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you bear a surname you did not choose and you carry the burden of what that implies. prestige, fame, recognition. none of it matters in a town haunted by a tragedy that led to something much bigger: two deaths, a suspected perpetrator with no chance to defend himself, and a growing hatred towards a family, fuelled by rumours and gossip.
at first, you thought you might be able to do something. your family's reputation should be of some help, right? you soon realised how wrong you were, even so taking into account the racism that swept through the town and the lack of appreciation your parents had always shown towards your best friend.
ravi singh never asked to be part of a hated family; yet he wouldn't swap it for anything. sal's death had been even worse than a punch in the stomach, but ravi didn't let it affect their family dynamics â at least not in any way he could control.
what he did do, however, was push his childhood best friend away. his confidante, his soulmate, the girl who had always been there for him â and who would have continued to do so if he had given her the chance.
whilst the golden family's daughter fled as far as she could from the excrutiating atmosphere of her house, the unwanted family's son hid within its own walls. both of them missing someone who, even after five years, was still waiting for a message, a call. a sign.
everything will change completely when pippa fitz-amobi decides to take on the andie bell case on her own, revealing hidden secrets and half-truths. you just needed a clue; ravi to clear his brother's name. and it turns out pip has the necessary evidence to show you both that your case was always destined to be solved.
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â â â â â â â â â TO BE RELEASED ââââââ august 2026.
I know it's been said before, but Luke and Percy have the SAME initial viewpoint, that the gods are corrupt. They AGREE on it, even if they never say it to each other. Luke is Percy through a distorted, angry mirror. That's probably why Luke wanted to recruit Percy. Because he could tell that Percy agreed with his idea, but not his methods
this is so unbelievably important to understand both of them please.
luke is what percy would have become if he hadn't made friends. Luke was always pushed to be the Golden Boy; taught he was only worthy of his dad's love if he succeeded in every quest, and proved himself over and over and over again. he became the best swordsman in camp. he become everybody's friend, likeable and kind and cool. he became camp's first quester in years, even if he failed.
but despite that he was never able to make himself Enough . do people seem to get that. he was pushed and pushed and pushed to be Perfect to be Amazing to be the gods' Favorite, and he wasn't even a big three kid, and he was just so sick. of being Used for entertainment again and again and again and again and again and thats why he turned traitor and joined Kronos and almost killed everyone.
And then percy comes along and once everyone gets over their suspicions of him being a Bad Luck Kid because his dad is poseidon they start pushing him to be Perfect and Amazing and the gods' Favorite because he's got magic! And he's been on quests! and he's a good swordsman! but unlike luke, percy never followed what they wanted for him. because he's percy for fuck's sake like is there a single point in the goddamn series where he actually does what people expect of him. he has never fit in anywhere and that includes people's expectations and his friends and family know it. but what he knows that his friends and family don't is that the reason he's like that is because he only allows himself to fit in their expectations. fatal flaw something something personal loyalty something something. percy is whoever the people he cares about want him to be because they are what anchors him,
, but where the problem comes is what could have happened if he didnt. because we know percy is scary powerful. we know percy can control blood and poison and tears and a whole lot of other shit he never talks about because he has promised himself he'll never use those powers again for morality's sake. but. but. Percy has been Pushed and Pushed and Pushed until he was sooo sick of being used, just like Luke was. he's Nineteen and its been two years since he first thought to himself on the argo ii "i can kind of understand where luke was coming from." and then he told himself to shut up but still. he thought it.
percy will never become what luke was but he is scared that he will. and i truly believe that that is why he starts to pull back from quests and shit after the giant war. part of it is because he's so sick of being used by the olympians. a bigger part of it is he has sworn to his friends and family that he won't volunteer to go in danger anymore. the biggest part of it is. he doesn't Trust Himself. because he didn't trust Luke and everybody is always saying he's So Much Like Luke and he wishes they would stop saying that because even though they're trying to compliment him, because luke was a great swordsman and a great Hero and a great friend, all it does is make him think. could he turn out like Luke? No matter how much he doesn't want to. what if he hurts someone on accident? what if the next quest is the one that pushes him over the edge?
percy is luke and luke is percy through a distorted angry mirror but. percy is one of those people who dislikes and obsesses over his reflection no matter how many times somebody tells him that the mirror is broken. does this make sense. im rambling. hit post
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Adding on: no, I donât want an age gap where the reader/oc is 19, 20, and Bucky is 30+. JUST MAKE THEM 30+!!!! I will not read a fic with an age gap like that because it grosses me out so much, and unfortunately, so many of the fics with characters that are like 25+ are like this. Just make the reader/oc age appropriate, itâs not difficult to imagine it when youâre reading, but knowing that thereâs this age gap and power dynamic (especially when the reader/oc is âinnocentâ) is gross!!!
Summary: Sergeant Bucky Barnes from the 107th gets injured a lot. And when he does, there's only one nurse he lets touch him.
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Female Nurse!Reader
Warnings/tags: unrequited crush; romantic rejection; pining & yearnin; reader is romantically inexperienced; slow burn (kinda); mentions of injuries (some will be more detailed than others; i have no medical experience and apologize in advance); no use of Y/N; unbeta'd (tags are updated as series progresses, make sure to always check individual chapters for the right warnings)
Series word count: 12.5k words (will be updated as new chapters are posted)
unpopular opinion; the infantilization of women in stories is getting so much worse ugh. i get that artistic freedom exists but youâre writing a sex scene about a woman who doesnât even know the concept of sex or even the concept of genitalia (i read one where she didnât even know what a penis was) just to make her seem more innocent while the man literally abuses that innocence. and then she also just speaks and uses the vocabulary of a fucking child.
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Have you seen those videos of people wearing clothes from the 40s/50s out in public??
What would Bucky do if heâs out one day and sees a fine thang walk by in 1940s attire?
Love you long time! You the bestestestest! đ
OH MY GOD YESSSS!
-------
You donât think much of it when you get dressed.
Itâs just a dress. A pretty one, sureâsoft fabric that cinches your waist just right, skirt flaring gently when you turn, the kind of silhouette that feels like it belongs to another time. Youâd found it tucked into the back of a vintage shop, all delicate seams and careful tailoring, something that looks like itâs lived a life before you ever slipped it on.
You pair it with low heels, swipe on a little lipstickânothing dramatic, just enoughâand twist your hair up in a way youâd seen in an old photo once.
You feel⌠good.
Thatâs all it is.
---
Bucky notices you before he realizes why.
Heâs halfway down the street, mind somewhere else entirelyâgroceries in one hand, the steady hum of the city grounding him in the presentâwhen something pulls his attention like a thread snagging.
Itâs not logical. Not at first.
Just a flicker of movement. The sway of fabric. The unmistakable silhouette of somethingâ
Familiar.
His steps slow. His head turns. And then he sees you. But he doesn't just see you, he stares.
Because for one disorienting, breath-stealing second, the world tilts.
The city noise fades. The cars, the chatter, the glow of modern lifeâall of it dulls into the background as his brain scrambles to reconcile what heâs looking at.
You walk past him like you belong somewhere else entirely.
Like you stepped out of a memory he didnât realize he still carried so vividly.
The dress. The shoes. The way your hair is pinned just so. Even the way you moveâthereâs a softness to it, a rhythm that feels pulled straight from the 40s, like something he used to see on crowded sidewalks in Brooklyn, back when everything smelled like cigarette smoke and fresh bread and possibility.
And youâ
God, you.
Youâre smiling to yourself about something, completely unaware of the effect youâre having, completely unaware that youâve just knocked the air out of a hundred-year-old soldier.
Bucky stops walking entirely.
He just stands there.
Staring.
Because you look like something he lost.
And something he never thought heâd get to see again.
And alsoâvery abruptly, very viscerallyâlike the most beautiful person heâs ever laid eyes on.
âJesus Christ,â he mutters under his breath.
You donât hear him.
You keep walking.
And thatâs what snaps him out of it.
Because noâno, absolutely not, he is not letting you just walk away like that.
He pivots on his heel so fast he nearly drops his groceries.
âHeyâ!â
It comes out rougher than he intends. Louder, too.
You turn.
And thatâs it.
Thatâs the moment everything fully clicks into place, because now he can see your face clearlyâmodern, present, undeniably youâpaired with something that looks like it belongs in his past.
It hits him right in the chest.
Hard.
You blink at him, a little surprised, but not alarmed.
âYeah?â
Your voice is normal. Casual. Grounding.
It helps.
A little.
Bucky drags a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together, but heâs still looking at you like youâve just walked out of a time machine.
âUhââ he starts, then stops.
Great. Smooth.
You tilt your head slightly, the motion making the soft curls near your temple shift just enough to make his brain short-circuit again.
He exhales sharply through his nose.
âWhereâd you get that?â he blurts out.
Your eyes flick down to your dress, then back up to him, amused.
âThis?â you ask. âVintage shop.â
Of course.
Of course it is.
He lets out a quiet huff of disbelief, shaking his head a little like heâs trying to clear it.
âYouââ he gestures vaguely at you, like words are failing him completely. âYou look likeââ
He cuts himself off.
Because what was he going to say?
You look like every girl I ever noticed in 1943?
You look like something I used to dream about and never thought Iâd see again?
You look like you donât belong here and I donât know how to deal with that?
Instead, he settles on something far less coherent.
ââyou look incredible,â he finishes, a little quieter.
You blink.
Then smile.
And itâs not a shy smile, not reallyâitâs pleased. Warm. A little teasing, even.
âThank you,â you say. âThat was a lot of buildup for a simple compliment.â
His mouth twitches despite himself.
âYeah, well,â he mutters, shifting his weight. âKinda threw me off.â
âI can tell.â
Thereâs something about the way you say itâllike youâre trying to figure him outâthat makes him straighten slightly.
Because now heâs noticing other things.
The way youâre looking at him.
The way you havenât brushed him off or hurried away.
The way youâre still here.
And suddenly, the disorientation gives way to something else entirely.
Interest.
âDidnât mean to yell at you on the street,â he adds, a little more composed now. âJustâhavenât seen that in a while.â
You hum softly.
âI figured,â you say. âYou looked like youâd seen a ghost.â
He lets out a quiet laugh, low and surprised.
âFelt like it,â he admits.
Thereâs a beat of silence before you shift your weight, the skirt of your dress swaying gently with the movement, and he definitely notices that.
âSo,â you say, glancing at the bag in his hand. âDid I interrupt something, orâ?â
He looks down at his groveries like he forgot they existed.
Then back at you.
And makes a decision.
Fast.
âNah,â he says, easy. âCan wait.â
Your brow lifts slightly.
âGroceries can wait?â
âFor this?â he shrugs. âYeah.â
Your lips press together like youâre trying not to smile too much.
âBold.â
âHonest,â he corrects.
Another pause.
Then, softer, more intetionalâ
âWalk with me?â
He doesnât know why he asks it like that.
Doesnât know why it feels important.
Maybe itâs the dress. Maybe itâs the way you feel like something out of time. Maybe itâs the fact that, for the first time in a long time, something from his past doesnât hurt to look at.
You glance down the street, then back at him.
âOkay,â you say.
Just like that.
Simple.
Easy.
When you fall into step beside him, your shoulder brushing his for half a second, Bucky realizes something quietly, steadily, and with surprising certainty.
You donât look like the past.
Not really.
You just make him feel like maybe it wasnât all lost.
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