#idk idk i'm still sifting through things and trying to figure out what i want to do.

[moe-broey]

Genuinely what the FUCK are you on about 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[morningstargirl666]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

thank you @garglyswoof and @stars-and-darkness for tagging me!

How many works do you have on ao3?

12, though 2 of those are moodboards so don't really count.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

553,036. Huh. Lower than I expected. No doubt that will shoot up when the tbbw rewrite is done [fake laughter, hiding real pain]

3. What fandoms do you write for?

TVD, TO a.k.a Klaroline

4. Top five fics by kudos:

The Big Bad Wolf, Into Eternity, The Little Wolf, The Red Wedding and Falling For You.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to respond to every one as I love talking with readers. I figure if someone spends time to write a comment, I'll return the favour and reply. In fact when I'm updating fics regularly, if my reply to your comment turns up in your inbox it's often a pre-warning that a new chapter is about to drop, as I read over comments I've missed before updating.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Does Damon murder count? [I don't really do angsty endings, I need my happily ever after]

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Into Eternity. It's really sappy and makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. What can I say - I'm a romantic at heart.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, kinda. Is it hate if it's just wild interpretations of the characters or plot? Some people leave comments that just make you blink repeatedly and think...are they reading the same fic I'm writing? I remember one time someone left a comment calling Caroline a pushover (honestly had some kind of vendetta against her showing ANY kind of emotion like okaaaaay mate) even though in that very same chapter...she literally kicked Klaus is the balls. Man, that was a weird day.

9. Do you write smut?

No. Not yet. In the future? There may or may not be scenes planned. 😏 I'm picky with smut, I need feelings and the eMoTiOnS, I need to be INVESTED. Porn with plot, rather than just smut for smut's sake.

10. Craziest crossover:

Haven't written a crossover - unless intending to drop Dracula into tbbw at some point coints. There's some great ones in the fandom though, just not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of [narrows eyes]

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No! But I'd be flattered if one ever was, as long as its translated on ao3 and given credit to me.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I haven't. I might be open to it though, if it was a round-robin kind of thing where the writers take in turns to write the scenes.

14. All time favorite ship?

KLAROLINE!!! NOW LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK!!!

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I really want to finish Divided We Fall, Falling For You and Songs of the Sea. I wouldn't say I doubt I'll ever finish them, just that I doubt I'll finish them while I'm still writing the tbbw series. Too much of the klaroline brain rot is invested in that fic alone.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told it's shifting between moods? So I can give readers whiplash in the emotions department - one minute you're crying, the next you're laughing. I like to think my strength is dialogue though. Even the way I write is focused around it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Historical accuracy. I'll fall down a rabbit hole researching stuff like any writer, but the researching is more out of obligation and crippling writer guilt rather than actual enjoyment. Which is why I often take creative licence and go fuck it, history has its own au now bitches (sorry ella).

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If its little words here and there - even a sentence or two - yes. Full conversations though unless you're fluent yourself are not fun to sift through.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Star Wars? I want to say Star Wars. Idk those fanfics are over on my ffnet account which I will not be going back to anytime soon. I dare not go where the light doesn't touch, Mufasa speaks wisely.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

It used to be The Red Wedding but I actually love The Little Wolf more now. That one's a true labour of love, fueled on rage and spite, curtesy of Julie Plec.

I will tag @galvanizedfriend @kirythestitchwitch @marxandangels @bellemorte180 @impossiblekryptonitecolor @the-road-betwixt @purplesigebert @that-sarcastic-optimist

[drabbles-mc]

After Hours

Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & F!Reader

Whumptober 2022: No.31 A Light at the End of the Tunnel- Comfort

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, grief/mourning, mental health, mentions of suicide, family deaths

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I trulyyyy cannot believe I made it to the end of Whumptober. A fic a day. Love it. Anyway. I wrote this fic in particular for me more than anyone else. It hits incredibly close to home.

A/N pt2: Shout-out to @narcolini and @garbinge for being my cheerleaders this whole month and listening to like??? Every thought that has popped into my head lmao. You two deserve medals. 🤝🏻💖

The Bear Taglist: idk how much i'm going to write for this series but if i do and you want to be tagged, let me know!

The two of you made your way down the steps of the church together. The door had barely shut behind him before Carmy was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. He placed one between his lips and was about to tuck it away before he thought better of it. Glancing over at you, he held it out to you in a silent offer. You knew that you probably shouldn’t, but given everything that was going on, you figured it wasn’t going to be the end of the world.

You let him light it for you when you reached the bottom of the steps. You tucked the hand that wasn’t holding onto the cigarette into the pocket of your jacket, and he mirrored your actions. The air around the two of you was thrown into a haze of smoke for a moment as the two of you stood there in silence.

You cleared your throat as you tapped the ashes off the end of your cigarette onto the ground. “Wanna grab coffee? Or a bite?”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised by the offer. But he shrugged, nodding. “Yea, yea sure. Got a spot in mind?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Figured I’d leave that to you. I don’t want to pick the wrong spot to take the chef to.”

A tiny smile curled his lips before he took a drag off of his smoke. “Fair. Come on,” he nodded towards the crosswalk, “I know a spot a few blocks away.”

You walked side-by-side. You thought it was going to be weird walking together, not saying anything, but it wasn’t. The cigarettes were enough of a distraction, the fleeting streams of smoke passing between you putting just enough of a barrier as you walked.

Carmy stopped outside the front door of a restaurant that was definitely closed. All of the lights were off. He snubbed his cigarette out on the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe. You were about to say something when you heard the jingling of keys as he pulled them out of his pocket. He sifted through the ones on the ring until he found the one that he needed, putting it into the lock on the front door.

He’d flipped a few of the lights on, but most of the place was still dark. You were sitting awkwardly on one of the stools at the counter, waiting for Carmy to reappear with coffee. You had tried to reassure him that you really just asked to grab coffee or food as an opportunity to talk a little more—it wasn’t a request for him to start actually working. You figured he’d done enough of that all day before he even turned up at the meeting.

He reappeared with two coffee mugs held in one hand, and two plates balanced on the other. Your eyes widened at the slices of chocolate cake he was bringing out. You weren’t sure what he was going to come back with, but this was better than whatever you had been trying to think of.

“Holy shit.”

He chuckled as he set the plates and mugs down. “Good—was hoping that would be your response.”

You eagerly picked up your fork and dug in. “You make this?”

He shook his head. “No. My one chef here, this is like his fuckin’ thing. This and donuts.”

“Donuts?” You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t interested.

“Yea,” he took a sip of his coffee, “Come back when we’re open and you can be his taste-tester.”

You nodded as you took another bite of cake. “I just might.”

Things were quiet between the two of you for a minute, the only sounds were the clinking of your forks against the plate and your coffee mugs against the counter. Every now and then you’d look at him as he stood on the opposite side of the counter from you. He was leaning onto it, bracing his forearms against it. You thought about telling him that he could take a seat on the side next to you, but something told you that he wouldn’t. That’s not what he did here—he was always moving.

“So,” he broke the silence as he scooped more cake onto his fork, “are you, what, my fuckin’ sponsor now?”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know, do you want me to be your fuckin’ sponsor?” You paused, looking at him as you each watched for the other’s facial reactions. You toyed with the mug in your hands. “I just, I don’t know. Just felt like there was more to say?”

“Baring my soul in group wasn’t enough for you?” he joked.

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s not what I said.”

He nodded. “Right. Well,” he gestured with the fork in his hand, “this place says it all.”

You smiled. “It’s a nice addition to the trauma-dump. Adds extra flavor.”

He fought the urge to smile, instead just taking another bite of the cake on the plate in front of him. He tried to drag it out for as long as he could before he finally looked back over at you. “Your turn. You know all about me, but I don’t think I ever heard you talk at any of those meetings.”

“Well,” you leaned, bracing your arms almost the same way that he was, “maybe if you had showed up a little sooner, you would know all of my shit too.”

“Sorry my brother didn’t die on a convenient enough timetable.”

You laughed. “Siblings never do. It’s really fucking inconsiderate of them to be honest.”

He paused. “That why you’re there too? Sibling shit?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Been about…” your voice trailed off, “It’ll be three years tomorrow.”

Carmy’s eyes widened, “Shit.”

You chuckled, not because it was funny but because what the fuck else was there to do? “Yea.”

“I’d ask you about it, but I don’t want to take away your possible talking points tomorrow.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like I’m writing it all out like a fucking commencement speech. I don’t,” you shrugged, “I don’t even know if I’m gonna go tomorrow.”

“No?”

You toyed with the little bit of cake that was still on your plate. “It’s different every year. Last year I went. It was nice. I talked but I didn’t say what day it was or anything. Didn’t really matter, you know? She’s still dead all the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year too. Year before that I didn’t even get out of my fucking bed to brush my teeth, let alone go to a meeting.”

His tone was hushed, “Fuck.”

You let out a quiet, sad laugh, “Yea.” You shook your head. “Fucking middle child.”

“You? Or your sister?”

“My sister.” You took a bite. “I’m the youngest too.”

“You really know how to pick the people you don’t sponsor, huh?”

You laughed. “Like a sniper I sit and wait in the back of those meetings waiting for the perfect target.”

“And then you don’t sponsor them?”

You smiled. “And then I don’t sponsor them.” You paused for a moment, trying to turn the conversation back off yourself. “I know this place comes with a lot of fucking baggage for you,” you gestured around the seating area of the restaurant, “but I think it’s…it could be good for you.”

“My fuckin’ stomach ulcers that are coming back beg to differ.”

You smiled at that. “You’ll be stressed enough for ulcers no matter where you go.”

“Got that from three monologues at meetings?”

You nodded. “That and the fact that you look like you maybe wash your hair once every two weeks and get more than four hours of sleep a night at about the same rate.”

He shook his head at you but didn’t argue. “Fuckin’ sniper.”

“Fuckin’ sniper.”

“What about your sister?”

“What about her?”

He shrugged. “What was she like? You know, since I’m a few years behind on the stories.”

You smiled. “Coming in mid-series, Carmy?” You chuckled, shrugging. “She was, you know,” you paused, “she was the worst sometimes, to be quite honest.”

He choked on his coffee for a moment, not expecting that response. He looked surprised and amused and unsure of how to reply to that all at once.

It got you to laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But, I mean, it’s true. I love her. I love her so much. I would’ve taken a bullet for her. But we weren’t, you know, we weren’t those siblings that were best friends. We didn’t have a sibling group chat where we would text all the time. The three of us didn’t do weekly dinners. We didn’t party together or whatever the fuck siblings do.”

“Siblings do that?” he asked with a quiet laugh.

You shrugged, smiling. “Apparently.” You paused. “But yea. I mean, she was smart, you know? The kind of smart where she didn’t even have to fucking try. Which was infuriating for me personally, if you were curious,” you chuckled, “She could’ve done anything that she wanted. She could just…focus on something until she was great at it. And it never even took that long. Baking, drawing, photography, writing, you name it. Everything she did, she was good at. Fuckin’ annoying.”

There was a small smile on his face. “I bet.”

“She used to decorate cakes, actually.”

He perked up slightly at that. “Yea?”

You nodded. “Yea. Didn’t leave me a bakery or anything, thank god,” you laughed, “but that was her thing. She was good at that too, in case you were wondering.”

He chuckled. “Of course.”

It was quiet between you for a moment before you said. “We didn’t really start getting along until a few months before she died.” You noticed the way that Carmy stilled on the other side of the counter, hands motionless as he listened to whatever you had to say next. “Like I said, it’s not like we were best friends growing up. I always loved her, but we definitely didn’t always like each other, you know? Things were finally getting better and then, you know, she killed herself. Which, you know, rude,” you chuckled.

Carmy’s eyes widened as he shook his head, but he couldn’t help but to let out a laugh too.

“Like I said,” you took the last bite of cake on your plate, “inconsiderate.”

“Would you rather you didn’t?” he asked.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t what?”

He hesitated, like he regretted saying it but it was too late to take it back now. He raked his hands back through his hair. “You think it would’ve been better if you didn’t start getting along again?”

“Not to sound like an asshole,” you prefaced your statement, “but given what you’ve said about you and your brother, I don’t think there’s really a good position to be in with it. I think the only thing that would make it better is if they didn’t kill themselves.”

“That feels…obvious.”

“It is,” you gave a weak smile.

“I didn’t go to his funeral.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“Did you?”

“We had a wake. We cremated her so there wasn’t a burial or anything. I went to the wake, though. I thought I was gonna cry, or be a whole mess or whatever, but I wasn’t. I cried once. Everyone else was crying a lot though. My mom said I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to.”

“You wanted to?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t not want to go. But I mean, come on, you know what it’s like. No one wants to do anything when it comes to their brother or sister dying. It’s not…it’s not a good gauge.” You paused. “You regret not going?”

He shook his head. “It’s not gonna make him any less dead. He…he doesn’t care that I wasn’t there.”

“Yea. It all feels kind of useless, huh?”

“Most of it, yea.”

You toyed with you nearly-empty coffee cup, spinning it between your palms. “I like this.”

“What?”

“Being here. I don’t know, it’s better than sitting in some diner or something somewhere where other people can hear you.” You paused. “Most people don’t like when I make Dead Sister Jokes.”

“That’s because they don’t have a dead sister.”

You pointed at him from across the counter. “Exactly.”

“Does it get less shitty?” he asked. “Do the meetings actually fucking help?”

You shrug. “They help, yea. But it’s more than the meetings. You gotta, you know, you gotta do the fucking work. Grief sucks. Having other people who get it is nice. You can say flippant things like we do that other people would gasp at because how could you say that about them they’re dead. But you gotta feel it. Meetings are only a few hours of your week. You live with yourself all the fucking time.” You took a sip of your coffee. “The feelings don’t get smaller. You just, you know, you grow bigger around them. The grief is still there. The pain sucks just as much now as it did three years ago. But I have more breathing space around it now than I did back then.”

“Was really hoping you were gonna say some shit like, ‘yea five more meetings and you’ll be good to go’,” Carmy said with a quiet laugh.

You shook your head with a smile. “You got a lot of legwork to go before that. Can’t fast-track it. You…you know about that, though.” You saw his brows knit together and your smile grew a little wider. “What? I listen. All the work you did before you got here?” you tapped the surface of the counter. “Same shit.”

“It’s not the same shit.”

“It is. It sucks. You’re gonna lose sleep and throw up and lose track of hours. It’s going to feel like it’s your whole fucking world sometimes. And it is. But it isn’t. The work is constant and it’s thankless and infuriating. But you can’t stop doing it.” You paused. “You seem like a glutton for punishment. You’ll be fine.”

“Real fuckin’ reassuring,” he said with a chuckle.

“It doesn’t have to be terminal,” you motioned back and forth between the two of you, “We’re proof of that.”

“Or it’s gonna take more than three years to kill us.”

You laughed, nodding. “Or that, yea. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” You paused, using your fork to point at his plate. “You done with that?”

He smiled slightly, sliding it across the counter to you without a word. You didn’t say anything as you tucked into what was left of his piece. The stillness of the restaurant around you felt calming in a way. You knew it probably wasn’t really ever like this once there were other people there. You wondered if Carmy ever stayed here off-hours to enjoy the peace and quiet of it. You wondered if he was even capable of enjoying it.

“You had mentioned that you were a chef,” you said as you corralled the crumbs left on his plate, “but I never thought about where.”

“This is it,” he said with a nod.

“So if I come back during the day, you’ll be running around back there yelling and screaming like a chicken with your head cut off?”

He laughed. “Yea. Me and everyone else.”

“Who’s everyone else?”

“Come back and you’ll see,” he said as he swiped up the forks and empty plates. He was disappearing back into the kitchen again before you could even try to pry or crack a joke about it.

Neither of you said it, but you both knew that it was time to go. You could’ve stayed and talked the rest of the night away, but the reality of it was that you both had lives to get to when the sun came up. Very different lives, but still.

“Does it get less weird,” Carmy asked as he put his jacket back on, walking towards the door as he spoke, “getting to know people in the opposite fucking order than you’re used to?”

You laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. “Yea. But the tradeoff is that the more time that goes on, the weirder it gets getting to know people who don’t know this stuff about you.”

“Hell of a way to break the ice,” he said as he locked the doors again.

You shook your head with a smile. “Yea, it breaks it for sure.” You took a deep breath as the two of you stood, each of you debating on how to say goodbye. That was another thing that never got less weird no matter how much someone knew about you. Your hands were tucked safely in the pockets of your coat as you said, “I’ll see you around?”

He nodded. “Yea, for sure.” He paused. “Think you’re gonna go tomorrow?”

You shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ll see how I feel in the morning. Either way,” you nodded towards the door, “I might come back for one of those donuts you mentioned.”

He chuckled, tucking his chin for a moment against the cold night air. “Alright.”

“Later, Carmy.”

“Later,” he offered up another small smile before you turned and started down the sidewalk.

[unattainablesillygoose]

(Please bear with me; I've had writers block for months and can't get out so this might suck 😭🤚) (should i make this a series?)

Prompt: "there is no simple love story. If it's simple, it isn't love. If it's love, it'll get complicated." (I found this on Google, idk where it's from or who said it) (gif isn't mine, it's by @slytherinnpride)

Hermione ran through the conversion over and over in her head, trying to figure out if there was something else she could've said to convince Ron to stay.

She tried to find any proof that would dispute his claims, that he was just jealous and insecure and wearing the horcrux only made it worse.

But the more she thought, the more she came to realize it's more complicated than it seems. What she and Harry have is unique, sure, and not many people could understand. But was it really something more?

She couldn't think of a time that Harry seemed interested in her as anything more than a friend. But then again, she wasn't the best judge.

Was there a time where she thought of him as more? Was her decision to stay with him on the hunt made out of loyalty or something else? How would she even go about sifting through these thoughts and feelings?

She could feel Harry's stare boring into her back. Could practically hear the words he wanted to say before he even said them.

"You can leave." He said, just as she thought he would. "I know you miss your parents."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not leaving you." She said, and she didn't even have to think about it. Just as she knew he would say that, she knew she could never leave him.

She still stood facing the entrance to the tent, her back to Harry. She bit her nails, something she picked up while on the run, probably from stress.

"Is- does what he said hold any merit?" She asked slowly, nervously.

"He's always been jealous and insecure, Mione. And he was wearing the amulet, so he probably couldn't fight off those thoughts." He said.

'That wasn't an answer.' She thought. But she didn't say it aloud. Because if she's being honest, does she want to know the answer? She doesn't even know how to answer that question herself, how could she expect Harry to know the answer?

She tried to think of the advice her mom or Professor McGonagall would give her. She really wishes she could ask them right about now. But she feels like she knows them well enough to know what they'd say.

They'd probably turn the question on her, something cryptic, along the lines of: "what do you want the answer to be?"

Well, she doesn't know. She wishes that things were less complicated. That love was less complicated.

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

The question didn't get any easier to answer over the next few weeks they spent alone.

They'd hardly even spoken to each other, the question hanging between them traitorously.

Harry knew that Ron had a thing for Hermione, and knowing this is why he never made a move on Hermione himself. He'd always just shoved those feelings to the back of his mind, doing his best to ignore them.

He didn't know how to answer Hermione, because truthfully, it did have some merit. Some. He would never go behind Ron's back like that, but he does have feelings for Hermione.

And Hermione, well, she didn't know what to feel.

She knew it was only bothering her because it has some truth. Otherwise, why would she still be thinking about it? If she certainly didn't feel that way about Harry, she would've written it off a long time ago instead of spending weeks on end torturing herself.

So, would that then mean that she does have feelings for Harry? Why does it have to be so hard? Is she only thinking so much about it because she doesn't want to hurt Ron?

Well, of course she doesn't want to hurt him. But would he be able to get over it if she and Harry ended up together?

She knows Harry would be respectful and move on, but Ron...

Perhaps it truly was the horcrux making him so angry and jealous. Maybe he would be okay if she and Harry started seeing each other.

But does she want that? Does she want to be with Harry? Does he even see her that way?

God, why did Ron have to bring it up right in the middle of a war? Their minds are already muddled enough, how could anyone expect someone to be able to sort through their feelings in this state?

But why was she making it so complicated? Her and Harry have never been complicated. It's always been rather simple: Hermione and Harry.

If they were to date and things were to end, she knows they would be alright after a while. But why would they end? She can't think of a single time where he left her hanging. And she has never left his side before, certainly not when he needed her.

It wouldn't take much to cross that invisible line. One small step, and they'd be out of the friend zone.

Had they always teetered on that line? So close to becoming something more, but never actually taking it that one step further?

Perhaps that's why Ron was so insecure. Maybe that's why no one was ever surprised by a new rumor between them. Maybe everyone else saw it before they did.

So was there something there?

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

The radio played softly in the background, but neither Harry nor Hermione paid it any mind.

Harry sat in one of their chairs by the table, hands in his pockets, staring ahead but not really looking at anything.

Hermione sat on the steps next to the wireless radio, with the amulet around her neck, lost in thought.

The only sound besides the song playing was the harsh wind whipping at the tent, the entrance flapping despite being zipped shut.

Harry couldn't stand the stilted air between them. Couldn't stand Hermione being so sad all the time. And what's worse is he can't do anything about it.

Hermione was thinking of this herself. About the tension between them, where there used to be none. It used to be so easy, but now they walked on eggshells around each other, and she hates it. Harry's always stressed, always tense, and she can never tell if he's angry or sad. Maybe both.

She'd faintly registered him moving, but didn't expect him to stop right in front of her.

She looked up at him confused, brows furrowed. He said nothing as he held out his hands, urging her to take them. She silently complied, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

He reached around her neck and unclasped the amulet, allowing it to fall from her neck into his hands. He reached around her and set it on the table next to the radio, turning the volume up before he straightened.

Wordlessly, he pulled her towards the middle of the tent. He started swaying, pushing and pulling at her arms until she realized what he was doing. That he was trying to get her to dance.

She smiled a little at that, allowing him to spin and sway them as the song picked up.

~Hey little train, wait for me

I once was blind but now I see

Have you left a seat for me?

Is that such a stretch of the imagination?

~Hey little train, wait for me

Was held in chains but now I'm free

I'm hanging in there don't you see

In this process of elimination

~Hey little train, we're jumping on

The train that goes to the kingdom

We're happy Ma, we're having fun (ooh, children)

It's beyond my wildest expectation (ooh, children)

Eventually, they slowed to a gentle sway as the song faded. She laid her chin on his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers.

After a few moments, she pulled away slightly, just far enough so she could see his face.

She could see the unasked question in his eyes. She could see that he was leaving that door open should she decide to cross their invisible line.

She went to step away, she wanted to for a split second. But just before she did, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered: 'why not?'

And, why shouldn't she? Why aren't they together? Ron isn't there with them, because he left. He left them when they needed him most. But Harry's never left her, she's always been able to count on him, and she knows she'll always be able to. Ron isn't here, so why is she still tip-toeing around his feelings? Why is she pushing Harry away and ignoring her feelings?

She knows love is complicated, but with Harry it doesn't have to be. She knows things will get complicated once word gets out, and she knows it'll get complicated when Ron finds out. But it doesn't have to be complicated with Harry.

It only took her a second to decide, despite her feeling like it took minutes to sort through those thoughts.

She stepped towards him again, cupping his face in her hands. He pulled her close, holding her by her waist. He leaned his forehead against hers, and neither said anything for a few moments.

"Why haven't we, Harry?" She whispered.

He knew what she was asking, he always knows what she means. "I don't know." He responded softly.

She pulled back just enough to look in his eyes. She looked for any hint of doubt, or trepidation, or hesitation. She found none. She saw hope, anticipation, affection, and dare she say, love?

She hoped he saw the same emotions reflected in her eyes, because she wasn't sure she could put them into words.

She decided words weren't needed, that she was done waiting. She pulled him towards her and kissed him.

It isn't anything like she would have expected, it's gentle and soft, and he's kissing her like she's the only girl in the world. She feels precious and loved, and she doesn't know how she went so long without kissing him before.

When they pulled away, she couldn't stop smiling. Frankly, neither could he.

Yeah, she could get used to the simplicity of them, of just being Harry and Hermione.

[dinner-djarin]

Next To You (Bucky x reader)

Just a little one shot I wrote after watching FATWS on repeat. (I tried to make it gender neutral but I may have missed something so I'm sorry if it's not!)

Rating: Mature

No use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky is having nightmares, and you're there to comfort him. Based on the Julia Michaels song If You Need Me. (so if the ending sounds dumb go listen to the song you'll understand why lol)

Warnings: Fluff & angst I guess idk, kinda dark themes, because well it's Bucky. Just two people who have definitely been through some shit. Oh ya that reminds me swearing. Suggested that intercourse has happened but nothing descriptive. A little (a lot) about trauma but mostly about nightmares. If I missed something pls lemme know, I don't want anyone to feel triggered reading. But if you can watch the show and be fine, you'll probably be okay with this.

Also just letting you know if I put ~ its cause I switch the focus from Bucky to reader, but I'm not switching POV completely its all written in reader POV.

Every night brought pieces of the past. He never knew which memory would be dragged to the surface once he let his subconscious take over - clawing and scrapping against the walls he put up, begging to be let out; to be confronted.

Some nights were worse than others of course.

He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to out run the monsters of his past. For a while he just stopped sleeping. It may not have been a permanent fix, but he thought some relief was better than none at all. He used to go days, even weeks, without sleep during the war, so he figured it might be the best way to silence the past.

Dr. Raynor, however, caught on quick.

A lot of her methods seemed like bullshit to Bucky. He could tell she was genuinely trying to help him, but he doubted anything she had anything to offer him that would prove to be effective.

But at the end of the day she was definitely no fool. He had a tough time lying to her. She didn’t take anyone's crap, and that might have been the only reason he trusted her, even a little. It may have been the only reason he actually gave it a sincere try (besides the fact he’d be arrested if he didn’t).

So he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she caught on to his sleep strike. In fact she called him out on it only three days in. He thought he’d get longer than that. Even so, he was almost relieved. After only 72 hours he already felt the nightmares slowly creeping into the day. Every time a door slammed or a car horn blared his body tensed. Every time he turned a corner he’d reach for a knife he no longer carried. So maybe it was better to let his past haunt his nightmares. That way he’d be alone when the memories took over. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

But he made a mistake. He did what he told himself he could never do. He let you get too close.

Falling asleep in your arms felt better than any therapy session he could ever imagine. It was the first time in forever he could remember what it was like to be his younger self. The version of him that marvelled at the idea of flying cars; who thought he could save the world by enlisting. The dreamy eyed boy who was hopeful for the future, who thought he had a future.

Lying next to you made him feel in control, like his problems didn’t matter. He was there to keep you safe, and warm, and comfortable. He never thought he’d feel like that with anyone. He didn’t think he was allowed.

You didn’t question his metal arm for starters. When Bucky took off his jacket, after the hundredth time you insisted - “It’s like 100 degrees in here Bucky, please take it off, you’re gonna melt” - he thought he’d instantly regret it. But you simply looked at it with wonder for only a moment, before returning your eyes up to his own. Staring back at you, he saw the wheels in your brain click into place. He could almost hear your thoughts as you decided what your next move would be.

In the blink of his eyes you tore your shirt off and stood completely still in front of him. For a moment his emotions were mixed, and he worried where your sudden advancement came from, but then he saw it. A thick white mark slashed across your torso.

You took only one step forward before speaking. “It’s not exactly… I know it’s not the same thing at all. But the scars - the marks we carry - they’ll be with us forever, whether we like it or not. Even if they remind us of the worst pieces of ourselves, or the worst moments of our lives, it reminds us that we can move forward. And it reminds me that there’s something to move forward to. I don’t know…it doesn’t really make any sense but somehow it’s almost comforting.  To know that something will always be with us, till the end”

His mouth was on yours in an instant.

He had been hesitant to let anyone in. After coming back - after going through everything he’d been through - he felt like damaged goods. He worried that the minute he let himself be happy, everything would come crashing down again, and he had good reason to believe it. It just kept happening over and over. It seemed like every time he found even a small amount of peace, the battle made its way back to him.

But when he found you, when he felt you, he felt peace. The softness of your skin, the gentle wave of your hair, the light scrape of your fingernails against his back and chest, your quiet moans muffled by his own mouth on yours. Being with you made the horrors of his past melt away. Even when you clamped down around him and bit into his shoulder muscle, even when he knew you’d left marks all over his skin. Knowing they came from you made all the difference. They didn’t remind him of the wars he fought, or lives he took, or the atrocities he committed. The sting of your nails and teeth weren’t pains from his past, they were reminders of his present, of the possibility of a life he could have. With you.

But in the end he knew that it was all wishful thinking. He knew he wasn’t cut out for that type of future. He knew you deserved better.

So he decided to let you off easy, to disappear from your life, leaving your shared experience to the confines of your bedroom. A memory, nothing more. He knew he’d have to sneak away once you fell asleep, because that way it might not feel real. Everything that happened between you might disappear with him.

But then he fucked up.

He was waiting for your breath to even out, a sign he would take to mean you had fallen asleep, but after listening to the air rush out of your body, and watching your bare chest rise and fall, your hypnotic essence overpowered his will, and he fell asleep alongside you.

Only he wasn’t asleep for long.

Eventually the past caught up, as it always had a way of doing. Images, and sounds, and smells all came flooding back to his uninhibited brain - sleep made him an easy target. He was vulnerable to every torment he caused, and every mission he was forced to carry out. Tonight was no exception. His brain managed to sift through every wall he thought he had up, and trudge yet another painful memory to the surface. The image of himself taking life after life, cruelly and viciously. There was no remorse, no stopping him. He saw every crime lord and politician he was made to terminate. Until his brain moved away to a new idea. The image of a young woman. Innocent and pure. But in the way of his mission. The Winter Soldier spared none.

He woke up in a blind panic. His surroundings were unfamiliar. Something was wrong. Was he being held captive or-

~

“Hey,” you made yourself known to him, and he twisted his head back to see you sit up beside him. You were quiet, and a worried expression blanketed your face.

Is he angry, you thought for a moment? No. Your brain was tired, and it was slow to process. Not angry, scared.

You knew from the minute you saw his arm that there was more going on. You already had some suspicions, nevertheless you expected there to be something like this.

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other in silence. You watched him regain his breath, and you carefully shifted your legs to sit crossed underneath you.

His steel blue eyes cut through the darkness, pinning you down. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what he might be doing to regain his grip on reality. You knew this moment too well. The quiet. The darkness. The fear. Not sure of how to move forward.

You were scared too, but not of him - more like you were scared for him. You knew he must be going through something, and you wanted to be there to help, but you also knew that was easier said than done. “Being there to help” was a nice concept, but in reality - well things were generally more complicated. You didn’t know if it’d be alright to approach him, mainly because you were unsure of your role in all this. Were you really someone he wanted around when he was so obviously vulnerable? You’d never seen him so raw and exposed, like a wound you wished you could tend to, while also fearing that your interference could make things worse.

You knew he wasn’t going to ask for your help, you could see he wasn’t that kind of man, but maybe if you made the first step, and let him choose - maybe he’d let you in. So, you held out your hand and waited. After a moment, you saw him move, only slightly though. His eyes darted down towards your hand and he subtly lifted his fingers off the bed. But it only lasted a second. He froze again, hand hovering near yours, and that’s when you realized he had been reaching for you with his left hand. You had been wary to touch it before, you thought it was probably a sensitive subject. Something about the idea of touching his metal arm seemed more personal, if that was possible. Like only the most trusted people in his life might be allowed to… and maybe not even then.

You felt your own eyes drop to your lap, an almost nervous energy now emanating in the space between you. But just before you could drop your hand too, his fingers hesitantly entwine with yours.

You shot your eyes up to see his right hand grazing the palm of your left. As your gaze slowly elevated, you found your way to meet his own eyes, only to notice the very sudden change in them. Whatever fear or darkness hid their before had now melted away. You couldn’t place it, but whatever emotion he now held sent a chill from your core to your fingertips. A lump in your throat formed and for a moment, you thought you might never be able to breath again. The look in his eyes was almost soft, but with a hint of yearning. Fire was blazing through every nerve in your body, while a chill kissed your skin, making every hair stand on edge.

Feeling outrageously brave, you took your free hand up to his jaw and held him there, gently swiping your thumb over his cheek, and allowing your fingers to reach slightly past his hairline and to the back of his neck. You wondered if he could feel the raging storm of your emotions through your touch.

“You okay?” you managed to whisper to him.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before” his answer pierced your ears with a hard tone, refusing to let any vulnerability resonate in his voice.

You shake your head at him, wishing he wouldn’t play pretend. “Okay then,” you mumble, letting your hand drop from his face. But as it fell, Bucky was quick to grab it, and hold it with a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him again, you knew he meant it as a reassurance, trying to tell you that he was okay.

~

He couldn’t handle the way you looked at him. Like you could see every thought in his head. A knowing gleam in your eyes told him that you didn’t believe him, and you’d be right not to. He wasn’t okay. He never really was. There was so much darkness surrounding him, poisoning every inch of his life. But you. Your touch was gentle and your voice was kind, and even though he had just seen your scar, he couldn’t help but think your world must have been so much brighter than his own. Looking in your eyes, he almost wished he’d never met you. He was so afraid that his pain might infect you too, the only good thing he had left. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he let that happen; if he let his past ruin your future.

He wanted to leave, he needed to get out, before any of that could happen.

He slid off the bed quickly, and made his way to grab his clothes, but before he could you grabbed his hand - his left hand.

“Please Bucky don’t.” was all you could say. But the way your voice broke, on the verge of tears, fear of being rejected, of being left alone in the dark by the only man you ever wanted to let in - it was enough to stop his heart. He stood there, frozen from your touch. You kept his hand in yours, and for a second you worried it was too much. You worried you betrayed whatever trust you had built with him. Just holding his bare metal hand felt more violating and revealing than the fact that both of you remained completely naked. But you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him, afraid of the fact his hand could pulverize yours in a second - because you weren’t. You’d felt his touch. You knew how gentle and caring he could be. And you wanted him to see it too. That he wasn’t defined by his worst fears.

You pulled your body towards him, kneeling at the edge and facing him, “You don’t have to leave.” you spoke softly, as if he might be spooked and run off if you were any louder. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Please don’t push me away… I-”

Before you could finish, he was crashing into you. His tongue invading your mouth, like he was trying to soak up your unsaid words. His hands held your waist in place against his, steady and strong, but there was still resistance in his fingers; a hesitance to use too much force with you. You could feel how he feared he might hurt you.

Slowly you leaned back, feathering your fingers over his shoulders to guide him with you, and when he hovered over you, you let them slide into his hair, grabbing what you could and leading his head down…

~~~~

You lay there in the dark with your head on his chest, listening to his steady heart, feeling the crisp sting of metal graze your back. And even though you knew it was ridiculous, all you could think about was how you wanted to keep him safe. The man was stronger than any other human being, and probably thought you were fragile and helpless, and needed his protection more than anything. But still, you wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to know he could be safe.

“I’ll fight them for you.” you whimper quietly, suddenly worried that Bucky may have already fallen back to sleep.

“Huh? Who- what do you mean?” his words stuttered and tripped over his tongue. His half sleeping brain was suddenly running a mile a minute trying to decipher your statement. Who were you fighting? Why would you need to fight them for him? Surely he was more capable of fighting anyone off. He should be protecting you-

“The monsters” you said a little louder. The words feel childish and awkward in your mouth, and once you said them, you wished to take them back. But you decided to push forward, “if you want me to… if you need me… I’m here”

[austennerdita2533]

Hello! know you're not a psychology major (unless I missed this fact) but i'm madly trying to understand why people ship the couples they do. As someone who just rewatched Gilmore Girls again I'm at a loss cause as much as i love jess and rory I can't let go of logan and rory either. I know there's obvious flaws with my choice but I suppose my question is why we all ship different couples in any TV universe? I love how articulate you are so figured you could explain it? Maybe? No pressure hehe.

Hey there, nonnie! 

You’re right in saying that wasn’t my major; it was English/Spanish. However, seeing as I’m a writer, a voracious reader, an inquisitive and introspective thinker (let’s be real: I get lost in my own head constantly; it’s ridiculous) as well as an unapologetic studier of literature and life, I have to admit that human psychology is a subject that’s always been of vast interest to me. I’m so endlessly fascinated by the multitude of things that make us who we are. From where we’re from, to the languages we speak, to what we know, what we hope to learn so we can grow, to the good or bad or plain weird experiences that shape us, to the things we like or dislike and whether or not we can articulate why, etc.--it’s such a complex and often contradictory thing. Like, how can I not want to sink into it with analytical teeth? Sifting through it all with a fine-toothed comb? IT’S IMPOSSIBLE. I’m always stuck in the throes of some psychological question.

The world is a well brimming over with such lovely distinction, with so much tangled singularity, that I feel like I’m stuck in this perpetual stasis of wonder, you know? Consciously I realize that I’ll never be privy to all the pieces of the puzzle but that doesn’t mean I don’t yearn to collect as many of them as I can find.

Idk. The point I‘m trying to make is that there’s nothing I love more than sitting down somewhere so I can observe nature, people, my surroundings. There’s such sweet satisfaction I derive from being able to ponder through questions - big, small, trivial, or existential - and it doesn’t matter a whit whether or not I decide to voice them out loud. Not to pun Pacey Witter here or anything but the simple act, the simple freedom, of giving myself leave to think and analyze is enough for me. 😂

To try and answer your question, I think the most concise all around cliché way would be to say that shipping is subjective. More specifically, though, I’d argue that our preferences for certain characters/ships tie into our own personal psychologies, and since, as humans, those are built into an elaborate tapestry that can parallel as much as they can oppose in our own psyche, then of course it would follow that it’d lead to intricacy in the shipping domain as well. None of us are wholly alike. None of us are simple, either. We can’t be because we all have our own individual thoughts, our own individual feelings, our own individual journeys. So while a point of relation may overlap in spots with another person’s, it’s only natural that it’ll diverge in a myriad of others just the same. And that’s totally okay! It’s why people are never boring. It’s why there’s no universal agreement over one ship, over one character vs. the other because we’re all responding to our own cues, our own histories, our own triggers or attractions. 

All of it is embedded in who we are, and sometimes, what we wish we could be if only we weren’t inhibited by other forces. There’s also a tendency to gravitate toward things/people we’d never want to encounter in our own day-to-day lives but are fun to imagine nonetheless. So why stop? Why not indulge our fancies? Let our imaginations run free! 

It’s more about the possibility than the reality anyway. They’re interesting to us BECAUSE we’re not like them, BECAUSE we’ll never experience that dynamic, BECAUSE it’s out of the ordinary. We want a “taste of the other side” without having to crossover ourselves. There’s as much of an allure to the unfamiliar as there is to the familiar. And fiction is a fantastic medium because it allows you to think about how it’d feel to shed your own skin, be someone else, do something different, all without needing to leave your seat or change who you already are. You just get to imagine. Wonder. Analyze all the nuances, all the subtleties. And that’s enough; it’s enough.

Mind you, I can’t speak for anyone but myself here.

I know that my relationship with fictional characters is juxtaposed. Messy. Downright illogical at times. There may be a character I love because she possesses qualities I have, recognize in myself, or flat-out lack; there may be another character I hate for the exact same reasons. Or vice versa. The same goes for ships. There are tropes that I return to again and again (friends-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, forbidden love, opposites attract, etc.) for a variety of reasons. Some of which are more subconscious than conscious. Or, you know, it might be as simple as me finding a pairing interesting because it’s so UNLIKE me, so unlike anything I’d ever want that I’m like “hey, let me zip up and try it on for size” because it’s cool to see things from a different point of view. 

We all do it. Imagination and creativity are at the bedrock of what make us human.

I also understand that my personal experiences and attributes play a big part in why I’m engaged by some storylines but disconnected from others, though it doesn’t add up to a perfect formula every time. Nor will it. I’m a complicated gal so my shipping preferences are bound to be complicated as well. Not to mention evolving...and evolving constantly.

I imagine it’s likely the same with everyone else.

Also, there’s no rule that says you have to let go of one ship in order to still love the other. You don’t have to choose between them. You don’t have to elevate one over the other, either. For me, it just so happens that Rory and Jess are OTP over Rory and Logan (though I do thoroughly ship/enjoy them as a couple); but that doesn’t mean it has to be the same for you. If you don’t want to let go, then don’t. Nobody has the right to try control what you do or think. We all have our own preferences because we have personal psychologies coming at them, attaching to the ships in our own subjective ways. Heck, we might not even know what they all are. Isn’t that great?

But, hey, who cares so long as we’re having a blast shipping our ships hard, right? ;)

[lastsonlost]

I'm on anon for now cause I don't want to burden anyone and make them come to my account. I can guarantee by Sunday I won't be here, I just feel like a doormat for others emotions. My empathy is too strong and it's killing me, I wish I didn't have to deal with more than just my emotions. But I feel like if I told anyone, they'd leave me. My girlfriend, my friends, family. I love them all but it hurts to feel what they feel no matter what you do. Hell, I might hesitate and not do it. Idk, sorry.

YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN and don’t be sorry.

Please hesitate. Not going through with it will be a good idea because you can’t undo it. 

I know you’re afraid to talk to them because of what you think they might think but do it anyway because you’re more important.

ANYONE WHO TRULY TRULY CARES ABOUT YOU WOULD NOT LEAVE ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES TO TELLING YOU FEEL THIS WAY.

Anyone who would leave after you told them isn’t shit and you’re better off with them out of your life.However one way or the other give your friends family and girlfriend the benefit of the doubt and trust them to listen to you. 

BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE GIVE HIM THAT CHANCE FOR BOTH YOUR SAKE. TELL THEM EVERYTHING YOU HAVE ON YOUR CHEST AND LEAVE NOTHING BOTTLED UP.

HE’LL TALK TO ANYONE. https://www.7cups.com/

Aside from finding someone to talk to I want you to wait a day.  I think you're important enough to take the time figure things out.  I want you to do me one favor if you do nothing else Wait a day.  A week.  A month. Life changes so fast.  The problem is that time moves in one direction, and, while thoughts can move forward or back - feelings are so very static.  They fill you in the moment, but don't have a good temporal aspect - you can't really look back on old feelings as you can on memories, or project feelings forward with any real detail or accuracy.  

They are sort of estimated forward and backward - but whatever you're feeling now tends to feel overwhelming, like what you've always felt in some fashion, and always will feel.  Especially if it's unpleasant.  The saying "this, too, shall pass" is easier to apply to events than emotions, but it applies equally to emotional states. I can only tell you that one year has made huge differences for me.  I think it has been almost two maybe three years since I left my ex and I went from feeling where you are now to feeling hopeful and strong again. Compared to the five years of abuse and pain that I look back on. I can truthfully say I’m glad I stuck around.  

I've felt like a meaningless waste of flesh, operating solely on principles of inertia and student loans. My family is not a close one, and I have little, if any, gravitational pull within it.  My health is something I battle regularly - and lose.  I have few close friends who are some of the closest family I have and I’m thankful for every last one of them.  i know that I’m not where I want to be but I’m still going.  I know that things aren’t always be great but they’re better than what they were by a mile.  We have up periods and down ones, times we feel in sync with the world, and others where we're grooving on the scratch. 

You only need to make peace with who and what you are.  I won't say it's easy - it isn't.  Ideals and ideas others have for us and our lives are powerful things, and the failures of so many expectations can be truly crushing.  It is incredibly difficult to see beyond the wreckage.  I know.  I've sifted through the debris more than once. 

You aren't at the end of your story yet. We are ALL going through these feelings, these periods, these ebbs and flows.  You aren't alone in your experiences, nor in your strangeness.  

The common human secret is we are all strange.  We are all bereft at times, and we all feel sad, and alone.Use this time to connect with others, and to reach into yourself and find out what you really want to do and be, without restriction or constraint. 

You really can do and be anything, anywhere. You need only the desire and a plan.  You have nothing to lose, and an entire world to gain.Just over a year after my lowest point, though I’m not always sure of everything I have never felt more fearless.  I’m trying to write a few things with my friends and help in building a brand for ourselves. Throw away your old conceptions of yourself and who you should be.  Start over, plan on who you want to be.

Life can be amazing - and it is supposed to be amazing for you, too.With my love and hope.

Lastsonlost