and sit behind the monitors quite often and run in and offer little ideas or thoughts or just kind of course-correct me. So she was very, very generous, and I’m such a fan of her as a person and as an actor, and it was really nice to be able to kind of collaborate like this.

TVLINE | Whose voice was harder to get: hers or Thor’s? MCIVER | Well, I only learned this episode about finding a gateway word to help you find the voice. So for me, it was “Stuart.” So anytime I got lost, I would just think about how she says “Stuart” when she’s talking to him in the basement. [Ambudkar laughs] I said, “Oh, my God, the blooper reel is going to be horrific.” Me just 50,000 times in the middle of scenes going, “Stuart, Stuart, Stuart, Stuart.” AMBUDKAR | On the flipside, I tried to do the same approach with Richie [Moriarty] and I was like, “Hey, Rose is having Betsy record her lines. Can you do it for me, too?” and Richie was like, “Yeah, yeah, of course, of course.” But he shares a [trailer] wall with Brandon Scott Jones, and he was feeling very self-conscious about doing his lines and having Brandon hear him. So he whispered all of his lines into a tape recorder and then sent that to me, and I was like, “Richie, what the hell am I going to do with this?” So, basically, if you see my impression of Pete as being understated and almost at below room-tone volume, it’s because I copied Richie whispering into his phone.

TVLINE | Utkarsh, you have to play a lot of Pete’s emotional beats in this episode. How was that for you? Was there a sense of responsibility that you felt, taking on another character’s big emotional arc? AMBUDKAR | I don’t think of it like that, really. I just was thinking about what it would be like to just be a dad, talk to your daughter, just tell her how proud I was of her. I don’t really know how to explain it. I just was sort of playing the love. MCIVER | You, also, were able to physically embody a connection with his daughter, which is pretty special. I mean, he was able to hug and hold his daughter in his arms like that, and as a father, I’m sure, I can’t think of something you’d long for more if you were unable to hold your daughter in your arms. AMBUDKAR | The episode, also, was so technically involved. That shot when I hug our daughter and then it pulls out, and it’s Richie playing Pete, and you get to actually see Pete holding his daughter for the first time, shots like that took an hour, hour and a half, two hours just to get right. So you’re sort of, technically, trying to stay in the right place. I hope Richie’s happy with it when he sees it. I don’t really mind because the dude got, like, 10 days off of work because I had to play his role. So however he feels about it is like, “You’re good, dawg. You’re good. I did my work and your work. Just be happy.” [Laughs]

TVLINE | Do you wish it had lasted longer? AMBUDKAR | I mean, selfishly, as an actor, yeah, of course, I want more time. I wish that Jay and Pete got to meet each other, but, obviously, because of the storyline, we didn’t get to. But yeah, I, for sure, would have taken another one or two episodes of being a ghost or being in that world, but I think for our story and for the overall message and energy of our show, this was the perfect amount.

TVLINE | Does this change Jay’s relationship with the ghosts moving forward? Does he have a new way of thinking about them now that he’s actually met them? AMBUDKAR | You know, I think for a guy who loves his wife unconditionally but up until this point has, basically, been operating on blind faith, I think he finally gets to see what Sam has to go through on a daily basis, and I think it’s less about his interaction with the ghosts and way more about his connection to his wife, which I think is sort of Jay’s heartbeat. That’s what makes him who he is, is how he can support Sam in the objective insanity that is her life. But I think, hopefully, it makes them stronger and brings their bond closer. MCIVER | Yeah, she has to live it, but he has to live without it. She has all of this company, and she has these people around her all day. We regularly talk about how fun it would be to see a full episode which is actually from Jay’s perspective, and how isolating that is… [Anything that] helps them understand each other’s perspectives more seems like it would be very beneficial for their relationship.

TVLINE | Rose, did you feel like you were in iZombie for a minute there when Jay turned into a zombie? MCIVER | Yeah. I have the line in [the episode]: “I hate zombies.” Did they keep that?

TVLINE | Yeah, they did. MCIVER | Oh, good. Yeah, it was a nice little nod. It was very fun. It did feel like getting transported back to Vancouver in 2018.

TVLINE | Is there anybody from iZombie that you would love to see guest-star on the show? MCIVER | I mean, Rahul [Kohli] and Malcolm [Goodwin] and Aly [Michalka] would be like a dream. But we always talk about trying to get Rahul in. Utkarsh knows him as well and is a fan as well. So that would be really, really wonderful. Any of those three. I think that, tonally, obviously there’s some good overlap in terms of iZombie and Ghosts, so I feel like they would translate very well into this universe.

TVLINE | If you could pick one character for the other to be possessed by, which one would it be? MCIVER | I would love for Jay to be possessed by Flower because I know how much he adores Sheila [Carrasco], and we all admire her work so much and the character she’s built, and how contradictory her character is is so fun. She can be such different versions of herself, and it tracks. So I think that would be really cool to see Jay being possessed by Flower. AMBUDKAR | I think Trevor. Sam is so disgusted by most of Trevor’s outlook on life that I think for her to be possessed by him would be very funny. I think watching Rose pull the “T-Money” would be very funny.

[themculibrary]

Angry Kissing Masterlist

A is for Asphyxiation (ao3) - shieldslut steve/tony E, 2k

Summary: Tony's used to messing up on missions, and he's used to an angry Captain America yelling at him for it... but this? This is new.

Angry Kiss (ao3) - thegreenwomanswalkman steve/natasha G, 794

Summary: Maybe fighting while angry isn't the best idea, but it's the best way to get over the UST between them.

Borrowed, Stolen, Sworn and Sealed (ao3) - Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1) peter/mary jane T, 4k

Summary: Every kiss Peter and MJ share is different but in the end, they all boil down in translation to the same three words.

Don't Talk Just Kiss (ao3) - Dormammu steve/tony G, 2k

Summary: Steve and Tony are at Club A, each thinking about their never realized friendship and crush on the other and that the other hates him.

Fit The Profile (ao3) - WaterHorseyBlues loki/mobius N/R, 77k

Summary: Violent attacks, attempted murder and an unclaimed inheritance. Loki's dull life is interrupted when he's unexpectedly taken as a hostage one night. Private Detective Mobius is on the case, and Loki grasps at the chance to turn his life around and hunt down the perpetrator. What at first seems like unmotivated violence caused by an untraceable ghost soon turns into something much bigger than either Loki or Mobius could have expected. Could the answer lie in Loki's past? Or is something far more sinister going on?

He Doesn't Need Me Anymore (ao3) - loricameback steve/bucky T, 690

Summary: What really happened after Steve rescued Bucky from Red Skull.

In the End in Wonderland We Both Went Mad (ao3) - snarkysweetness skye/grant M, 1k

Summary: After a mission gone awry Skye and Ward get into a very heated shouting match that has unforeseen consequences.

Let my love erase all your doubts (ao3) - Mimisempai loki/mobius M, 1k

Summary: While traveling with Loki in Asgard on a mission for the TVA, Mobius stumbles upon what appears to be a tender moment between Sif and his lover. When Loki finds him in their room, Mobius lets his jealousy take possession of him to Loki's great surprise.

Let's Hear It For Captain America! (ao3) - Magnetism_bind steve/bucky E, 5k

Summary: A missing scene from Captain America: The First Avenger

Marked For Good (ao3) - buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (hutchabelle) steve/bucky E, 1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is noble to a fault, and that's how he manages to get himself into really dumb predicaments more often than not. Bucky Barnes is fed up. In fact, he's so fed up he decides a spanking's in order. They both end up enjoying it way more than either expect.

Nine Days Of Loki (ao3) - EarthAngelGirl30 loki/sif N/R, 74k

Summary: The Lady Sif has been given a mission. She's been sent to Midgard with orders to bring the troublesome trickster Loki, back to Asgard. He's been in hiding amongst the mortals after fleeing the realm eternal, in order to escape the wrath of Odin, as well as Thanos who still has a score to settle with him. With his magical abilities, Sif isn't able to apprehend him easily and inadvertently becomes his hostage. When their hatred of each other begins evolving into something more complicated, her integrity, loyalty and honour will be tested. Likewise, Loki even begins questioning his reasons for holding her captive in the first place. Unless she can convince him to return, Sif may end up being stranded on Midgard indefinitely, and who knows what fate may befall her captor. But with the possibility of Heimdall observing all, as she's pushed to the limit, will whatever happens on Midgard...stay on Midgard?

oh captain, my captain (ao3) - silentstreets steve/tony M, 1k

Summary: steve's angry so tony's angry and they make out wow

Staring at the Sun (ao3) - Silver17Springs yelena/kate E, 11k

Summary: After spending Christmas with the Barton family, Kate remembers the blonde assassin who left and is determined to find her and remind her that she still had people. She finds, her, but the second part doesn't go so well.

Or, the "Yelena is super fucked up and people ignore her trauma" trope where Kate Bishop gets thrown a learning curve about how to deal with a ticking bomb of a human person.

Surrounded, Surrounded (ao3) - ryry_peaches steve/bucky G, 3k

Summary: Before the battle in Wakanda, Steve and Bucky take a little time to catch up, resolve some things and remind one another what they're fighting for.

Take Me, Quake Me (ao3) - tisfan robbie/skye E, 2k

Summary: Robbie's got a demon inside him... And Daisy was never big on caution.

The Only One For Me (ao3) - scarletvisionforever wanda/vision T, 1k

Summary: PROMPT: Fighting that leads to an angry kiss~

under the neon lights (all I see is you) (ao3) - smish1 steve/bucky E, 9k

Summary: Bucky expresses some feelings with the help of karaoke, Asgardian mead and some bad decisions.

We Don't Kiss & Tell (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony T, 4k

Summary: The first time it happened, they were in the middle of an argument.

[dreamy625]

Up in smoke - ficlet

Words: 540

Content: not really sure what this is, just something that popped into my head when I was trying to work out how a ghost could smoke for my Halloween fic Mystery machine

-----------------------------

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “God, I really miss smoking.”

“Oh, you can’t…? But you can talk fine? Doesn’t that need breath too?”

“No, sound’s just energy again. I’m talking with my mind, not my vocal chords.” He gives a short laugh, “My lips moving is just habit apparently.”

“What do you miss about it?”

“The smell. And the nicotine rush of course.”

“So you can’t smell either?”

“Not exactly. Ghosts can sort of… absorb things… I think. I can sense the smoke. And the traffic fumes. And the flowers on that grave. And your perfume. But it’s not quite the same. It’s from the outside, not inside, like it is if you inhale.”

Cassie thinks for a moment, “What if… you wanna try an experiment?”

“Okay…”

She turns on the bench to fully face him, “Um, I think I’ll need you to close your eyes.” He does so, but then she has another thought, “Can you still see me? Is that another energy thing? This is so complicated!”

“I know you’re there, but no, I can’t see what you’re doing.”

“Good, now open your mouth.”

“Why? What are you going to…”

“Ah ha, you can speak with your mind - I heard that but your mouth didn’t close at all.”

Steve relaxes a little, understanding what the experiment is about. But then he feels warmth and the fizzy sensation of an alive person very close to him, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, a rush of air and smoke which seems to fill his head.

He must look comically surprised because Cassie giggles. 

“Wha… what did you do?” Again this comes direct from his brain as he’s too stunned to use his mouth.

“I blew smoke in your mouth! Sorry, was it gross? I probably should have asked, shouldn't I?”

“No, it’s… I…” He feels dizzy. Good-dizzy. “Do it again - no, wait, can I open my eyes?”

She feels suddenly shy, “Yeees, but… are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Definitely.” He manages to move his lips to emphasise the word before parting them once more in anticipation. 

Cassie takes a drag on the cigarette, careful to keep the inhalation shallow, and leans forwards, their eyes locking until they get too close to focus. She exhales the smoke in more of an elongated haaah this time, and Steve tries in vain to focus on the sensation of the chemicals entering what now passes for his body rather than on the closeness of another.

“Wow.”

“Did it work? Did you get a nicotine rush?”

“Something like that.”

It has not escaped his attention that Cassie has moved back only a couple of inches. It has not escaped her attention that Steve, still with his mouth open, is staring at her lips. 

“What does it feel like, if we… if you… if a ghost and a human… touch?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t… with a live person… since. I’ve read it feels cold.”

“I could feel something, just from being near. But not cold, more like… tingly?”

“That’s how it feels for me too.” There’s a beat where neither of them says anything, then he suggests, “We could… do another experiment?”

She smiles, “Okay.”

[angstmonsterwrites]

There's a friend who's become very distant and who I therefore don't know how to approach anymore, so I'm going to express some of what I've been thinking and feeling here.

We had what I thought was a good talking relationship for about 3 years, but looking back--especially over the past year--I think I see a subtle pattern of distancing, as though maybe it was always their intention to slowly break it off.

I don't know why. I have a smattering of suspicions--some that greatly worry me for their sake, and others that just hurt--but nothing conclusive. (And certainly nothing I'm *ever* going to detail here, as much of it relates to complicated, stressful matters that are not at all mine to tell.)

At this point, it's been over six months since we last really talked.

I won't deny that I bear at least some responsibility for the silence. I am not nor have ever really been great at being the one to start conversations, but I did give it an effort for a while, because I gave/give a pretty big damn about this one. Otherwise...well, I've been burned enough times that I often find myself revisiting the belief that if anyone wants anything to do with me, they'll come to me. A lot of unkind voices in my life have made it abundantly clear that I should be extremely wary of even the appearance of inviting myself, so when I come to feel like I'm being pushed away, that's the headspace I tend to wind up in. I don't agree with those old unkind voices, but I prefer not to risk the particularly doomed and shamed feelings that come with being unexpectedly told that I'm unwelcomed or unwanted.

But...I suppose that it wouldn't be so unexpected now. I've waited. I've sent tiny, continous signals to indicate I'm still around with no intention to ghost, but it's come to feel like I've been *all but* ghosted.

I never wanted anything much but this friend's happiness and safety, and to be part of that, but I fear and deeply suspect there simply isn't room in their life for me anymore. In all honesty, a part of me hopes that they're just being really fucking petty, never truly enjoyed my company but struggled to be honest about it, or aren't who I thought they were in some other significant way---because the alternative is that there's a lot going wrong or messy for them that has them shutting down and isolating to some degree, and I don't want that for them.

But...what I want for myself is closure or clarity. This half-grieving limbo state is taking a pretty heavy toll on me emotionally, and if it really is time to walk away for good, I want to know that for a fact. I wouldn't beg or plead for a change of heart. I wouldn't lash out, hurling accusations or slander. As much as humanly possible, I would simply leave the matter in peace and deal with my feelings privately, with both parties' dignity intact.