#i also hate endings and i need to leave NOW. so. take this

[saintshadow]

Your overthinking :: Your reality

pile i

The tower knight of swords high priestess 6 of wands

The way other people perceive you is not that serious, idm it disrespectfully. Imagine if the most evil person you know hated you. Now imagine caring? Don’t give merit to the opinions of people who aren’t even good to you or others. Currently, the people who take up a problem with you are the actual problem. You’re well liked and people like hearing from you for the most part. You are more popular than you think. Give yourself more credit. You do a lot for the people you love & they really appreciate you. Learn to take life less seriously. Constantly berating yourself and being harsh is unhelpful. It doesn’t allow you room to grow or improve. It keeps you trapped in a cycle. Avoiding mistakes at all costs means you are afraid of truth and growth. We all make mistakes, we all do things wrong, maybe some of the skills you lack cause you to feel useless. Thats okay, one day things will be different. With effort and persistence it will change, stop worrying so much and be patient with yourself and your growth. You’re not behind, you’ve just developed in other ways ahead of others and now you’re learning a new set of skills that people generally have. Relax. Seriously. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. I sense for some of you continuing to lead life in this way could lead to eventual health problems of the heart and gut/liver. I also feel that someone needs to drink less alcohol. Don’t let it become a worse habit than it is. Take it from someone who used to drink like a fish, it is not worth it. I have seen what alcoholism does to people. It isn’t funny or cute or quirky, addiction is a serious problem. You’re in a threshold where it would be easier to quit now than it would later. There’s a paternal wound here. This part of the message probably won’t resonate with everyone.

pile ii

8 of wands 6 of cups 8 of cups temperance

You’re terrified of sudden abandonment. You’re very manipulative in relationships honestly because you’re scared of being left. You overdo it for everyone around you and inevitably burn yourself out and exhaust yourself quickly as a result. You’re also impulsive and your impulsioms can lead to illogical actions and tjought patterns. It’s like you’d expect someone to scream at you and cut you off forever and ever if you accidentally broke a glass. Constantly trying to avoid abandonment is more likely to cause it. You can get very secretive and weird when you feel like people are going to leave you. It’s like you don’t realize how you come off, you’re very tired of being hurt. It seems like you’re convinced you’re unloveable if you aren’t constantly doing something for others. Thats super delusional. No shade no tea. Sometimes relationships feel “stagnant” or “slow” it doesn’t mean people are going away or that they’re not in alignment. Sometimes you just have to brace yourself through the discomfort & trust theres a light at the end of the tunnel. You frequently delude yourself and fear monger yourself. Some of you should consider therapy. It could help a lot.

pile iii

this pile will have 2 subsections because there is a split in the collective lol

🌸 + 🍒

Knight of cups 9 of cups reversed seven of pentacles reversed seven of wands

🍒 Lol y’all are overthinking a manifestation, but it’s like ok… yes you are a very powerful manifestor & a lot of you put in great effort. Some of you are very self pitying though & fail to understand that you don’t position yourself to receive. Being open to receive is not the same as taking actual actions that put you in the position to receive btw. Ie: “I’m manifesting starting a business” are you learning the skills & information necessary to go after this goal. It’s like you have so much energy but you don’t realize that you can take action. Don’t rot away in the recesses of your subconscious mind stuck in an endless loop of trying to figure out why you can’t manifest and listening to subliminals & shit. At some point you have to recognize that you need to take action. You are very emotional, sensitive, dreamy, idealistic, & innocent. You are powerful, you are capable of manifesting your desires, they are getting close, but now is the time for tapping into your masculine energy. Be more confident, eat healthily, take care of your body & mind as you prime yourself to receive this manifestation. You have to plant your seeds before you can harvest them silly.

🌸 the great effort you’ve put into your manifestation is soon to pay off. You’ve got to maintain the work & the effort, you’re stepping into something you thought wouldn’t be reaccessible. I heard ice spice “you thought I was a one hit wonder?”. Come back era. Keep pushing. You could have some messages in pile 1!

[ovadzs]

strangers in the night

part one

ᝰ.ᐟsummary: When your mother goes missing, it's up to you to find her. Your brother, Sherlock Holmes? Pfft, nothing in comparison to you. But when you end up getting intertwined with the threatened life of Viscount Piastri, things go wayward.

ᝰ.ᐟwho??: Viscount!oscar x holmes!reader

ᝰ.ᐟtrope: Enola holmes au, strangers to... case partners?

ᝰ.ᐟcw: violence, attempted murder, misogyny, etc. NOT PROOF READ!!

ᝰ.ᐟword count: nearly 7k (in this part)

ᝰ.ᐟauthor notes: hi guys! hope you like this!! sorry for the lack of content in a while, had some stuff going on (like my college induction day, kill me. was awful, now dreading next year! also prom next week, yay??? nay??? yes this is like a poor adaption of the film, but i hope it’s worth the read. also, part 2 will have oscar in it consistently, plus an ending which is a bit different to the original!! if you guys like it, i could also do a part 3/4 based off the second film!! lmk 🥳 also, i have very specific songs i listen when writing each fic, would you guys like me to mention them in these intro bits? for example, this one is ‘strangers in the night,’ by frank sinatra!

It's a painfully usual morning. The sun shines just-so through your window, waking you up from an evidently restless evening. Your duvet, and scruffy stuffed bear, flung carelessly on the floor. Paper, strewn about the room, spilling from drawers and shelves. Ink blotches, everywhere. Dents and scrapes, from where you’d tripped searching for a certain book, or where your pins and red string had been pushed ever slightly too hard against the walls. Everything is familiar, and boring, and you had begun to almost hate the routine of it all. You are grateful, of course, that you weren’t stuffed in some awful, prim, boarding school, waiting to be married off. You’d always rather be here instead. But you couldn't help but curse how you were still trapped between these extensive four walls, knowing you would never prance around like your brother, Sherlock. Heck, you’d even take a life like Mycroft’s, even though you knew you were destined to be a much grander detective.

You groan, checking the clock to your right, trying to make sense of the blurry numbers. It ticks on, impatiently, and the sound is surprisingly loud. Or maybe, the rest of the house is surprisingly quiet.

You bolt. Up immediately, disregarding your unruly bed hair and forgetting to apologise to Colonel Teddy (the aforementioned bear) that curses you from the carpet. Traversing corridor after corridor, your mothers name hanging from your worried lips.

“Eudoria? Mother?” you call, ignoring how sleep still choked in your throat. 

The silence is suffocating now, disgusting and evil. Your mother is brilliant, eccentric, and beautiful, and anything but quiet. And in darker days, when the sun refused to rise until much later, she was what woke you up instead.

She trained you not to panic. To think, always think. To feel, only when it was the last option. And even then, only to trust your gut. Most other emotions got in the way of solving a good crime, at least. You’d never had the need to apply emotions anywhere else.

However, she had also trained you when to run, and when to fight. And now, as the absence of her clashing and tinkering was more unsettling than any horror you’d read in your brother's  case files, you decide that violence is indeed the answer. How dare any assailant come in here, snatch away your mother, and leave?

No, you hoped they were still here, so you could show them who on earth they were messing with. Just because Sherlock carried your name like a medal, did not mean he was the only one who had earned to do that. Holmes belonged to you too, and you were here to prove it. 

Fists raised slightly, you creep into your mothers study, underwhelmed by the emptiness of it. Just a simple note, addressed to you. 

‘Hello, dear.

I do Love flowers, don't you?

I believe your brother dOes too. Maybe you should ask him to joiN you in the garden.

Be careful, though. Men Do not always understand the true ambitions of wOmen. I like flowers because I like them, Not because society has told me to.’

It’s cryptic, and you would usually grin at a puzzle, but this felt serious. Secretive, and concerning. She truly was gone, and here she was, inviting you to figure it out. 

Because she believed in you? Because asking Sherlock would be too obvious? 

‘Maybe you should ask him to join you.’

Your body kicks in before your brain does, which is a rare occurrence. The phone is in your hand, his famous number replaying in your head as you wind up each digit, cursing your trembling hands. She’d be disappointed, seeing you let anxiousness creep into each breath.

“Mother?” comes Sherlock’s gruff voice, and you wince.

“She’s gone. You need to get here, as soon as possible. Please.” you request, your voice remaining surprisingly steady. 

You hang up, before any tears fall. You know he’d never take you seriously in this investigation, if you were crying.

Unsure of what to do next, you do the only thing you never, ever, do. You sit, and wait.

***

Sherlock arrives that same evening, followed by your other brother, Mycroft. Although Sherlock is the more famous detective, Mycroft is by no means any less effective. 

He is more realistic, though. And he is adamant on sending you off to boarding school, in hopes to train you into being a woman fit for a husband.

“Absolutely not. I know Mother the best, that's disreputable. I’m also just as brilliant as you two, I think you’ll find. I demand to be part of this.” you declare, arms folded arrogantly, and the two men look between each other.

“Now, I appreciate the sentiment. And I’m sure you are very bright, but I think this would be best to do alone. Mother did suggest you bring me into it.” Sherlock replies, sternly, avoiding any eye contact with his brother on the left.

“Exactly. But she clearly wanted us to work together, surely. She said, ‘join you.’” you plead, but he looks away from you.

“She’s kept you in here for far too long. As unfortunate as it is, I do not quite think you will ever become a detective, and I do not think that to die trying is a good way to go out. I’ve heard wondrous things about Mrs Harrison’s finishing school, and I find it most fitting that you attend. I will organise it, at once, yes? Please, do not be irritable about it.” decides Mycroft, letting the finality of his words hang in the air.

“This is why we all know she was talking about Sherlock and not you in her infuriating note.” you mumble under your breath, and you’re glad that he looks hurt, for a small moment.

It’s quiet, and awkward, until Sherlock speaks again.

“So, we’ve established she left of her own accord, surely. No sign of struggle, at all. And she obviously doesn’t want us to panic, and tell anyone, or she wouldn’t have left a note. I’ll take care of this, as I know you’re busy with the vote and bills at the moment, Mycroft. If you trust me to solve this. And you, well you can enjoy proper schooling, yes? You’ve never been, if I remember correctly. You used to dance around in improper trousers and cling to pinecones.” he claps, standing up cheerfully like it's any other case. 

“Neither of you have visited in such a long time. You don’t know me, do you, brothers?” you ask sneakily, hoping to make them feel guilt for shunning you once, and instantly shunning you again.

“You are right, and that is regretful. I will make an effort to check in on you, at school, of course. I’m sure we can have arrangements made to pick you up tomorrow, as we depart on the train.” replies Mycroft, shutting you down quickly. 

But you are resourceful, and you already have etchings of a beautiful (if not slightly crazy) plan.

“Oh, at least let me wave you off from the platform. I haven’t seen a train in such a long time!” you sulk, and Sherlock smiles lazily.

“Surely, that’s acceptable to you, brother? I enjoyed hearing the churning sound of a train too, when I was her age.” he comments, and Mycroft nods slowly.

“I suppose that’s alright. I can drop you off personally afterwards, then. I would recommend you begin to pack.” he mutters, waving you away, and you stare angrily at him as you begrudgingly trail to your bedroom.

***

It’s surprisingly busy at the train station platform, which is delightful. Bodies and sounds fill the air, giving you very little room to swing your suspiciously light suitcase. Train horns whistle as they roar past, and you focus very keenly on the timetable plastered in front of you.

Sherlock’s train is on the left hand side, and would arrive just as one to your right  departs. That’s your plan, just as Mycroft is wishing him farewell. You’d jump straight onto the other, and straight towards London, as that was always the best place to start an investigation. Also, coincidentally, you had noticed something your brothers had not, for they did not know Eudoria as you did- she had capitalised a few letters which spelt out London.

To the untrained eye? Messy handwriting. To yours, a beautiful hidden message. A sure sign that she wanted you to find her, to work out what had happened.

It plays out perfectly. The doors of your target are closing, just as Sherlock’s is opening. He pulls Mycroft into a respectable embrace, and you take it- the chance.

You barrel for the back of the train, feeling that familiar stretch in your legs that makes you grin. Your boots, laced with mismatched ribbons, kick up dirt and gravel. They create a trail of unrest and change and feed you with grip and determination. You’re quick, just quick enough to know you could make the jump.

So you leap, without blinking. And for a moment, you fly.

You hear Mycroft yelling, and Sherlock hollering, but you don’t care. Arms outstretched, you land somewhat ungracefully against the thin rim of the back of the locomotive, gripping ridiculously tight to the thin bars. It’s chugging away, slowly, and you hoist yourself up to the roof, marvelling in the freedom of it all.

You make an effort to try not to feel any fear about how suddenly alone you are. You’ve never been alone before, not like this. Even though, when you were younger, your mother had actually nicknamed you ‘Enola’ (‘Alone’, backwards. Eudoria liked to mock your need for solitude.)

You crouch on the edge of the roof, grateful for how long it takes these trains to reach any sort of respectable speed, so you’re safe to clamber in through a window. Gleefully, you spot a completely empty cabin, with the window completely open.

Perfect.

You gently climb in, adjusting your ruffled skirt as you sit down, and you scan the luggage in the rack above you. There’s only one, and it's large. Looks heavy, and important, and you almost want to open it. There’s still a small gap, so you decide to throw your own tiny suitcase up next to it.

As you shimmy on your tiptoes, trying to reach the iron rack, the train jolts. Aggressively. So much so that you tumble backwards into the seat on the opposite side, and you watch as that singular suitcase crashes to the floor directly in front of you, it’s contents spilling out.

Its contents being… limbs?

A stream of disgruntled sounds comes from the open bag, mumbles of ‘ows’ and ‘ughs’.

You recoil, trying to remain unphased, as an awkward mop of chestnut hair pokes out of the top, followed by darker eyes that stare directly into yours.

“Hello.” says the suitcase, which is now evidently a young man, grimacing at you.

“Please, get out of this carriage.” you say quickly, angry at how quickly confusion is settling on your face.

“I can’t. I’m in hiding.” he replies equally as fast, as he leverages himself out of his hiding-spot and into the seat opposite you.

“Was a bit of a to-do, truly. Bribed a porter into hiding me here, and everything.” he continues, conversationally, and you just stare at him.

“Very daring.” he finishes, waiting for a response expectantly.

“Get out of this carriage, immediately.” you demand.

He doesn't move, at all. Just studies you carefully.

“You’re a funny looking lady.” he says pointedly, clearly struggling to figure out how your eccentric skirt pairs with duty boots and a paper-boy cap.

“And you think you look normal?” you sneer, eyeing him with absolute scrutiny.

He could be very handsome, you decide. His eyes are inviting, and his moles complement his face nicely. But his ridiculous hair and obnoxious clothes reek of privilege and insincerity and truly make him look very daft, especially because you assume he’s the same age as you. Much too young to look so decorated.

“Who are you?” he asks carefully.

“What are you?” you retort immediately, and his face morphs into a look of contempt, but he also looks slightly entertained.

“I’m Viscount Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether.” he introduces himself gleefully, extending a palm.

You don’t take it. 

“You’re a nincompoop.” you say decidedly, and he looks very… cross. He quickly retracts his hand and stares at you angrily, but you still don’t move.

“I’ll have you know, I have just undertaken a particularly daring escape, from a man in a brown bowler hat.”

You think back to before you leapt on the back, and you recall this man, in the bowler hat, entering the very train.

“You’re not very good at escaping then, clearly. He’s got on, I saw him. And when he inevitably finds you, because of your weak attempt at hiding, I shall be endangered because he thinks I am helping you. Therefore, I ask you again to leave this carriage.” Your voice is laced with determination, and confidence, and you’re stumped by his lack of response.

You stare at each other for a while, and you wonder how much money he must’ve given that porter, as he is clearly an absolute idiot, and definitely was outsmarted by the train crew.

“You remind me of my uncle. Bossy. Left him at the station. All of them, my family, my grandmother, everyone. Which is fine. Good, even. I am free now. You see?” he explains, easily throwing the now empty suitcase back up next to yours, before sitting down next to you, ignoring as you shift as far away from him as possible.

“That’s brilliant to hear. So, you can leave now, yes?” you repeat, and he looks at you, swallowing the severity of your voice.

“The man in a brown bowler hat, is here, you say? Okay. It’ll be fine.” he reassures, and he stands and peeks out of the door, before stepping out.

“It’ll be fine.” he repeats, as he smiles at you, to say goodbye.

And then he’s gone, and you breathe deeply in relief.

37 peaceful seconds pass, until he's back.

“He’s coming!”

“Of course?” you mumble, not opening your eyes.

“No, he’s checking every carriage.” he shrieks, and you shrug.

“Wonderful.”

A moment passes, of unsettling silence.

“You have to help me.” he pleads. “He didn’t see me.”

“Of course he did. Therefore, I will be off, and I bid you a good day, Viscount Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether.” you mutter, as you grab your case and step out into the hallway, giving him a not-so-friendly stare.

You walk forwards, trying to shake the image of his terrified eyes out front your mind, and suddenly someone bumps aggressively into your shoulder- his bowler hat practically scowling at you.

You freeze momentarily, but he pays you no attention. Instead, he heads straight into the carriage you just left, calling out cheerfully, “There you are, sir.”

And that aligns with your idea that that Piastri fellow was merely a rebellious teen, and you exhale.

That’s until you hear a shatter, and a shout. A shout of pain, and terror, and panic, and you hesitate.

‘Don’t be thrown off course by other people, especially men!” you hear your mother laugh in your mind, and your heart aches for her.

But your heart also squeezes uncomfortably tight when he screams again, and you swivel around immediately, marching aggressively back to the carriage.

You peer through the window and gasp before you can stop yourself: the man is gripping him by the neck as he hangs out the door, his arms flailing awkwardly as the wind blasts through him, his eyes watering in fear and pain. You scan the room and spy the bowler-hat man’s cane lying unattended on the seat, and you propel yourself into the room, pick it up, and whack him surprisingly forcefully with his own cane. His body crumples onto the floor immediately, as the Viscount still shouts, dangling out the door.

You carefully step over the body on the floor and extend an arm to him, pulling him back inside with a momentous effort. He steadies himself and flashes you a smile.

“We need to go, now.” you say firmly, and he nods, following you out of the carriage and down, back towards the end of the train.

You search every carriage, desperate for an empty one, to no avail, until you reach  the same door you’d been hanging onto earlier.

“What are we going to do?” he asks quietly, desperately, willing you to say something ingenious. You don't reply, instead you poke your head out of the door, scanning the countryside. You catch sight of a bridge you’re about to cross, and you nod. You shimmy out, gripping onto the edge.

“Alright, follow me, okay. Careful.” you say slowly, watching yourself place each small step, until you’re hanging from one bar, one foot dangling over the fast moving ground below.

He follows you, his breath quickening, wincing. He manages to close the door behind him as he lines up beside you.

“What are you-” he begins to ask, but you can barely make it out over the roaring of the train along the tracks.

“Do you trust me?” you bellow, waiting impatient for an answer as the bridge draws closer.

“No??” he shouts back, and you almost smile, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“If we time it correctly, we can leave him stranded.” you call, annoyed by the confusion on his face.

“Time what correctly?” he replies hurriedly, and you sigh.

“Listen Piastri, we have two choices.” you shout, exasperated.

“And which one involves me, um, not dying?” he responds urgently.

The door flings open and the man in the bowler hat emerges, reaching straight for the Viscount.

“This one!” you yell, as you yank his hand and fling yourself off the train, down the hill. You watch the bowler man falter, cursing as he remains stuck above the bridge, and you cheer as you tumble violently through thick grass and unfortunately placed thistles.

You eventually stop rolling, grinning to yourself, as you swivel upright and stare at the boy above you, making the same variations of sounds he made earlier after falling off the suitcase rack.

“Well, you sure do make rather a lot of noise, don’t you?” you comment snarkily, and he looks at you, irritated.

“You just threw me-huff-off a train.” he replies, and you scowl.

“No, I just saved your life.” you correct, but he doesn’t thank you, instead he complains about losing a button on his no-longer pristine grey two piece. You almost hope one of his buttons pops directly into his stupid, smug, brown eyes.

You get up immediately, and do not offer him a hand. You march onwards, and you hear him groan loudly as he treks after you, evidently struggling to keep up.

“You’ve ruined my plan, you know, truly. Such an inconvenience.” you mutter.

“Your plan? Who are you? I feel I deserve to know.” he demands, and you turn dramatically to face him.

“Well, I am undercover, so as soon as I tell you, forget it.”

You say your first name quickly, like it is of no importance. Irrelevant. And in some ways, it is. You’re sure Viscount Piastri here understands that, considering he introduced himself without his own first name. But your last name?

You take your time with that one, watching him boggle slightly.

“Holmes, as in, Sherlock? You’re actually a Holmes?” he asks excitedly, and you nod. “And you’re undercover, because you’re working with him?”

You don’t reply immediately. “Something like that.”

You continue walking, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“So?” you demand, and he stares at you blankly.

“So, what?”

“Thank you? You’re supposed to thank me.” you reply angrily.

“For what?” he questions, and you almost hit him in the face, but you refrain and walk on.

***

The sun begins to set uncomfortably soon.

“We should begin to think about sleeping.” you say wisely, but he disagrees.

“No, we should begin to think about food, I say.”

“We have nothing to eat.” you hiss back, but he chuckles.

“Sure we do, look.” he begins, gesturing to the various plants in the field you’re walking through. He names them all, in Latin and English, and quickly explains their various functions and flavours. You try to act unimpressed.

He mumbles about a feast, and fire, and you dutifully gather wood. By the time darkness has settled in, you’re both happily eating an array of mushrooms and foliage, and it’s surprisingly satisfying.

“You know, you ought to disguise yourself a tad more. You’re rather recognisable with that alarming mop of hair.” you say clearly, and he shrugs.

“I don’t care for it, really. Go on, cut it off with that knife you’re wielding slightly scarily.” he jokes, but you do exactly as he says.

You hoist yourself up behind him, carefully cutting through layers of his thick hair, as he asks you questions you usually wouldn’t answer.

“So, why did you run away?” he murmurs inquisitively.

“Didn’t want to go to ‘Miss Harrison’s’ finishing school. What about you?” you reply casually, and he exhales shakily.

“Please, don’t find me pathetic. But I was collecting mushrooms, and a branch from the tree above me collapsed. I should’ve died, truly. Crushed to death, but I wasn’t. Would’ve been inconvenient. You see, I have ideas-”

“As so many of us do” you quip, and he smiles.

“Yes, well, I was meant to join the house of Lords. Make my ideas mean something. But my family wanted me to go a ‘mans way.’ Join the army, stay in my place. No need for politics, no need for my ideas. They would benefit others, I think, not my own estate. And I just thought, what if I hate it? What if they send me away, and I wish instead that tree did crush me? So I ran.” he admits gently, and you stare at him carefully.

“I do not find that, nor you, particularly pathetic.” you say calmly, and he grins.

“So, what about finishing school is so terrible? Why suddenly send you there now?”

You choose to stop sharing there.

“We must move early in the morning, as soon as the sun is visible. Bowler man will be on our tail by now, certainly.”

He nods, then pauses. “Where are you heading?”

“London.” you say firmly, and his grin spreads even wider across his flushed face.

“Well, so am I! Isn’t that brilliant? Why don’t we make it there together?” he suggests, and you want to say no, but your body betrays you as you smile slightly.

“Fine. But once we make it there, we split up.” you confirm, and he agrees quickly.

***

You manage to hitch a ride on the back of a cart loaded with sheep, all the way to the outskirts of the city. As soon as it slows, you hop off, and you raise your cap to him.

“So, we’re parting here, then.” he complains lamely, and you nod.

“You’ll be fine. Goodbye, Piastri.”

“It’s Oscar. My first name, I mean.” he mutters, before wishing you farewell. You don’t like the familiarity, him using your first name so casually, and giving you his. 

“Let’s stick with surnames, I think. Most appropriate.”

“Fair enough, Holmes. You’ve proven you can outsmart Sherlock anyway, so I trust you will succeed in whatever you are investigating. Good luck.” he says sincerely, and you wave him goodbye as you walk off, ignoring the pang of something in your stomach.

“He’ll be fine.” you repeat, to reassure yourself. “Now, I’m back on track.”

***

Although you’d lived a sheltered life, you did not let your lack of understanding of the outside world stop you from getting things done. You did not linger too long on thoughts about that blasted Viscount ‘Oscar’ Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether. No, instead, you marched straight into the first boutique you could find, and demanded masses of velvety fabrics and corsets you were unsure of how to tighten.

When you emerged back out, you looked respectable. Ladylike. Completely and totally pretentious. Someone who would fit perfectly on Piastri’s arm, not that you were imagining it. Not that he was still lodged firmly in your slightly frazzled mind.

The seamstress had also been kind enough to point you out to some lodgings nearby, and you settled into your room. It was dank, and dark, and offputting. Musty, and rickety. But cheap and very close to your next target: a woman named Edith which your mother had often corresponded with.

You had a knack for remembering addresses, but you never thought memorising hers would come in handy.

You enter the seemingly innocent bakery, surprised by waitresses and the smell of fresh pastries. Why would your mother be so secretive about letters to a baker?

“Good afternoon, I’m looking for an Edith?” you ask slowly, to a woman behind a counter, and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Upstairs.” is her brief response, and you study the thudding sound coming from above, before walking up the stairs.

It’s rows and rows of women on thin mats, throwing each other and fighting, and you feel somewhat at home. It reminds you of the training you did with your mother, the endless hours of Jujitsu, all the times she’d thrown you against a tree unapologetically.

“You tryna’ enroll?” asks a woman to your right, and you shake your head.

“No, I’m already trained. I’m looking for Eudoria Holmes.” you admit, staring at the lady intently. “Are you Edith?”

She laughs. “What, you don’t remember me? I was your first teacher. You look just like her, y’know?” she murmurs, and you beam. High praise.

“I need you to tell me where I can find Ellie Houseman.” you ask casually, and Edith freezes.

“Where did you hear that?” she hisses, pulling you into her small office.

Your mother had always valued her own privacy. Closed doors, closed for good reason. Weaponised, utilised, to shut you out. Rare, but unrelenting.

You, on the other hand? You valued knowledge, and curiosity. A door closed was simply a door to be opened, and so that’s what you would do. Peer through tiny cracks, or place glasses against walls to listen in. And Ellie Houseman had cropped up so often, she became more constant than your own brothers. And you knew your investigation would be useless without her.

That’s when the first blow comes. A hit you hadn’t anticipated. Her hand slices aggressively into your neck, and you wince, before slamming yours straight back into her side. She grunts, before charging into you, her curly hair flying out of place. It’s quick, whack after whack in quick succession. You’re simultaneously attacking and defending, cursing your stupid corset and too prim skirt. 

“You need to leave this alone.” she shouts into your ear, yanking you towards her, but you push her backwards.

“She is my mother! I can’t just leave her, she’s left me clues. She wants me to find her, I’m sure of it.” you reply back quickly, shrieking as one well placed kick sends you crashing to the floor.

“Have you considered the opposite? Maybe she’s leaving you a fake trail to follow, so you stay out of her way.” Edith hisses, and you recoil, your hand shrinking away from her foot.

“Miss Holmes, I’m not convinced you are ready for this.” she admits, stepping over your aching body towards the door.

“No one is. But I don’t care.” you fire back, getting up with a sharp inhale. She commends your resilience, you can tell.

“Your mother knew you were listening, I bet.” she says simply, slowly, as if she’s given you valuable information, and you just let out an exasperated sigh.

She leaves you to think it over, and that you do, propping yourself up against her desk. That's when you see a map, with a few locations dotted and circled. And one in particular catches your eye.

Limehouse Lane. A place of no significance. But if it was significant to your mother, you know what she would’ve done. She would’ve rearranged it, rearranged it to something understandable but casual, something you’d only know if you knew. Something that could be said easily in conversations, without raising suspicion. A name would be good. A name, like

Ellie Houseman. 

***

Limehouse Lane is dingy and uninviting. Litter lies amongst the cobbled floors, and unknown things squelch below your feet, but you refuse to be deterred. Determination has always been a strong suit of yours.

You make it to the end of the street, coming face to face with a warehouse, doors slightly ajar. You slip in silently and begin to explore.

Boxes and crates are piled in neat rows, and stacks of leaflets and newspapers are strewn across them. Cautiously, you lift open a crate and you gasp slightly. Explosives. A huge selection of explosives.

Every crate, very full. Very illegal. The posters and leaflets? Invitations to rallies. Feminist rallies.

Suddenly all Eudoria’s teachings make so much sense. How she’d instructed you to never conform to a society designed for men. And you quickly realise that Edith was right. She had not wanted you to realise what kind of an activist she was- for she was truly a radical.

And as much as you admired it, you realise that Edith was right once again. You might not be ready for this. Admittedly, you were still so young, with such little understanding of the nature of the world. So, suddenly, being in an abandoned warehouse full of illegal weapons which you knew your mother intended to wield was not nearly as exciting as you thought it ought to be. Instead, you have the sudden urge to run.

An urge you did not get usually.

As you make your way back outside, something catches your eye. A shrine of sorts, across the lane, under a lame shed-like structure.

The innocent eyes of Viscount ‘Oscar’ Piastri, plastered all over numerous sheets of paper, staring at you. Maps and lists, crossed angrily. Places, scribbled and circled. Like he was of some importance, to someone dwelling around Limehouse Lane. And you wonder if maybe, he has some role in this you weren’t aware of. If maybe, somehow, he is connected to your mother.

And that’s when the excitement kicks in. You put it down to the idea of new evidence, and the distance between you and the bombs. It has nothing to do with the idea of seeing the Viscount again, absolutely not.

You scan the newspaper clippings again, smiling slowly as you read one of the headlines. A flower market in Coventry. ‘Dazzling, exotic, never before seen. European’, etc, read the slogan. 

You were no botanist, but if you were, that’s where you’d go, for sure. And you were certain that you’d find him there.

You go to take a step forward, when a hand grabs you around the throat. It’s gruff, and tight. Choking, you kick your assailant aggressively in the leg, hearing an ‘oof’ sound, and you’re somewhat unsurprised when you turn and see a familiar man in a familiar bowler hat. Great.

You throw a punch at his jaw, and you grin as you hear a satisfying crack, but he doesn’t even stumble. Instead, he aims straight for your face and you stagger back clumsily to avoid the impact. Then his cane whacks your thigh, so hard, and you shriek in pain, tripping over. He dives straight at you, and you both clatter into a low window, shattering the glass. You wrinkle your nose as you smell smoke, and scurry upwards, trying your best to limp away, but he’s right behind you.

You turn the corner to see nothing other than a large bucket of water and a scuffed wall, and you curse. You turn to face him, trying to keep an air of confidence as he runs towards you. He grabs your head, smashing you into the wall, and you grit your teeth as you feel your nose beginning to bleed, but you don’t pause. You headbutt him aggressively, and he reels just long enough for you to kick him over.

Then you slam your foot into his chest, hearing him heave. But he grabs you down with him, thrusting a short knife straight into your stomach.

He gets up, staring at you expectantly, but you simply get up too, shuddering. You rip the knife from your stomach incredulously, wondering if adrenaline was why you couldn’t feel any pain.

“How the hell-” begins your assailant, and you scowl at him, pulling open the rip in your dress. Your corset, turns out, had saved you. Genius.

You throw yourself at him, scraping the knife down his arm, but he barely even yelps. Instead, he forces your head into the bucket, laughing as you writhe in the water.

He pulls you up as you scream. “Where is the Marquess?” he asks, low and evil. You feign innocence.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” you reply, indignant, and he pushes you back into the water again as you shout, pushing your arms against the side of the barrel.

He pulls you up again. “Do I need to ask again?”

You shake your head, quickly. “Okay, yes, I know him. But I promise, I don’t know where he is. We went our separate ways.” you plead, and he pauses, like he’s considering what you’ve said.

“Well, that’s a terrible shame, but you’ve seen my face now.” he replies gravely, and you wince.

“Your face is very forgettable, truly.” You attempt, but it’s too late. You’re back underwater, and life is slipping from you as you feel your energy depleting.

You stop writhing. You slow entirely, conserving the little strength you have left. He stops pressing your head down, and comes closer to you, examining if you’ve truly given up.

He hesitates for a moment too long, and you slam into him, with all the force you can muster. He curses, and you sprint back to where the fire had started. You don’t hesitate, throwing a flaming plank of wood into the warehouse.

You most certainly do not hesitate to see if he’s made it out as you watch the entire thing end up alight, a blaze spreading across each old wooden wall. You do not turn around as you begin to hear bangs and pops. Instead, you limp onwards to Coventry.

Onwards to Piastri. Because if that bowler-hat man had almost killed you, he would have no trouble murdering that pompous boy without you around. And as you take each step, you decide with a heavy heart that your mother would be more than fine without you, and that maybe she viewed you as a hindrance. So now, you could accept this new mission.

***

You visit the market the next day. He is sporting a new look, you make a note of. Less ridiculous, less rich. You almost hadn’t noticed him, but you recognise your own handiwork as you watch his uneven hair.

“I’d quite like a blue flower, preferably. Are blue roses a thing? I don’t really care for flowers.” you ask him loudly, admiring him sift diligently through a row of different plants.

“Well, no real ones-” he begins formally, turning around to face you.

His face lights up, and you smile at him bashfully.

“Holmes! It’s you. I’ve missed you.” he says immediately, too immediately, and you hesitate.

“Yes, that’s nice of you, Piastri. ‘Suppose I’ve grown fonder of you too, in your absence. But that’s not why I’m here.” you say seriously, but he just smiles at you, dazed.

“You’re in grave danger. Truly, grave. That bowler-hat man is coming, and he’s relentless. So, I’ve decided to devote my brilliance to your case, so you stay alive.” you explain, and he looks at you, like he’s considering something.

Then he embraces you, his large arms wrapping around you easily, and you try not to melt. You hadn’t realised how isolated you were, living alone. Hiding from your brothers, searching for your mother. Well and truly alone.

You wonder if maybe he felt the same. If maybe it was instinctual, to try and get some comfort. Some contact. Maybe he needs this just as much as you do.

So you allow yourself to relax, ever so slightly. For his benefit, you assure yourself. 

“Should I be scared?” he asks quietly, mumbling into your unruly hair.

“Terrified.” you admit, and you hear him sigh. You pull away quickly, readjusting your dress and grabbing him by the arm.

“I’ve been collecting any clippings and things I can find, to get a headstart. Follow me.” you announce, guiding him through small streets until you reach your lodging.

Unfortunately, you don’t see the tenant eyeing you entering the building. You don’t see her grip on an unflattering ‘wanted’ poster of you. Maybe if you had, you would have run away.

The Viscount eyes your room, a small smirk etched on his lips. “Cheapest place you could find?”

You huff. “The lady assured me a fair price.”

“The lady lied to you.”

You roll your eyes at him, gesturing to the documents sprawled out in front of you. He watches you carefully, but suddenly the door slams open.

A strange looking man, with a ridiculously large moustache and a squiffy uniform.

You recognise him, as an inspector that had worked with your brothers before.

“Detective Lestrade!” you say cheerfully, grinning the confusion on his face.

“You know this guy?” mutters Piastri, into your ear.

“Think he’s going to try and detain me now.” you reply, grabbing the teapot to your right and hurling it aggressively at Lestrade’s face, watching him fumble backwards.

Yanking the Marquess’ arm, you drag him up the rickety stairs, laughing.

“Well, if wasn’t going to try and detain you before, he definitely is now!” he comments, and you flash him a lazy smile.

“Mycroft’s put him up to it, I’m sure. Help me pull this chest, please.” you grunt, lamely attempting to push the chest against the door, as a weak barricade.

Lestrade is there immediately, ignoring the bruise rapidly developing on his large nose. He rams himself into the door, seething at you through the small gap.

“Miss Holmes, and whoever it is you’re with, please come out immediately. Or I’ll have to smash this door down.” he shouts, but you just stare at him, undecided on what to do.

With each moment you think, you feel the chest shift below you, and realise you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Piastri, are you listening? We can’t hold him off forever.” you announce, watching the door grow more open with each thump from Lestrade’s arm.

The boy nods. “So, what’s your plan?” he asks quickly, humming as he keeps pushing the door, to no avail.

“I’ll hold it, so you can run. And you will run. Run as far as you can.” you say, your tone deadly serious. Your voice doesn’t even waver, even though your hands are shaking.

He stares at you incredulously.

“I’m not leaving you. Absolutely not.”

You sigh at him, exasperated. “Listen, you have to. What happens now, for me, is simple. Finishing school. But if you, if you get caught? You’re dead.” you explain.

“I’m not leaving you-”

“I demand it!” you shriek, feeling your hands slip.

“I can’t do it, you wouldn’t do it to me, would you?” he asks, but you don’t reply. Instead, two words leave your panicked lips.

“Oscar, please.”

He doesn’t move, not straight away, but he gives himself a second to look at you. To truly look at you. And he looks at you like you’ve just said something holy. Something secret, maybe something beautiful.

Actually, he looks at you like you are beautiful, even though you know that right now, you most certainly are not.

“Please.” you repeat, and then he runs, straight for the door behind you, to the fire escape.

You give him one last weak smile, and then he’s gone, and you stop fighting it.

You let Lestrade pile in, and silently curse the evil woman that follows him, pestering about a reward.

But your thoughts follow the Viscount, hating the fact you already miss him. Already want to know that he’s safe, even though you practically can still hear his heavy footsteps.

You hate the fact that you want to ask him why he was looking at you like that, what it meant.

You hate him, and the fact he’s ruined your investigation, and now you’re going to be locked up forever in that stupid finishing school, where your mother will remain unfound and you’ll have to hear of Piastri’s demise through a weekly paper.

end of part one ⌕

[makeupbychio]

party 4 u // bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

Summary: You hate your birthdays, but Bucky made you a promise to always be next to you that day that haunts you. But this year he broke that promise. Now he has to right his wrongs because you only did that party for him.

Warnings: angst, Bucky did wrong, verbal fights, reading dealing with grief, loss of a loved one, depressive thoughts, mentions of Valentina, Mel, Joaquín and Sam, fluff, birthday sex so smut, husband!bucky, thunderbolt*!bucky. I guess the whole gif is a spoiler, so spoilers, happy ending.

Words: 4k.

A/N: Once again, a reminder that english is not my first language so I’m sorry if there is a mistake. This takes place in the world of Thunderbolts* so spoilers maybe(?). I had this idea based on the amazing song party 4 u by Charli xcx and all the sad romantic edits that are around. Enjoy!!

italics = past.

*-

“Look congressman, the assistant is about to speak so keep an eye on her” Bucky was telling what he did, he gave his number and the number of his office to Mel, Valentina’s right hand. If she wanted to give him some information to finally accuse Valentina of what she has been doing this whole time. 

“Bucky, I don't think she would like to tell me what or where Valentina is hiding the proof,” the congressman in charge of this case told him. 

“Maybe not today considering the circumstances” Bucky told him, taking a sip of his champagne glass without looking at the other man. He was referring to the dinner party they attended that night. Valentina’s dinner party. “But I need to go, I need to be somewhere else actually”. 

“Bucky, you can’t go right now, what if something happens” the congressman was really trying to hold him. They really needed something against Valentina. 

“I doubt it actually, probably she called the whole police officers to cover this event” Bucky finished his drink ready to leave and go where he actually wanted to be the whole day. “Good night, see you on Monday” he gave a small smile to the other man and headed to the stairs. 

When his phone rang, he was ready to explain that he was already on his way. But it was not the contact he expected to see. 

It was Mel, Valentina’s assistant. He picked the call, stopped his trail. “Hello?” he asked. 

“Bucky?” Mel was whispering, he understood that she was hiding because he saw her in the dinner party next to her boss but now she was not. 

“Yes, tell me,” Bucky confirmed. Mel gave him some information about her boss but of course letting him know her concerns because Valentina is a really powerful person who has contacts everywhere and people who would do anything she asked them to do, good and awful things. 

“Thanks for the information, don’t worry I told you that I was going to protect you. If you want to give more information you can send it to my office and I will check it on Monday, okay?” Bucky reassured her. 

He was again heading his steps to leave the building but Mel didn’t catch that that was the end of the conversation for now. “I think she is already suspicious about me because about 5 minutes ago she was talking about how she appreciates my work, that I’ve been so loyal and also so smart, and that kind of stuff” she continued. 

Bucky didn’t want to be rude not especially now that finally she was giving him some information to catch Valentina, but he really needed to leave this shit show where he pretend to he’s having a good time and talk to politicians and people he hates just because of this toxic environment where he is now that is politics. He’s been faking smiles all night, stretching hands he didn’t want and answering the same questions about him being a super soldier and the adventures about Steve or about Sam, etc. 

“Don’t worry about it, she is not going to do anything to you if she already knows that I’m on your side” Bucky really tried to finally calm her. He was about to say something else to finally say goodbye when on his phone he got another call waiting on the line. “Excuse me, Mel. I really need to take this call. Talk to you later if you want when you arrive home". He hung out and clicked immediately on the other person calling. 

It was Joaquín calling him. “Bucky! Hey! Where the hell are you?” he asked him. the noise of people talking and the music in the background. 

“I’m now on my way, don’t worry I’m on my bike so I’ll be there in like 15 or 20 minutes” Bucky said finally seeing the revolving door that leads to the street and the parking lot. 

“You better hurry up, we already sang happy birthday!” Joaquín told him firmly in case he’s not aware of the time. 

Bucky found his bike but that statement made him stop. He really closed his eyes really hard because he prayed that Joaquín maybe is making him a joke, he better be. Please, he didn’t want to open his eyes to check the hour on his phone. 

“Bucky? Can you hear me? She-” Joaquín asked him because he went silent. 

Bucky finally checked the screen and yes, Joaquín was telling him the truth. He was not making him a bad joke. It was already 12:30 am. He wanted to kill himself. “Joaquín, I’m on my way!” Bucky started the engine. He was trying not to freak out because this night has already been really stressful. 

“Bucky, let me finish! We have a problem, she left”. Joaquín finally said what he was trying to say. “With Sam we just found out, after blowing the candles she went outside to go with her friend to smoke, that's what she told us but now she’s gone” he explained. 

“FUCK!” Bucky was about to crash the phone between his hands. But it wasn’t the phone’s fault. It was his fault. He promised her to be there before the clock changed to midnight. “Are you sure she left by her choice? Check please”. He asked because even when you are powerful he can not stop to worry about you especially with all of the evil out there. 

“Yes, her things that were upstairs are gone,” Joaquín said. “I’m just letting you know what happened and you are not going to find her here, her friend doesn't know where she went also, because she told her that she needed a moment to call her family but she told her that she was very angry at you”. 

“K’ man, thanks. If you know about her, call me. Because she is not going to answer my calls”. Bucky asked his friend. 

“Yeah, sure. K’ gotta go because Sam is about to start the karaoke. But don’t worry she can take care of herself and you know that” Joaquín tried to calm him down. 

“You’re not helping man but thanks, gotta fix this shitty thing I just did. Bye” Bucky said and cut the call.

Bucky didn’t care about his birthday, he had enough of those through the years that he is not interested anymore, he actually forgets his birthday. His loved ones remind him the day when they call him or when the gifts start to arrive at his house or his office. But if it wasn't for that he will never remember his birthday. 

On another hand, you HATE your birthday. Hate hate hate! And Bucky knew that. And just like you convinced him to celebrate his own birthday with a proper fun day, he convinced you to celebrate yours too. Since you have been together, both of you already know what the other likes and dislikes for that day. 

—--

“But why?” Bucky asked you. You were with him having dinner in your house, it was summer and you were on the patio enjoying the heat of the night watching the stars, laying down on the grass. 

“I don’t know, Bucky” you didn’t want to explain why you hate to celebrate your birthdays, it brings you only sadness from those memories. Your birthday is in autumn so Bucky had enough time to convince you the opposite. 

“Doll, you can tell me. Is it about getting older? Because you only get sexier every day” he teased you. You pushed him on his chest laughing at his smirk. 

“No, you asshole. It’s not about getting older but thanks for giving me another reason to hate my birthday” you said. A long pause passed, completely silent. He didn’t want to push you to tell him but he sensed that it was something more serious. 

“If you want, we can go to bed and tell me whenever you’re ready” he finally gave up, the least thing he wanted was to upset you. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Buck. I used to love LOVE my birthdays” you stated and smiled at those old birthdays you had when you were a kid and your parents and grandparents prepared everything to be the best day for you. With your childhood friends, etc. You explained to him how your mom actually used to do every piece for the decoration and planned the games for the day. He smiled because he can imagine your mom doing all of that, she is so sweet to him. “But everything changed when it was my 16th birthday…” another pause, tears already forming on your eyes. “That year, my sister was travelling the world, her biggest wish to discover the world, so at that time she was way too far from here so that day I waited and waited for her call or message assuming that maybe the different time zones were the trouble and-” you put a hand on your chest trying to find comfort. 

“You don’t have to say it” Bucky already understood. He knew about your family but he didn’t know about when or how. He knew it was still a huge pain in your heart. 

“So, we had the tradition to call at 12 am, o’clock. And that year I fell asleep waiting so around 5 am the phone rang downstairs. My mom took the call because she was already up getting ready for her work. And you know how light I sleep so I woke up by the jump of the phone ringing. And I could remember vividly my mom screaming and crying with no control. My sister had an accident, she passed away a day before my birthday. But we got the call on my birthday because of the different time zone and also because she entered the hospital before my birthday, there was a surgery to try to save her but it was too much blood she lost” you finally confessed. “So that’s why, we planned a fucking funeral instead of being celebrating all together as a family, I remember calling everyone to cancel the party and telling them the news. I remember giving my mom money to do everything to bring my sister back home so we can bury her here”. you didn’t notice but your tears soaked your shirt and also didn’t notice how Bucky was holding you so close to his body letting you to cry. 

“I’m sorry, my love” he kissed your hair, that always calmed you down. “I’m sorry, I’m an asshole for asking”. 

“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known or guessed. So don’t be. I told you I lost a sister but I never told you more details, now you know why I hate my birthday, the memories from that horrible night and what came after”. 

Since that day almost 7 years ago, Bucky promised you to always be there for you on your birthday, he promised you that he will do his best to give you a good day despite the pain. He was going to keep the tradition your sister left, to salute you at 12 o’clock.

—-------

But this year he failed you. All of these years, he kept the promise. Sometimes he was on a mission with Steve or Sam but he never failed you, he always found a way to call you or left a message. Sometimes he also surprised you by returning home for your birthday. 

But this time he admitted that he was so into this Valentina bullshit, it was so stupid why he failed that he would accept if you don’t forgive him. You’d been telling him that he needed to work less hours, have more time at home with you or to rest even when he says that one of his skills is he never gets tired. 

This year he insisted that you should celebrate your birthday because of all the good things that have been happening to you. You didn’t feel the same way because it is another year without your sister, and Bucky knew how hard this week has been to you with the nightmares and the flashbacks to that night. He knows that better than anyone. 

So you let Bucky rent a space or a bar so that everyone could have a good time, he paid for everything. Before leaving your place, Bucky called you that he was going to this event but promised that he would make it on time. 

Bucky already went to a lot of places that you could be. Your place, his place, the place you share together. Nothing. No sight of you. He doesn't want to call your family because they will get worried and ask if something is wrong. He went to the Avengers compound, nothing. He checked every single floor, gym, office, your favorite spots of the campus, nothing. 

It’s been like 1 hour of him looking for you and your phone sent him directly to the voicemail. He remembered every place, the places of your dates, the battles, the missions. Nothing. 

He didn’t change his clothes or stop to get something to drink or to eat despite the fact that he literally went to his place. That’s when he figured it out. He needed to go in the opposite direction he was looking before.

He was near Hell’s Kitchen so after 45 minutes on his bike, he arrived praying to find you. This store was in front of the water in Brooklyn. It was late but Zeff never fails. He parked his bike outside and checked on his suit and hair before opening the door. 

“Night, Zeff” he smiled at the old italian man. He lost the count of how many times you two visited this place. 

“Hi, Bucky” the man smiled back. “She’s in the back, is everything okay? She didn’t pick the same table to look at the lake” Zeff asked. You are like family to Zeff, always protecting him and his restaurant. The best italian restaurant, the best pizza you tasted, not new york style pizza. No, the real one. Zeff has an italian certification of the Vera Pizza Napoletana given by the italian association.

“I made a huge mistake, Zeff” he whispered to the man. The old man gave him a sad look, he saw you sad but he didn’t want to insist. So instead, he prepared a special pizza for you with extra garlic sticks. “I’m here to make it right, but she is in her right to not forgive me”. 

“Real love always can” he pat Bucky’s shoulder, a wise man. You two know his whole story about his life, his family and the restaurant. So if he says that, he’s right. 

Again Bucky checked his suit, and started to walk to the table you were. Your back was facing him, it was cold outside and the restaurant was empty already because you were the last to enter and Zeff would never tell you to leave even if it was late, it doesn’t matter because he lives next door. 

Bucky coughed before sitting at your table in front of you. You acted like there was nobody, so you kept eating that slice of pizza. Not even looking at his eyes, you were looking at your drink. 

“It took you a while” you finally spoke to him, still not looking at him. 

“Well I was shitting bricks looking for you in this city, I almost went to Jersey to your family’s house” he confessed. 

“You broke your promise, Bucky. It seems that this whole Valentina thing is more important and it’s fine” you were really angry. Trying to cope with the sadness by being annoying to him. 

“I’m sorry, my love. Valentina’s assistant and everyone were pissing me off and I-” he tried to explain to you. 

“Bucky there is literally a fucking app in your phone that you can put an alarm to let you know about things. Maybe you forgot about the existence of it trying to get Val’s assistant attention that you mention and insist so much. How old is she? Is she pretty?” you were really throwing daggers at him with your look. 

He tried his best not to confront you with this brat attitude. But he knows that when you are angry you throw everything on the table. 

He looked at your face, noticing the redness on your eyes. You were crying and your eye makeup was a little bit messy. 

“Can you stop with that? I’m not trying to get Val’s assistant attention. What the hell? She’s literally a kid” He calmly kept the conversation. “I was doing my job to save this shit show of this whole Valentina’s case”. 

He didn’t even notice when Zeff brought him a pizza and a lemonade. He was so focused on you, only you. 

“Bucky, I literally only threw this party for you. Because you insisted on celebrating my achievements lately. But guess what! Bad news! The only thing on my mind this whole fucking week is the image of burying my dead sister that died almost a decade ago and I can’t get over it! Now you can judge me about how pathetic I am” you throw the slice of pizza back on the plate and cover your face with your palms, the tears were impossible to hold back. 

He took some napkins to give you but you can’t stop crying. He tried to reach your hands to stop covering your face. “Doll-”.

“Don’t doll me, Bucky. You were too busy playing the super hero surrounded by people who don’t give a shit while your friends and I were at the bar that you rent” now you are looking at him directly in his eyes, your makeup messier than before. “You broke your promise, did you count the lost calls from me? or from Sam?” you asked him. 

You didn’t want to do this to him. But lately he doesn’t understand how his work has been affecting everyone and everything around him. He didn’t even like it, he just wanted to feel better about himself for all of the damage he caused, when in reality he barely accomplished anything in politics. You were not the only one who told him that. Sam insisted that he could keep joining all of you in the field to battle or to retire to settle with you. 

He just wanted to hold you to take all of that pain he caused you, and all of your demons in your mind right now running free haunting you. 

“You are right.” Bucky said. “I told Joaquin that I will have to make up my mind if you don’t forgive me. You were right. I don’t like this job anymore. I feel like I’m not helping anyone. That’s not an excuse, I insist. I should have stopped this circus of me playing the good guy when you and Sam asked me to come back in the field or to retire. I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake, I love you and all I want is to have another power to take that pain away you carry with you every single day” he spoke so fast pouring his heart and truth to you before you faded away from his sight. 

“I don’t want to keep fighting right now to be honest, Bucky. All I wanted was to eat pizza, to look at the water outside and be with you and Alpine for my birthday. You know that is my favorite thing to spend time on” you confessed. “I’m tired”. 

He knows how triggering and challenging these days have been to you. So he’s pretty sure you said that because you are tired because of that and also only the universe knows how much you cried while you made your way to the restaurant because it was pretty far away from the bar he rented. You were not with your car because you trust his word so he’ll be your ride back home on his bike. 

You continue eating your pizza and drinking your cocktail so Bucky did the same with his meal. A moment of peace and silence to put yourself together, both of you. 

Bucky didn’t want to keep bothering Zeff so he paid the bill despite Zeff not accepting his money saying that it was your birthday. But as always you didn’t listen and left the money on the table. “Thanks Zeff, delicious as always. Say hi to Sol from us, goodnight” you gave the old man a kiss on the cheek, before Bucky put your coat on your body. 

After leaving the restaurant, you sat on a bench with Bucky facing the lake. You were angry at him and sad remembering your late sister. He looked at your sad eyes and grabbed your hand intertwining your fingers together. 

“I know your intentions are pure. It’s just, grieving is different every year despite the time that has passed” you confessed. You know he planned all of this for you to have a good day, but he didn’t count that he would fail in the only thing he had to do. To be next to you.

“I should have listened to you, doll. Sorry, I’m really really sorry and I feel awful” he hid his face holding your hand to kiss your palm. “I’m an asshole, I know your heart is aching and the least thing I want to do in this world is to cause you pain” you felt a tear in the back of your palm. 

“Can we make a deal? To decide what to do on our birthdays considering our mood, like if you want to spend the day in bed that’s okay with me” you said. He laughed at the idea because it was a good one. 

“Deal. In that case, it’s already your birthday. What do you really want to do?” he asked you. He already took notes for the future to always be free the day of your birthday. 

“I already did what I wanted. Pizza, a cocktail, be next to you. Can we go home and cuddle? At dawn it starts to rain” you informed him. 

“Let’s go, my love” Bucky never let go of your hand, leading you to where his bike was parked. 

Once at the safety of your shared place, you both took a warm shower to take off all of the tiredness of the day. Kisses spread around all of your body from his mouth. 

After that you went directly to bed, too tired to have birthday sex. You really just want kisses and cuddles to keep you warm in bed. Both of you felt sleep really fast so comfortable next to each other and your cat Alpine somewhere in the bed. 

Your light sleep woke you up when the rain hit the window, you always spoon with Bucky in the same direction. His right arm around your figure, so his left cold vibranium arm doesn't touch your skin to give you chills. Somehow you made your way out to give some breakfast to Alpine, but it was too early in the morning so you went back to bed. Cherishing this moment, the rain outside, checking your happy birthday messages from your friends and family on your phone, looking at your beautiful husband sleeping next to you, his warm unclothed precious chest facing you, his tags hanging peacefully. You love him despite his ideas, he just wanted for you to be happy. You thanked that he never judges you because of your grieving process. Not all people take well when you have bad days, always giving you the talk about how many years already passed so you should be better. 

You kissed his jawline and brushed his long messy morning hair with your fingers, he leaned his head at your touch. “Morning, princess,” he said with a raspy voice. “Keep doing that and I will give you the best birthday sex of your life, remember I never get tired, I can’t get tired so I will make love to you all day” he teased you. 

You blushed at his statement. You know he’s for real. He really can’t get tired because of the soldier serum. You didn’t mind spending all day in bed, you didn’t want to go outside anyway. “If you say so, come here, soldier”. You grabbed him by his tag to kiss him. 

Indeed, he gave you the best birthday sex of your life all morning. You just stopped in the evening to have some food and a time out because you are an avenger but not a person with the soldier serum. Then he put your phones in silence because he continued the whole night.  

“Happy birthday, baby girl” he kissed you before midnight, before your birthday was over. 

[redfuzzysocks]

The complicated answer to the third question Luo Weizhao asked Pei Su in ep16.

Just my thoughts....

That is a long complex answer, so it is unsurprising PS didn't answer it. Like, seriously, how could he?!?! PS touches on the jist of the answer as he leaves AGAIN in ep20. The parallel of older PS leaving with flashbacks of younger PS with the cat in the box and him sitting outside on bench in both instances. That was done on purpose to show you that now is the same reason as then. It is happening again!

That heavy conversation in ep21 is LWZ responding to PS's fears/concerns/hang-ups and telling Pei Su WHY he should STAY. The simplest way to explain it was 1) lack of trust and 2) Pei Su sincerely believes himself to be a monster that doesn't deserve trust. This is why PS didn't really fault LWZ for acting that way….he felt it was just expected since he is an apath/monster. But I think it is also painful for PS to be around LWZ knowing this (especially since he really likes LWZ). It HURTS to be around someone that has no faith/trust in you. PS thinks that if LWZ finds fault with him then maybe his struggle to NOT be a monster is hopeless….that no matter how hard he tries/struggles, that he will still fail and hurt others in the end. PS already hates himself...and then this just adds more fuel to the fire. That is why LWZ told PS in ep21 how much he regretted it. He has learned that PS takes what he says/does to heart. That his younger self was an idiot, wasn't observant enough and failed to notice PS's silent cries for help. LWZ is wiser since he aged some and he is FINALLY making it clear to PS that he failed to explain himself properly in the past….that 1) he DOES believe in and trust PS and that 2) PS is NOT a monster....he is a good person. And this is what changes PS's world and self perception for the better.

I also want to add that this is why early in the series, PS also had his dark, I-am-a-monster mask on whenever he talked to LWZ. Because PS believed that this is what LWZ thought of him, he just played it up to the max. He was punishing both himself (self harm!) and LWZ. Since you think I am a monster, I will act like one. The change started at end of ep4 after they saved the mother from jumping off the building: LWZ found PS on the bench alone and he APOLOGIZED to PS.

This totally caught PS off guard and confused him. You can see his mask slip off a lot here because this is an unfamiliar situation for him and he doesn't know how to respond. He ended up floundering, telling LWZ that he didn't need to apologize since even he didn't know who he was.

I LOVE THEIR GROWTH OVER THIS SERIES!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[naneun-no]

1. You get what you seek. And it shows that you have made it so that on your side that is all you see because you purposely seek it out. You do realize that on SM when you see post and go into comments sections, it’s different for everyone. You know this right?! You built your algorithm to be what you wanted it to be. I never see these things you guys speak of. On my side none of these things pop up. I didn’t build my algorithm with purposeful hate. That was all your own doing. Maybe it’s time to start over and build it with actual positivity because you and the rest sound like you’ve gone off the deep end.

2. Let me preface this with I am 🏳️‍🌈 and what you and the lot are doing is literally one of the most disrespectful and scary things you could do to someone who may be 🏳️‍🌈. “But we do it to show love and support!” Nope! You are doing damage and it’s scary. You literally scare us! Never actually taking the time to think of what this could do to them. You just want your “Ha Ha I was right!” point made. You can see it in all of your guys posts. They are just token to you and you have definitely proven that. You guys are the ones giving ammo to the people who hate us (and risking our lives, how do you not get that!?!! Especially the two grown men you are speaking about!

3. I say this sincerely but you (and the rest of you) need help. I highly recommend therapy because you have gone waaay past parasocial…… Others people opinions (which they are allowed to have, just like you have, and you’re stating they aren’t) should never matter to you this much. You are spending too much time in a world where you don’t even exist to them instead of living in the real world. You put more time and effort into their lives and those who hate them, than on your life. Do you deep dive your life this much? Do you deep dive current events this much? People are literally being slaughtered and dying all over the world right now. I understand the need to escape because of how bad the world is right now (trust me I get it) but you guys aren’t even diving into a good thing. If their lives make you happy then sure enjoy it and be happy but you and the lot seem to focus more on the hate and fighting than just staying in the happy bubble that has been created. Stay within the content and leave out all the rest. You are doing yourself and those guys a disservice doing all that. If you truly care about them, love them (like you claim), and care you wouldn’t be behaving this way. Report and block buttons exist for a reason!

4. This was probably a waste of time because you will all remain the same, but I tried. I wish people thought more of the consequences of their actions and especially what that does to those you are “fighting” for.

Hi, so, I’m gonna attempt to answer this in good faith, even though I don’t necessarily think it was asked in good faith (especially since you did it anonymously, but that’s cool. I turned on anons for the first time in years because I felt open to being challenged and discussing, and that’s what you brought). I am a fan of self-reflection, even though you (without knowing me at all) suggested that I’m not — so let’s give it a go.

1. Sorry… gotta ask. How did you come across this post exactly? You know, given the positivity and purity of your own algorithm?

Ah, I had to, sorry. But you see how it works?

I don’t “build my algorithm with purposeful hate” either. That was, in my opinion, an unnecessarily spiteful and self-congratulatory thing to say. I also wasn’t referring in my last post to hate — I was referring to the way that a lot of this fandom refuses to acknowledge Jimin and Jungkook’s particular closeness. Idk what kind of algorithm you want me to have, but given that I am responding to what “normal” army — presumably people like you — are saying, I don’t really get your point.

2. Okay, you’re 🏳️‍🌈. I’m going to give you a spoiler alert and let you know that a lot of “this lot” is 🏳️‍🌈. You might be aware that gay people are not a monolith.

For some people, the bond that they’ve seen between Jungkook and Jimin and the people that celebrate it has helped them find solace and encouragement and empowered them in their sexuality. I have had discussions about that with gay people on this very site. So while you evidently find this kind of shipping discourse a wholly bad thing, not every gay person does.

I think for a lot of gay people, when they witness and react to Jungkook and Jimin’s content, they have raised eyebrows and wonder if they are closeted. I’m bisexual myself, and I wondered about Jimin a long time ago, but idk. I could be wrong. I don’t think he’s particularly scared of being seen as bisexual, but maybe I am projecting.

I’m genuinely sorry that you felt scared or threatened by my post or my words. I did not intend what I said to be a scary thing, but if it felt that way to you regardless, I apologize. I have no desire to use any gay people (or any people period) as a token or a chess piece. To be honest, sometimes it can get kind of competitive on here when talking about different fandom takes, and you’re right about that. I don’t really see my most recent post as a “ha ha I win” post, I more just was sort of frustrated by the way people tend to refuse to talk about jikook in a normal way, in the way they would talk about any other celebrity duo — but in doing so, I suppose I end up not talking about them in a normal way myself. And that’s fair to call out!

When you say “what I’m doing is dangerous for them” I think I need to better understand what you mean. Genuinely. I’m not sure how saying “hm, I see something here but maybe I’m wrong” is dangerous. I have not spread or reposted any photos people took without their consent. I have not followed them (ever) or gone to where they are to take photos or share their location without their consent. I have not called for anyone to do them harm. In fact, maybe it will cheer you to hear that almost my entire algorithm is people shaming and discouraging others from sharing the intrusive photos and videos. And I agree.

If you’re suggesting that more people seeing content that points out that they may be gay will make more people think they’re gay, which would then make them more visible to people who may wish to harm them — okay. Maybe. I doubt that hateful, homophobic people are trolling the ship tags on tumblr, of all places, but maybe. I removed their names from the tags of the post so that only the ship names are tagged (so that people who are okay with encountering that kind of content will be the ones to see it. Hopefully. And the good people with good algorithms won’t).

Listen. I do not want to put them in danger. I am reacting to their public behavior and the language I see surrounding it. I posted this on a blog site that is generally a pretty safe space for the 🏳️‍🌈 intentionally. I do not post very much about them on X and I do not post at all about them elsewhere.

Still, I’m sorry to hear that you find my post exploitative or scary. If I may make an intrusive suggestion similar to the ones you made — maybe you should avoid this kind of discourse if it causes you distress. Then again, you wouldn’t get the ego boost of telling me all the ways I’m a yucky, bad, not as good as you person. So maybe keep it in the rotation.

3. Point number 3. It’s a big one. Most of it is absolutely none of your business, but I’m going to address it anyways. I’m also choosing to believe you meant this with the best of intentions and that the preachy, holier-than-thou tone was unintentional and just a product of how much better than me you think you are.

Which is fine, and I mean this genuinely: maybe you are healthier than me! Maybe whatever impulse drove you into a stranger’s inbox to anonymously recommend that they seek therapy is healthier than the impulse I had to rant on my own blog about a trend I’ve noticed in a fandom I’m a part of. If you are mentally healthier than me, please accept my congratulations. I wish you many warm cups of herbal tea while your feet touch grass and the sun shines on your cheeks. I wish that for everyone, really.

But anonymous hall monitor, hear me when I say this: You don’t know me at all.

I don’t know the two grown men I wrote about either — you’re right! I yap, and I rant, and I tap up silly essays with very little editing, but it actually is a lot less deep to me than it probably seems like it is. Know why? Because you happened to come to a place where this is the only thing I do. The title of the blog is “ranting & writing & shipping” or something to that effect. I have reserved this space specifically for silly fandom thoughts about two celebrities. In the same way that some people have blogs for Tom and Zendaya, and some have blogs about certain reality shows. I have never written about them in a way that suggests I know them in any way other than a fan “knows” an idol. I only ever make comments on the content they have shared with us through official channels. I may seem as though all I am is a brain dead, zombified shipper, but I am other things too. I just am not those things here, because I have reserved this little space for that.

Is it the healthiest of my hobbies? Probably not. You’re right about that. But rest assured, random stranger who does not know or care about me in any way, other than the moral high ground you awarded yourself at my expense — I do have other hobbies.

I actually do, believe it or not, “dive this deep” in my personal life. I do in fact stay informed on current events and I do in fact have hot takes on things other than this one topic. It’s just that this blog, which you somehow came across and then trolled for evidence to back up your anonymous takedown of me, is pretty much only about this one topic.

I get that you think you know me because you’ve read a few of my posts, but they are typically typed up in a whirlwind of random half-baked thoughts formed during an hour or so spent online and then never really thought of again. I’m a good writer, so maybe that makes you think I spend more time on these posts than I actually do. In actuality, I have spent far longer trying to fairly and without too much defensiveness respond to this ask. Believe me, if anything has inspired me to log off for the day, it’s you. So. Well done.

You so magnanimously suggested that “my lot” should choose to only see the positive and not engage with the negative. Setting aside the fact that PLENTY of my posts are positive, and about the music, and fashion, and hyping them up, you just haven’t seen those ones (darn it! Why didn’t your perfect algorithm show you my nice, happy posts? I promise they exist): If you’re taking issue with the overall tone of my last post — which was a bit sarcastic, a bit argumentative, I’ll give you that — then maybe my style just isn’t for you? I promise I am not having a bad day because people don’t see Jungkook and Jimin the exact same way I do. I promise I’m allowing people to have their opinions, even if my phrasing made you think I’m not. In fact, I’d argue that I might be more tolerant of different opinions than you are. Sure, I made a rant post on my own blog space about how I’m annoyed with a certain trend. But you’re the one who sought out my inbox and told me to seek help. So which one of us is less tolerant of an online stranger’s opinion?

4. I suspect this might have been a waste of my time, too. It’s why I closed anonymous asks years ago; because I got tired of hearing vitriol from strangers. But I like to imagine that we’re all real people, behind the screens, so here’s my good faith summary:

You’re right, I probably am too invested in a relationship that doesn’t involve me. I should have learned my lesson from Channing and Jenna (and Tia and Cory 😭) to stop getting invested in celeb relationships 😅. I actually have a long, unpublished draft about the obsessive culture of shipping in fandom, of which I am guilty! and how and why we become so hooked on this particular stimulus, and all the healthy and unhealthy results it can have, and blah blah blah.

But I don’t think you care about that. Because you don’t care about me. You don’t know me. You’re not a friend. You’re not someone who can provide tough love and tell me what I need to hear, because there is no love to begin with. Your ask reeked of judgement, and shaming, and accusatory finger-pointing, not of genuine concern. Your ask was to make you feel better, it was an outlet for the emotions my post brought up for you — nothing more.

You could have posted about the concerning trend of shipping in fandom on your own blog (and maybe you have, I don’t know). But instead you chose to come to the space I have for myself where I talk about BTS fandom and how it relates to two of the members and tell me I need to seek help. All because I pointed out that people don’t call Jimin and Jungkook best friends, when they clearly are.

You’re too invested too, babe. And that’s the beautiful hypocrisy of it all. “Don’t engage with the negative!!” While sending me a hateful ask. “Other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter to you this much!” How much? Enough to write a silly rant post, or enough to crawl into someone’s asks and accuse them of “not living in the real world”?

Maybe I am an embarrassing person for poring over shit that doesn’t concern me, for finding joy in a relationship I observe from afar. Maybe I’m a loser and I need to step back (I’ve stepped back before, I do it often. You wouldn’t know that, because you don’t know me). But I made a non-direct, untargeted rant post that you could have scrolled past. I was primarily just preaching to the choir. But you took it a step further by sending me a targeted, personal, insulting message designed to make me feel bad. Do you see the difference, in our two posts?

I think while I’m self-reflecting, maybe you should too.

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

So, I know we all want Tommy's mom to have been kind and loving, but passed when he was young, but what if Tommy's childhood parallels Shannon running out on Chris & Eddie and Maddie leaving Jee & Chimney, except in Tommy's case, his mom didn't come back at all and his dad grew to resent him for his mom leaving?

What if, like Shannon, Tommy's mom was overwhelmed with caring for an infant/small child but had limited help? Tommy's dad was okay when he was there, except he was hardly around due to work and hanging with the boys.

What if, like Maddie, Tommy's mom also had post partum depression, and was afraid she would hurt Tommy, so, like Maddie, she left, thinking that he would be better off without her and his father would step up?

But Tommy's dad didn't step up.

Much like Eddie, Tommy's dad hates it that his son got a letter, but he didn't get any explanation at all other than "I can't do this anymore" the night before he woke up to her gone.

Unlike Eddie, though, he blamed Tommy, who was probably less than two.

Unlike Chimney, he never tried tracking her down. (Granted, it was the 80s)

Tommy's baby book was left unfinished.

As Tommy grew older, and his dad's resentment grew more, Tommy, much like Bobby, ended up taking care of his now, alcoholic, unemployed father.

Tommy had no friends. He couldn't nurture his school friendships, because he had to get straight home to make sure his dad wasn't passed out. He was. He always was. He had to make food that his dad always complained about, but no one taught him to cook.

In high school, Tommy signed up to take cooking at school. He saved all the recipes in a binder, remaking everything at home. Sometimes he would get satisfied grunts from his father, but usually not.

He glued one of the few pictures of his mom to the cover of the recipe binder and made the letter from her the first page. It came everywhere with him: basic training, a couple army bases, out to LA. It's been in every kitchen he's ever had. He doesn't know much about his mom, but something deep inside him tells him that she liked to cook, so whenever he does, he feels connected to her.

One day, a couple weeks after moving in, Evan finds the old binder and takes it out. He looks at the photograph on the cover, realizing the woman is the same one from the picture Tommy has on his dresser where she's holding a newborn infant. Evan had assumed that was Tommy and his mom, but he never asked and Tommy never mentioned it.

Evan then opens the binder and reads the letter.

He remembers what it was like for Chimney when Maddie left, but Maddie came back and they're both such amazing parents.

He thinks about what Eddie has told him about Shannon leaving, but again, even briefly, she came back. And Eddie tries so hard to be everything that Chris needs.

Evan knows that Tommy's dad wasn't anything even remotely close to Chimney or Eddie.

Evan walks out to the garage, where Tommy is tinkering under the hood of his car and wraps his arms around his waist, pressing into Tommy's back, whispering "I love you so much" into his ear.

[avatar4life]

I HAVE A WHAT?!

Weeks have passed since the Gojo clan has disowned the baby girl and the oldest child has been avoiding them at all costs.

Right now Satoru was with his best friends Suguru and Shoko, trying to find watch a movie but his mind was only thinking about his baby sister and wondering how she was doing and if whatever orphanage she was put in was treating her well.

Suguru noticed him not paying attention to the movie as he usually does and paused it before looking at him "ok that's enough. You've been mopping for days on end, what happened? Did someone take your stash of candies again?" He asked as Shoko also looks at him, her expression showing the concern she felt for Satoru.

The latter, not in the mood to entertain Suguru's humor, just looked at him and sighed "no. My stupid clan and parents put my sister for adoption" he said, the anger he felt towards said people still lingering. The other two looked shocked at the revelation "wait...reader got put up for adoption? Why?" Shoko asked incredulous "cause apparently I'm the only heir they need, and she was a mistake...god I hate them" Satoru said, gripping his can of soda so tight he almost popped it before Suguru took it from his hand and set it aside "...how are you feeling?" He asked worried for him "how do you think I'm feeling? I'm angry and I want to destroy something and find her but I can't even control my teleportation so I'm feeling useless!" He said snapping and then leaving the room, going back to his own.

The other two looked at each other in worry before agreeing to leave him alone for the time being.

MEANWHILE

A couple, a black Italian man and a Japanese Italian woman came inside the orphanage and towards the reception where the old lady was reading a book. She noticed the couple and smiled "oh hello there, how may I help you?" She asked kindly at the two of them. The couple looked at each other with big smiles before looking at the lady "we'd like to adopt a child. If possible a little girl and an infant" the woman said with barely contained enthusiasm.

The old lady looked happy before leading them towards the nursery room where all the babies were at.

The couple looked around, not feeling any kind of connection with any child before they stopped at a particular crib where a baby girl, the name reader due to the name tag on said crib, was looking at them with curiosity unlike her fellow babies who were crying.

The woman immediately looked at her name with a soft smile "this is the one. This is my daughter" she said mostly to herself but her husband heard her and smiled "might need to deal with those paperwork faster than if we want her home soon" he said to her.

The couple thanked the lady and promised to come back as soon as possible before leaving, their smiles not faltering from their faces.

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

The baby girl was cooing as she looked up the ceiling, moving slightly as her gaze doesn't leave the one of the creatures in front of her (curses). She looked at them in curiosity and her pacifier fell off but as soon as she opened her mouth to coo again a blue energy came out of one of the creatures and entered her mouth before said creature disappeared from existence. She cooed again as the lady came back and put the pacifier in her mouth again as tne baby fell asleep, the creatures leaving the room.

Can you guess what reader did to the curse? Also I'm backkkkkk

Comment your guesses

[alisinyobooty]

ׂׂૢ THE LOLLIPOP ׂׂૢ (revised)

—

Summary: headed to the store craving a lollipop sweetness, You came back with Chris craving a different type of sweetness.

AN: I lit have the og on my account from a year ago… we don’t talk about that. So this is my new and improved version LMAOO!! Ts also long ash💔

ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀

Up and around the staircase of the triplets house the 4 of you went. Plastic bags from the little dollar store run shuffled against one another and with a thud they hit the counter. Feet scurrying to dig for the bag of lollipops you and Chris were so hopelessly geeking about. Practically ignoring Nick and Matt you throw one to Chris before you feel his soft hand take yours down the steps to his bedroom. A place you were familiar with. Not only because you have been in this house countless of times before but because Chris hogged you like if you were already his. Claiming you without words, through actions. Not like you minded. His bed being your automatic spot, leaving it to you he sank comfortably in his little chair beside.

Silence between you two rose. Clicking and random TikTok audios. But the one sound that popped in here and there, barely hitting your own ears, the one that felt like the loudest noise, at least to Chris was the noise of the lollipop going in and out of your mouth. A pop and a suck. His stare unthreatening but deep. Observant. A glint of something bigger beneath played behind those blue eyes. Your tongue meeting around the lollipop taking in the flavors. Spit coating it for a moment before you dipped in back in your mouth.

The brunette across from you moving himself a little too much in his chair at the mere sight of something so innocent. Thoughts filling his mind as he himself was salivating. Not from the taste of the lollipop. But the taste he hoped was to come. A taste yummier. A taste more fulfilling.

Your thumb hits to pause your video. A final pop sound coming from you as you pulled just the stick of the now finished candy. Eyes training upwards, there’s no reason why. Was it you subconsciously feeling the stare? Either way you met gazes. Intense. Wrong time even as you trail right down to his palm in his lap. Then back to his face. Flushed? “Chris you alright?” Voice soft on the surface but to someone caught, and overwhelmed, it was sharp. Demanding. Condescending? Whatever it was, the heat growing wasn’t dying down. Not in the slightest. “Alright?” He repeated back. If you look close enough you swear sweat dripped down his face. Hips slightly move forward. Legs spread wider as he gives a half ass smile. “Don’t bullshit me” you reply crossing your arms as you tilted your head to him. He hated how you could read him. “Nothing!” This time it was quieter. Almost ragged. Your eyes trail back down as you watch his hand either move or cover himself. Was he- omg?

And just like that he was the lollipop. The sweetness you craved. The goodness that you held in your hand. His own gripping your hair like a lifeline. This lollipop had more to it. It made sounds. It came with a show. Even an extra surprise at the end. It felt like rewarding something you weren’t supposed to. He was just getting off to you through his clothes. Pre cum on it to show the evidence he couldn’t hide. Instead of leaving, you stayed. Stayed and dropped right to your knees. His pants followed right with you. The feeling of just your lips around his big form sent him into a frenzy.

Your eyes lowly looking to his. Bitting his lip, suppressing the sound of his pleasures to keep his brothers from hearing. The need he felt to yell your name. Turn the whimpers into full blown screams. Gagging a bit as he jolted his hips forward. Whore. His body was practically begging for more. You were willing to make him break. Hear your name on his soft lips just once. Tears filled your waterline as he twitched within you. Hes close. Just before you were to suck him clean, he filled you up.

Warmth filled your mouth, sweetness to a hint of saltiness. That saltiness that was overshadowed by just what you wanted. That deep guttural noise you've been craving More than any lollipop. Made it worth it.

he was finished and your mouth was full. Full enough as he breathlessly wiped his mess off you, a passionate kiss. One filled with neck grabs and a trail of saliva connecting you both. “Sweet” he simply says as you giggled.

Just like a lollipop.

ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•⁀

[thatblueduck]

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE FIRST TWO EPISODES, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Okay, so I’ve been able to watch the first two episodes and I’d just like to say:

What the actual fuck happened to Dae-ho. Like, why the fuck did the people that said he was faking being a Marine turn out to be right, what the hell was the reason for that? Not to mention the complete destruction of his character and I absolutely hate how he died, like what was that. He was done so dirty oh my god, and I’m not even saying that bc he’s one of my favorites, I’m saying that bc he was quite literally done extremely dirty.

Why was GI-HUN of all people the one to kill him? No like actually, I thought he’d have this “you’re not that kind of guy, mister” moment and let him go but nope screw that I guess! Seriously, they completely destroyed the bond between the team that was formed last season for the sake of this?

Okay, one of the only things I’m really liking so far is how zesty Nam-gyu is lol, he’s so silly. “Just a one-night stand, so to speak” like okay zesty fest 😭. However, I’ve seen so many people switching up on Thangyu like, I’m sorry have we forgotten basic fucking media literacy? A little something called context clues, or at least having a brain? Nam-gyu clearly cared about Thanos, like more than half of his dialogue was just yapping about Thanos or acting just like him, like you cannot seriously look at the source material and tell me, “Yeah he didn’t care about Thanos at all” like are we deadass. Please tell me there’s still some of us that have basic media literacy, it’s actually pissing me off how these people only see the surface level and don’t bother to dig any deeper.

NOW WHY THE FUCK DID FUCKING MYUNG-GI KILL MY QUEEN HYUN-JU? YOU KILLED ONE OF THE PEOPLE PROTECTING THE PERSON YOU SAID YOU’D PROTECT, DUMBASS. Oh my god, I knew I was always right to hate Myung-gi, but I didn’t expect him to kill one of the best characters. Unless this guy gets some serious character development I’m not gonna like him. Also idk why, but it’s pissing me off that Hyun-ju didn’t look behind her. She was in the army, she’d know not to leave her back exposed.

Yong-sik…oh, he was never one of my favorites, but why the hell was he willing to kill Jun-hee? What we’ve learned about him so far is that he’d never hurt anyone, especially not a pregnant woman/mother. But oh what do we have here, more character annihilation! Yeah I deadass started crying, he didn’t deserve to go like that.

Wasn’t gonna add this note, but Min-su taking the drugs, hallucinating Se-mi, & killing Seon-nyeo was not on my bingo card holy shit. I love Min-su, but it’s kinda weird seeing what I thought would happen to Nam-gyu (ex: hallucinations) happen to Min-su instead. Feel bad for Seon-nyeo though, she was equally as interesting to watch as she was annoying.

Other than Nam-gyu, I do like the side plots with No-eul & Gyeong-seok and Jun-ho finding the island going on, they’re actually interesting to watch compared to the tragedies going on in the games.

I’ve seen all over my social medias how absolutely no one liked season 3 and I’m kinda scared to watch the rest of the season now, but I waited six months for this so I’ll carry on.

Dae-ho & Hyun-ju gone in the first two episodes, my boy Nam-gyu soon to leave, I’m gonna need a lot more tissues ☹️

Props to the actors btw, they’re all doing phenomenal jobs, like genuinely I love them all. No hate to any of them, I love them all 😊 It’s just, the writing… Also what is up with the CGI baby, I’m sorry, you couldn’t have gotten a real one like so many other shows do 😭

Really hoping Player 100 doesn’t make it to the end, because I’d actually crash tf out if he lives longer than literally any of the more deserving characters. Manifesting he starts choking bc he’s too old to exist next episode.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Okay I was scrolling through the Hollysugar tag after some screenshots from a yuriful trailer popped up on my FYP, and I saw someone begging that Hollysugar be not toxic and able to be healthy, and that ‘Holly is forgiving’ and cursing out Shadowvanilla. What’s funny is 1. This was worded in such a way that it made it seem like OP though Pure Vanilla was also complicit in Shadowvanilla’s toxicity for… fighting back against Shadow Milk (I knew it… PV was the true manipulator all along… oh yeah it’s all coming together…) and 2… why can’t women be toxic, op? Huh???? Why can’t we have our well-deserved toxic yuri??? What do you, hate women???? /lh

Some dumb little stupid baby: pLeAsE dOn'T LeT HoLLySuGaR bE tOxiC waaaaaaahhhhhh I'm too cowardly to accept the dark reality of the Beasts' and Ancients' connection and do proper character exploration of both sides of the dynamic waaaaaaahhhhhhhhh I'm too weak to handle toxic yuri waaaaahhhhhh I dabble in mild sexism by thinking women are incapable of wrongdoing, thus denying women agency and the capacity to be fully realized complex human beings, instead forcing them to be perfect one-dimensional angels that exist only to soothe my paper-thin skin and cater to my boring modern fluffy coffee shop AU fantasies waaaaaaahhhhhhhhh

(I'm exaggerating for comedic purposes lol. But regardless, that person genuinely is lame. Eternal Sugar is evil. She has committed heinous crimes against countless innocent people. There is simply no way for the relationship to not be toxic, at least to some degree, as ES is now. That stuff is part of the Beast x Ancient deal. It's enemies to lovers. It's hero/villain. It's forbidden love (but also not, because they're soulmates, forever bound to one another). You either accept that or you admit that Beast x Ancient is not for you. Come on man, have fun, live a little, it's fiction)

[meimeikyu]

probably will be mostly posting non utmv related stuff for the next few days 👍

(rant in tags)

[youjustcannotknow]

the weight of the world has crushed me flat on this fine afternoon

[rxc]

vent cw and self harm mention in the tags

i hate this goddmn hellpit of a world and i particularly hate men. like jesus fucking christ they ALL REALLY think they are just. better than me.

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[damselneedssaving]

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

[jocelynships]

Man I’m trying to get myself hyped up for HHN and have been pretty excited bc I’m going for the first time this year with Kelsey and a few other friends I trust with my life, and my coworkers are offering to get a group together for preview night and help me through it

And all of a sudden that impending sense of doom I get every year about the whole event is hitting me really bad all of a sudden

And now I worry I’m gonna have a massive panic attack and ruin the event with anyone I go with 🙃🙃🙃