never trust the b in apartment 23

  • Draco: What the hell? I've had, like, eight of these and I don't even feel buzzed!
  • Harry: Oh, that's because there's no alcohol in that.
  • Draco: So I'm just drinking juice, like a kid?
  • Draco, getting up angrily: What is happening at this table is ridiculous.

seaghostsoaring  asked:

I have a few prompts just for the sake of variety: 1) ghost!steve or ghost!bucky whichever. one of them attempting to haunt-woo the other living one with mixed results. 2) volunteer shopping mall santa and volunteer shopping mall christmas elf meet-cute. 3) a tale of forbidden love: eco-warrior green peace activist steve and the son and heir of an oil tycoon bucky.

It’s six months late, but here’s your ghost prompt!


A tiny hipster moves into Bucky’s apartment, which makes Bucky sigh. He could deal with the divorcee who listened to nothing but Simon & Garfunkel, but this guy seems like he likes St. Vincent, and Bucky isn’t sure he can deal with that longterm. He has nothing against Annie Lennox as a person, but he kind of hates her music. It’s like a banshee wailing—ethereal, but annoying. His wistful hopes that the kid brought those huge headphones that he sees on TV are dashed when he notices the stereo system—the only expensive-looking thing in the place—being gingerly taken out of a moving box by his long fingers.

It’s going to be a rough stay.

So, Bucky’s a ghost. He’s been a ghost since he died in Italy in 1944, defending the world from fascism. But when he—for lack of a better phrase—woke-up, he was back in his apartment in Red Hook, Brooklyn, watching his little sister and ma tearfully pack up his life and stick it into his army trunk. He doesn’t know where the trunk is, and doesn’t know what happened to them. Sometimes he minds, but most of the time he knows that it’s probably a good thing.

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