#I can't stop thinking about all the dialogue at the end there .... so well written and so beautiful

[cuteandhughesy]

Please Please Please | Luke Hughes

summary: navigating a secret relationship with your brothers teammate is turning out to be a little harder than you expected. the 3 times you and luke were almost caught + the 1 time you are caught.

4.3k

warnings: NSFW! pre-established relationship | brothers teammate trope | lazar! reader | sneaking around | kissing | suggestive dialogue and scenes | the tiniest sprinkle of smut but no actual sex | read at your own discretion

a/n: formed based on this request! i’m working on a good chunk of fics and similar stuff so keep your eyes open 💕 for now…enjoy! it’s been so long since i’ve written for luke..I missed him.

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one

"we really shouldn't be doing this..." luke's hushed words trail off, whispered against your slick lips as you two move through the room, stumbling over loose shoes and discarded clothes. his hands run up your torso hurriedly—yet smoothly—squeezing your skin in his palms like he can't get enough of you, despite his words. it's a sweet gesture, one that only turns you on further.

you shush him gently, dismissing his hesitance. you pull away from him slightly, but still close enough that you could lean back in at any moment and continue your hurried kiss. "please." you pout slightly, looking up through your lashes. you're so wound up from just kissing luke, you're not sure if you'll be able to stop now—despite the circumstances.

so regardless of your own selflessness—you can understand luke's apprehension. after all, if you were in his shoes you'd probably be shitting bricks right about now. your hands fall away from luke's broad shoulders, letting them trail down his chest until you reach his hips. slowly, you slip your fingers into the waistband of luke's sweats, and begin pulling him forward. "we just have to be really quiet."

luke stumbles slightly, caught off guard by your sudden movements. regardless, he follows easily, allowing you to bring him towards the edge of the bed. in that moment you're thankful the upstairs bedroom floors are carpeted, and the wobbly footsteps are muffled by the rug under your and luke’s socked feet.

the back of your knees meet the edge of the bed, and that has you falling back into the mass of blankets, releasing your hold on the elastic waistband around luke's ridiculously attractive hips—which, before you even met luke, you didn't even think hips could be so hot, but you'd been very quickly proven wrong.

you blink up at luke lazily, making your gaze come across as sensual as possible. you bring your knees up, and slowly your legs part, revealing the thin material off your blueberry printed panties—just visible under your shifted pyjama shorts.

but luke doesn't bite. he stays stagnant at the end of the bed, shirtless and visibly turned on—the straining situation under the soft material of his sweatpants giving him away.

his brows furrow. "what if curtis comes up here." luke questions, the worry evident in his expression. he gently rubs along his growing stubble, deep in thought as he continues to eye you. "what if we get caught?" luke's hesitant eyes flicker towards your closed bedroom door—well, your brother and his wife's guest bedroom door.

you were finishing up your final year of university in jersey, and instead of paying the ridiculous residence fees, curtis offered you the spare bedroom in his families home. and with that came a lot of social situations involving your brothers teammates. whether it was team dinners at different houses, or crowded bars after games, you were there—which is where you met luke.

luke seemed to always be around, and that combined with the constant banter he has with your brother, had you feeling enamoured with the youngest hughes brother very soon after curtis introduced you two. you found yourselves drawn to one another, and if one of you was near, the other wasn't far behind. you and luke quickly started dating—behind the back of your brother of course.

curtis has always been protective of you, especially when it comes to your relationships. it all comes from a good place, even if it made dating extremely difficult for you. curtis has always made sure to drill the negative stigma around young hockey players into your head—how he would never want you to date one...especially if said hockey player was one of his own teammates.

locker room talk was inevitable, and curtis didn't want to subject you to any of that ridiculous stuff or make you uncomfortable. and you didn't mind that protective rule of curtis' because you've never had an attraction to any of his teammates—until luke.

with that in mind, you and luke found yourself involved in a secret relationship. there's many measures you'd both take to ensure your romance stayed under wraps—you'd plan your calls around schedules, allowing yourselves to talk freely without your brother listening in. as well, you and luke would always plan secret dates, giving excuses of seeing friends in the city while you're actually tangled in whoever's bed is free. during gatherings, you'd be sneaking off into dark rooms, kissing like horny teenagers—it was all a thrill, one that you and luke found yourselves growing accustomed to, and honestly preferred.

you and luke were always careful—especially if curtis was around. if your brother was near, you and luke simply wouldn't sneak away, both too worried about getting caught and loosing the excitement and intimacy of your secret life.

but tonight was different.

the devils had been away on a week long road trip, expanding along the west coast and visiting teams like the sharks and kings. with the change in time zones, sneaking calls and facetimes with your boyfriend was practically impossible, and you and luke had only texted every few days to check in.

the interfering schedules and lack of communication left you and luke missing each other more than usual, and as soon as the devils plan landed back on jersey soil, you were practically vibrating with need.

when you proposed the idea of sneaking luke into the house once everyone had gone to bed, you didn't think he'd agree, but surprisingly enough he did. luke was apprehensive at first—which is understandable— because seeing one another while you're brother was home was always a big no-no. but the combination of the time missed between you and your pouty voice, luke had no choice but to agree.

slowly you unfold your leg, lifting your foot until you meet luke's shoulder. you nudge the buff surface with your sock covered toes, pulling luke's attention away from the bedroom door and back to you.

luke's gaze moves over you, shifting from your plump, spit slicked lips, down to your barley covered core and thin tank top that gives him the perfect outline of your pebbled nipples. he swallows roughly, a blush covering his high cheek bones.

"we won't get caught." you whisper seductively, your foot slowly trailing down his arm.

suddenly luke grabs onto your ankle, bringing your foot closer to his face. "you're such a bad influence." luke presses a soft kiss on your exposed ankle, right over the beaded anklet decorating you. his eyes don't leave your face, and as he slowly pulls away, a smirk begins to pull at his lips—tempting you.

you take your lip between your teeth. "you gunna punish me?"

he breathes a laugh, and manoeuvres your leg back into his spread, bent position. "you want me to punish you?"

you watch through hooded eyes as luke crawls onto the bed, moving until he's hovering over your flushed body. instantly your hands are in hair, running through his light curls, feeling the defined pattern between your fingers. "maybe I do."

his eyes flutter closed at the feeling, a small whimper passing through his parted lips. luke's large palm runs up your side, scooping under your tank until he's feeling your bare skin—running his thumb over your nipple.

you arch into him, a breathy moan leaving your lips, goosebumps covering your skin in the wake of luke's gentle touches.

luke kisses you slowly, a deep and bruising pressure that has you tingling all the way down to your toes. your lips part instinctively, moaning into luke's mouth as his continues to kiss yours, lips passing over yours in a gentle, slick embrace.

you're so easily distracted by luke's presence and touch, and you find yourself falling into a trance like state—loosing yourself in him. you find yourself here anytime you're with luke, always so easily falling into this intimate pattern. so it comes as suprise when your ears pick up on a dull thump in the distance, almost echoing through the quiet home.

"did you hear that?" you pull away from luke hurriedly, brows furrowed as you try and concentrate and listen further—straining your ears in attempt to catch any more sounds from beyond your bedroom.

luke whimpers at the loss of contact, eyes fluttering open to reveal his glossy, lustful eyes. "hear what?"

the dull thudding noise continues, increasing as if it was coming closer— sounding like somebody is walking, moving up the stairs towards your room. you gasp lightly, and with all the strength you can find, you push luke off the bed.

your sudden actions catch him off guard, and he goes easily, tumbling onto the rug with a loud thud. he groans out, and watches as you peek over the edge of the bed—your eyes blown wide with worry.

just before he can question your behaviour, you interrupt him, your tone hushed and full of fear. "it's curtis."

luke's face falls. "it's curtis?"

you nod quickly, looking in the direction of the door anxiously, listening as your brothers steps grow closer. you look back down at luke, "you gotta get under the bed."

"i'm not going to fit under the bed." luke whispers roughly, his own gaze darting between your nervous eyes and the bedroom door.

"well you gotta make it work, luke." you whisper wildly, shooing him. "scoot under—now."

the urgency in your voice has luke springing into action. he grabs onto the wooden frame of the bed, pulling himself under your bed. the rug rubs his bare back uncomfortably and the dust under the mattress is tickling his noise dangerously. the space is limited, and dirty, but you're not even thinking about that right now.

all you can focus on is the sound of curtis footsteps right outside the door, and just as the golden handle begins turning, luke finally gets situated under your bed, hiding from not only your sight, but hopefully your brothers.

you whip around just as the hinges squeak open, curtis appearing from behind the oak door. "hey." he greets you gently, still rubbing the sleep out of his eye with the palm of his hand. "are you talking to someone?"

you can feel the colour drain from your face, swallowing roughly as you keep your gaze ahead. "no?" your voice is definitely too high—too suspicious—answering quickly.

curtis's gaze narrows. "really? I thought I heard something." you watch in horror as your brother begins to look around the room, his movements suspiciously nonchalant as he scans the area—you can only pray that luke's feet aren't sticking out from underneath the mattress

you desperately need to get your brothers attention again and stop him from snooping around your space—you're pretty sure luke's phone is on the dresser. quickly, you spin your body to fully face curtis, clearing your throat. "well, I was watching a movie."

curtis' eyes flicker back to yours and away from your desk, his brows raised questionably. then, slowly, his gaze moves towards the tv on the wall. "the tv is broken."

you curse inwardly, swallowing thick salvia. "on my phone."

"okay..."he trails off. "just coming to check on you, making sure you were alright—couldve swore I heard something." your brother doesn't look all too convinced with what you're saying, and his pointed gaze has yet to waver.

you plaster on a smile. "oh i'm just peachy, curtis. thanks."

"you're acting weird."

"am I?" you question highly, crossing your arms.

he hums in answer, eyeing you suspiciously. "must just be tired. right?"

"right." you exhale shakily, and at this point you can only pray for this conversation to come to a close. subconsciously your eyes trail towards the bed, checking to make sure luke was still hidden.

curtis hums again, pulling your attention back to him. "better get to sleep then. goodnight."

you breathe, smiling again. "night."

he sends you one more curious look over his shoulder before he finally leaves, shutting the door with a gentle thud. the entire time you feel like you're going to die.

as soon as his feet sound descending back down the stairs, you're moving, practically skipping towards the bed.

your drop down on your stomach, looking under the gap between the floor and the mattress. "luke? are you breathing?"

he exhales loudly. "barley."

you send him a guilty smile. "guess we won't try this again, huh?"

two

luke pulls his hoodie over his torso, stretching his tired muscles as he adjust the material over his body.

the practice that finished only half hour ago was a taxing one. after a rough loss the previous night—one that he'd been cross checked in the ribs three separate times without a call—coach had been extra hard on the group today, which left luke even more sore and exhausted.

he shakes out his freshly washed hair, ruffling the curls between his fingers after they'd been flatted by his devils branded hood. the fuzzy material sticks to his damp chest, as luke was too tired to properly dry his skin—he just wanted to get home and call you, letting you coo at him and call him pretty (he loves it more than he’d ever admit).

"hey rusty." curtis distinctive teasing voice sounds behind luke, and he feels the center man’s hand on his shoulder, a rough squeeze in greeting. "you heading home now?"

curtis drops down to his reprieve stall—the one beside luke's—towel still around his waist as he pulls on his t-shirt, looking at the defence man expectantly.

luke swallows gently, giving curtis a quick nod. "yeah," he grabs his duffle bag, one full of extra hockey gear he always brings back and forth to the rink. "jacks already outside, said he wanted to shower when he got home."

"right on." curtis hums, pulling on his socks.

the sporadic buzzing noise of an incoming call draws the attention of both athletes, and their eyes are pulled to luke's beaten up phone, sitting screen up on the stall seat.

it's you. you're calling him.

curtis's brows raise, and he makes a teasing noise. "russssttttyyyy, who the hell is lovey?" before luke can even react, curtis picks up the phone, inspecting the profile picture set for your contact that’s flashing on the screen. thank god it’s an inconspicuous mirror pic, one lacking your face—luke can only pray curtis doesn’t inspect that picture too hard. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

luke swallows, eyes darting between the centerman and the phone clutched in his calloused hands. "I don't."

"there's a heart beside the name." he deadpans. "should I answer it and ask her about it instead?"

"no!" luke lunges towards his phone, but curtis is quicker, standing from is stall and side stepping the youngest hughes.

"easy dude. what's the big deal." with a breathy laugh, curtis slides his thumb across the answer button, picking up your incoming call.

"dude." luke grabs the phone from his hands just before curtis can place it to his ear. "a little privacy." the awkward chuckle that leaves him is almost embarrassing, and the way his hands have started shaking and the blush covering luke from head to toe is also humiliating.

curtis laughs, clearly finding amusement in luke's clear embarrassment. "i'm literally standing in front of you with my dick out, but sure rusty, i'll leave your secret girlfriend alone."

luke can just hear your muffled voice through the phone, muttering his name questionably—no doubt wondering what the fuck is going on. "sorry she's just...shy. you'll meet her one day."

curtis snickers, finally pulling on his sweats. "i'm sure I will."

luke nods—unsure what to say.

"better get going, rusty. think somebody is probably waiting to hear your voice." the center man's eyes dart between him and the phone in his hands, brows raised knowingly.

"right." he swallows, "see you later." luke practically runs out of the locker room, and as soon as he makes it down the hall, he raises the phone to his ear, hurriedly explaining to you the close call he'd just encountered with curtis.

three

you didn’t mean to have that many drinks—really, you didn't. but a couple of your friends from class invited you out to celebrate the ending semester, and because you all passed, they said drinks were in order and you had to join.

a few hours and many drinks in, you were practically falling over. you had stayed out later than you originally planned on, and curtis would be long asleep by now—leaving you with limited options for getting home.

drink you—ever to clingy girlfriend—called luke almost instantly.and obviously luke picked up on the first ring, despite the early morning time, and of course he came to the bar as soon as you asked.

which brings you to right now, knees weak as you sway on the your homes front porch, pouting at your boyfriend in the cold winter night.

luke looks down at you gently, his eyes full of exhaustion. but yet, there’s a hint of amusement in them, and the edge of his mouth is turned up in a lazy smirk.

"kiss me goodnight." you drunkenly slur for the 10th time since luke guided you out of the car. you are looking at your boyfriend expectantly, an impatient whine leaving your lips. "please baby."

it's so dark outside he can barley make out your features, but he can see the way your hazy eyes twinkle at him—silently begging. luke's gaze flickers towards the ring camera quickly, praying that it's one that isn't an audio recorder, and if it does pick up sound, luke hopes you're too quiet to catch.

you’ve both always been careful with the camera before this, and if the lazar house was the only option for your…escapades, you’d both avoid the camera expertly—sneaking through windows and back doors like misbehaved children.

but you’re too drunk to even think about that, and luke’s too tired to even attempt sneaking you through the back door.

your pout turns into a smile, and your arms snake up his body, wrapping around his neck and pulling yourself up to your toes. "please please please please."

he sighs gently, glancing at the camera again. in a moment of weakness, he decides it's probably to dark too make out any kind of facial features through the camera anyway, and if he doesn't kiss you now, the camera will be the least of his worries.

so luke wraps his arms around your waist tighter, keeping your sway steady. he leans down, pecking your lips so quickly that he hopes even if the camera can see him, the affection was so brief that in a blink you'd miss it. "okay now go inside."

your grin widens, and as you finally pull away from luke, you're overjoyed and satisfied.

when you wake the next morning, you feel yourself panic—flashes of the kiss on the porch and the ring camera running through your mind.

you wait anxiously for curtis to bring it up and call you out for kissing his teammate in front of the front door...but it never comes.

the ring camera hasn't worked for a week—and that has you breathing a sigh of relief when your sister-in-law mentions it the following evening.

+one

you can't even think logically as you rush through the crowded arena, weaving through bodies as you clutch the pass around your neck, anxiously fiddling with the lanyard.

the scene in your head is playing on repeat—watching luke get thrown to the ice during the messy scrum from only minutes ago, his head slamming against the ice as he hit the ground.

you'd shot up from your seat, worry sketched across your face as you watched luke laying limp on the ice as the trainer spoke into his ear—the fear all but consumed you. jack's girlfriend tried to console you—comfort you—but nothing was helping.

you gave it 5 minutes. 5 minutes after they helped luke off the ice and down to the assessment room, before you were out of your seat, mumbling some excuse to sammy as you left.

you make your way through the tunnels easily, very much used to the area and familiar with the space after many visits with curtis. you find the assessment room easily, the door left open the smallest crack so you're able to subtly peek in—so if someone else is in there with him, you won’t be caught.

but it's just luke, sitting slumped on a doctor like bed with his eyes closed—arms crossed over his chest guard, his jerseys discarded in a sweaty lump on the metal table beside him.

with the coast clear, you push open the door fully, letting it softly swing closed behind you. the sound has luke's eyes fluttering open, and he immediately finds your worried eyes blinking back at him.

you breathe a heavy exhale, a slight wobble in the sound that portrays the emotion crawling up your throat—desperate to be let out. all the fear and stress and worry you've been feeling for the past 6 minutes are coming to a hilt, and you rush towards your boyfriend with a pout pulling at your lips. "are you okay?"

"hey." he mumbles gently, brows pulled tightly as you appear his side. "what are you doing down here?"

you gently take ahold of his face, eyes frantically bouncing around as if you're trying to locate any injuries. "luke, holy shit. I was so scared." tears begin welling in your eyes, bottom lip trembling. “you weren’t moving.”

luke slowly swings his legs over the side of the medical bed, cooing gently. your hands fall from his face in favour of wiping your own, catching the trail of water as it cascades down your cheeks.

luke's hockey pant covered thighs part, creating enough space for you to stand between them. he wraps his arm around you waist, bringing you into his embrace. you go easily, tears continuing to cloud your vision as you fall into his sweaty chest. "i'm sorry I scared you." he mumbles into your hair, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

you shake your head. "are you okay?" you ask again, pulling back just enough to look into his warm eyes. “what did they say?”

"i've got a concussion most likely, but i'll be fine." luke's words are reassuring, and so is the kiss he presses against your cheek. he's coherent, and he's moving—he's okay.

"is there anything you need from me?" you ask gently, pushing his wet curls off his forehead—something you’d always find yourself doing.

luke’s eyes flutter slightly at the comforting action. his soft grin turns boyish, and silently he purses his lips, asking for a kiss.

you roll your eyes gently, but oblige, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. luke sighs pleasantly, parting his lips as he begins to deepen the kiss, pulling your body in tighter.

you smile into it, which allows luke the access to slip his tongue past your bottom lip, and you let him. his hand travels down your back, slowly tickling the expanse of your skin until he's rounding over the curve of your ass, giving your cheek a firm squeeze.

"alright rusty if you're gunna kiss my sister here, the least you could do is not play grab ass while you do it." the sudden voice of curtis has you pulling away, and you turn towards the door in record speed.

you'd been too lost in the trance luke always put you in—to absorbed in his body and lips that you'd missed not only the end of period buzzer echoing throughout the arena, but the door opening behind you.

you're too scared too move—too scared to even blink. you look at curtis with wide eyes, your face void of colour, giving you a lifeless look. and luke's no better, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his hand still on your ass cheek—even after you turned around.

you push his hand away and swallow roughly. "curtis...I-we can explain."

your brother shrugs. "there's nothing to explain. I know."

your brows shoot up. "you know?"

curtis nods triumphantly, looking rather pleased with himself. this time it's luke who speaks, swallowing the little salvia lingering in his dry mouth. "what-I-how?" he stutters.

"that night awhile back, when I came to check on you, luke's sweater was on your chair." he looks at you playfully, "I saw the number and I knew."

now you're going red, felling a wave of guilt and embarrassment creep in on you. "i'm sorry."

"we're sorry." luke adds gently. "we shouldn't of kept it a secret."

"I'm not mad—just a little disappointed that I was left out of the loop." then, curtis expression changes, looking at you with a gentle smile. "out of all the guys on this team you couldn't picked...rusty's the best one."

you smile, glancing up at luke.

he meets your gaze, and he wraps his arm around your waist, bringing you back into his side.

"consider yourself in the loop." you chime through and exhale, looking back towards curtis.

"good." he nods, his usual teasing expression back on his face. curtis looks at luke, a brow raised. "so, were you under the bed or in the closet?"

you feel luke stiffen beside you, and you can't help but laugh.

[famewolf]

I really said 'this game is my full time job'

my next playthrough I'll be trying to 100% the achievements, but 75% my first run is pretty darn good!

[genericpuff]

The excessively passive voice when talking about Minthe being intended to have BPD is hilarious. "It was thought to have her written with BPD"? So weird

Honestly, once you start noticing this passive voice in how Rachel writes and talks, it's kind of hard to unsee.

Like, for starters, the BPD example. It's very non-committal, almost as if to sound like she never actually wrote her with BPD, it was just an 'idea' that she could neither confirm or deny as canon. But then you read the episode with the slap and-

It's- it's literally called "Splitting". It's about as subtle as a brick to the face. This entire episode showcases Minthe having an actual literal episode of splitting and it's plain as day to anyone who can read the title card and put two and two together. So for the wording to be so passive around her characterization... it wasn't "thought" to have her written with BPD, she was written with BPD.

Another example that sticks out in my mind of Rachel's passive writing is far later in Season 3, when Demeter reunites with Persephone and naturally expects her to come back home with her.

This line still fucking bothers me to this day. Besides the fact that it's just really poorly written dialogue, Persephone describes her being in love with Hades as if it's just some coincidental thing that happened to her that she can't avoid and not a deliberate choice she's making. "It would seem" my ass, Persephone is a coward for not being upfront and just talking to her mother like an adult by saying, "Mother, I love you, and I understand why you want me to come home, but I'm in love with Hades and want to stay in the Underworld with him." Instead the way it's worded is almost designed to absolve Persephone of any and all agency in her own decisions and active participation in her relationship with Hades by instead making it out to be just some circumstance that she can't get herself out of.

Again, this isn't quite as egregious as the aforementioned BPD scene, but it's still irritating because Rachel writes like this a lot throughout LO. And it's not just the dialogue either, entire decisions throughout the comic are flip-flopped and kept vague by Rachel so she can give herself plausible deniability over the narrative. I could come up with some of my own examples, but I think she managed to speak for herself just fine in the end-of-series Q&A that left both critics and fans of the series massively confused and disappointed:

LO is full of half-committed plotlines because Rachel herself can't commit to her own decisions. So the decisions she does make are left vague enough that hardcore fans are willing enough to fill in the blanks themselves, but anyone who asks her genuinely what her plan was, she just gives the same wordy "IDK it's up to your interpretation!" response. It's like she thinks people are asking her as just another reader who can only speculate, but she's literally the author, so why is she acting like her guess is as good as theirs?

Well, because that's how she wrote LO. That's how she's always written comics, with vague half-finished thoughts and just enough for readers to do the mental gymnastics of making sense of it all just to give her the credit for "smart writing" that she never actually did because she stopped paying attention after the first sentence. And that method of being vague for the sake of audience interpretation is fine for illustrations or anything that isn't trying to be a concise narrative, but LO did try to be that and it really shows how hard it failed in doing so when its own creator can't even come up with something slightly plausible to explain all the questions people had in the end. "There is some backstory there" but proceeds to not actually expand on said backstory. "I like to imply things without outright telling people", so do I, but the difference is that Rachel is using that as a crutch to not answer the questions she setup for her readers and then didn't resolve after five years. There's not wanting to spoon feed people the plot, and then there's literally refusing to explain your decisions when writing said plot, almost because you don't know any more than they do.

The entirety of LO is rooted in Rachel's passiveness, from her inability to answer questions concisely to every little plot point that was established and dropped throughout the comic's run. Writing a story is a series of decisions, deciding what to keep, deciding what not to keep, deciding what has to be changed, etc. and Rachel just... doesn't seem like someone who's ever been capable of making those decisions, especially when she's writing an actual long form story to the end and doesn't have the luxury of dropping it whenever it feels convenient for her like she did several times with The Doctor Pepper Show. Once she was actually held to a standard, once she was actually signed into a contract that expected her to make those decisions, she failed to and it culminated in one of the messiest conclusions to a story I've seen since Game of Thrones.

LO is kind of like Schrodinger's Cat - a plot point can be or not be whatever it needs to be so that Rachel can be either praised for smart writing she never did or absolved of bad writing that she did do. It's equally parts interesting and vague enough that whatever her readers give her credit for writing, she can give them a thumbs-up and go "you're totally right, champ!" and proceed to take all the credit of being a "good writer" from the efforts of her own audience who had to jump through a million hoops to make sense of her own messy writing.

But when she's put on the spot by those very same readers to answer for her own decisions, she can't.

Because she never made them.

Because there was never anything "deeper" going on, that's just what her style of "distraction writing" made you believe. The plot never lets you stop to think about what you just read long enough before zipping away to the next thing and distracting you with a new twist or a new character or a new plot point, and before you know it, you've gone weeks without reading about the last thing that was established you probably haven't even realized that those questions never got answered. Sometimes Rachel remembers to get back to those things and resolves them within a handful of panels, other times she forgets them entirely and just leaves them to rot in the hopes that no one ever calls her out on it. And when they do... she can just pull the get-out-of-jail-free "Welp, it's up to your interpretation!" card and get that credit all over again for being deep and insightful, meanwhile those who are rightfully dissatisfied with that answer are blanket-accused of "getting mad at Rachel for not writing the story they wanted".

To close out this ask that, per tradition, turned into an essay, I'd like to recall the famous words of fictional detective Benoit Blanc: "Look into the clear center of this glass onion... Miles Bron is an idiot!"

[preztee]

[extremely biased Dorian romancer voice] Guys, I think we won.

I know it's more common to hear that Solas romancers won - and after seeing how much extra content they got (additional dialogue trees with the Inquisitor and a whole alternate ending with a kiss), I can definitely see why.

But that's the thing - I've seen Solas romancers utterly split on if they liked this extra content or not. I've seen takes ranging from, "oh, I'm so glad I finally got my happy ending!" to "what the hell? This is awful!"

I've seen people heaping endless praise onto Solas' characterization. I've seen people deeply upset over Solas' characterization. I've seen people who think the Inquisitor vowing to save Solas is the most romantic thing ever. I've seen people who hate how the writing portrayed the Inquisitor as hopeless, blinded by love, and shadowed by Solas' dynamic with Mythal.

Case being... the fanbase is polarized. Some people won, but some people lost very, very bad. I've noticed the latter with those who had Inquisitors that romanced Solas, but wound up angry and vowing to stop him.

So, back to my first point. How did Dorian romancers "win"? For lack of a better term.

Well, for one, we got more content than every other romance (barring Solas'). I'm mad on behalf of the other romances, but there's no denying we made it out VERY lucky in that regard. Could it have been better? Yeah. But honestly, in comparison to Hawke talking about their romanced companion, I feel like we won. Not a huge win (Warden Alistair's dialogue about the HoF was a MASSIVE win), but a pretty good victory nonetheless.

Romance wise we got: direct, in-character interaction that alludes to Trespasser's conflict with the anchor secretly killing the Inquisitor. Sweet idle dialogue from Dorian. An immensely touching letter from Dorian that logically concludes his character arc from Inquisition (with him no longer being allergic to The L Word!). And we even got a Dorian romanced Inquisitor implying that he's up in Minrathous enough to consider himself a source of information for the Inquisition.

Generally, we got: Dorian being written in character (this is helped by him showing up as a side character and not a main one... less questionable decisions), with notable development stemming from what was planted in Inquisition (working through emotional repression, abolition and enacting societal change, etc). The option to make Dorian Archon or not, allowing for the player to decide what future they want for him. The Inquisitor wearing the Shadow Dragon casual outfit and arranging meetings in Dock Town of all places. Both of them surviving to the end of Veilguard. Both of them working and fighting together in the finale to save Minrathous and stop the gods despite the Inquisitor's duties in the south. Heavy implications that Dorian and the Inquisitor have been talking off screen about Rook and about recent events. Vague timeline that allows for several headcanons to fit - like, are they married? Engaged? Idk. How often does the Inquisitor visit? Well, often enough to consider himself a direct source of information, but with recent events, he and Dorian have been forced to use the calling crystals and write letters over the course of weeks... so really, it's up to you.

What we didn't get: Maybe a dialogue tree during Rook's conversations with the Inquisitor. Uhhh, there's one optional dialogue response if you're too formal with the Inquisitor where he calls Dorian an old friend. Which Dorian also does to the Inquisitor in Trespasser. Literally the same exact wording of "old friend". I can't be too mad over a such a funny oversight happening again. In the exact same way. But this time easily avoidable.

TL;DR - We got a lot of wins, a lack of divisive content, and a generally happy fanbase. That, and the Inquisitor and Dorian standing next to each other. Oh, the screenshots to be had. The whimsy of it all.

[mistress-of-vos]

I'd make a longer post (and maybe one day I will) but since Lore Olympus, the story that introduced me to webtoons is coming to an end I'd like to say something:

I can't believe it is considered problematic. It has to be one of the sweetest, fluffiest, simplest stories I have read (hence why I still like it, it's a relaxing read before bed) and somehow it got too "kinky" for mainstream. It's laughable.

Everytime I dare to click on their tag or look for the # on Twitter or FB I see people clutching their pearls as if Lore Olympus were brainwashing teenagers into marrying a non existent God of the dead and have babies with him. What the hell?

The fact that people think LO is too dark makes me laugh. A single episode of Rick&Morty, BoJack Horseman or HQS has way more explicit content and dialogue. In fact!!! If it were up to me LO would have gotten genuinely kinky!!! All it does is have some surface spicy tropes that get sugar coated to not make puritans awkward and tbh that's sad. LO and the author get terribly hated anyway for daring to portray the most common female fantasy.

And this all makes me laugh but also mad because you'd think LO at least has some genuine dark themes but no? At most we have Persephone's trauma due to Apollo's abuse and yet that topic is treated as a therapy pamphlet because people couldn't handle an imperfect victim. Hades is a wife guy who shows little to no anger. Hera was re written to be sort of a feminist so that people stopped being annoying about women having emotions.

LO is a sweet, simple story with tiny spicy things here and there that were eventually pushed aside because people couldn't handle it. I wonder how Rachel feels about this, because at the beginning the story was extremely spicy and the only crime was being published in a platform as webtoon, full of people who can't differentiate reality from fiction.

Is LO a masterpiece? Idk! I enjoy the story, it's very self indulgent for me, but I won't go and analyze every detail to see how it should be labeled as it's not meant to be a perfect media. It's meant to be an entertaining, nice story of romance and it does that job very well. This need to demand perfect writing while also crucifying authors over "dark" themes is ridiculous and contradictory.

And I keep wondering, if these people loathe LO so much, why dedicate all that time to the infinte posts they make about how they would have told the story? And all those re tellings are boring! It's always "So Persephone and Hades won't ever kiss here because she's a lesbian. Also he doesn't appear at all. And Demeter isn't an abusive mom! Oh and everyone is ugly because gods shouldn't be beautiful! And Apollo isn't evil he's uwu baby. And no toxic relationships here, Zeus is a good husband!"

Sweet Gaia, you guys wouldn't handle Saint Seiya having Athena in the body of a teenage girl with big tits and who's constantly in the edge of breaking her virginity vows. This attitude screams of jealousy and puritanism and both are disgusting.

TLDR: LO being too problematic for people is both funny and annoying. I wished it actually were as kinky and dark as people insist it is. I'd pay for a toxic romance, but that being said, I LOVE it very much as it is and it's nice to have a re telling that, while not pretending to be loyal to mythology, didn't go for a route of sanitizing all the myths. I hope that once it ends haters will move on and let real fans and the author alone. 🙏

[im-not-samantha-im-samanta]

Request by: @jellibean2018

Hello, Jelli! About two months ago you sent in a request, however my tumbl did me dirty, and I ended up with your ask, and the entire fic deleted! (Though, much to my relief, I found screenshots of the fic in a chat with my friend who was reviewing it. Thank god).

So, I have to tag you, and remind you what you wanted.

From what I remember, you wanted a fic with a female sinner Reader who was once a victim of Alastor's, and the two ending up meeting again in hell. You also wanted an unsettling vibe with Alastor reveling in the memory of killing Reader.

I also want to add that I apologize for how long you had to wait for this fic to be done. I haven't been doing well with fics lately, so this was a struggle. And my mental health started going shit too which is why I stopped posting for so long...

Anyways, I really started to struggle with writing fics, so I ended up experimenting with this one - it's kind of written with huge metaphor kind of style? Hope that's okay with you...

Anyways, hope you'll enjoy reading this at least a little, and I once again apologize.

_

🎙️// The sweet history we share... //🎙️

{Alastor x female!Reader}

___________________________________________

Type: Fanfic

Settings: Not specified

Genre: Unsettling? Can't tell if it actually gives that vibe though,

!TRIGGER WARNING!: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, violence, blood, saliva, dead bodies, Alastor revels in the memory of killing Reader, possible yandere vibes? Alastor sees Reader as nothing but a meal, but he puts her on a pedestal - that's probably some kind of fucked up attachment that surely has a name? I'd say the vibe is quite unsettling, but I can't say that for sure, Angel indirectly suggests the use of drugs and hints at sex related activities (but it's just a single line), and that's probably all?

Sidenote: Reader is written as a female just as requested,

Sidenote: I have no idea if I wrote Alastor well... but it feels like I really made him ooc as fuck and ruined the whole request,

Sidenote: Rereading this I think everyone is ooc as fuck even if they have minimum dialogue,

_

That should be all,

Hope you'll enjoy,

___________________________________________

Ah, nostalgia. Ah that sweet nostalgia. And that embrace of her.

She comes in unannounced, an unexpected guest. But oh is she welcome.

And oh so welcome are those treats she brings to the table.

She easily settles in, making herself at home. And into a cup, a bunch of memories she pours.

And that demon, the radio demon as he's called - he drinks from that cup greedily.

And like a man dying of thirst, he can't help but ask for another cup to be poured.

His senses feel high, his body tingling. A feeling of addiction is what fills him.

And he can't get enough of those sweet memories, so, he downs one cup after the other.

But with each greedy little sip, the thirst only grows and grows - he's not had his fill still.

So, the demon goes on and on, tasting one memory after the other.

And his mouth waters a big deal the more he can taste, and he savours each and every one.

Ah, and he can't tell which one of the sips of memories he enjoys the most, which one is the most saliva inducing one.

Is it maybe the giddy old memory of how he followed you through the town?

With you completely unaware? Naively trusting those poorly enlightened streets?

Trusting that a bit of weak light will keep you safe?

Or perhaps it could be the sweet memory of the thrilling chase through the forest?

That one forest where thousands of dead bodies laid buried deep in the ground?

Those dead bodies in whose footsteps you followed suit?

Oh! And what about that memory of how you so desperately tried to navigate around and hide, escape his clutches?

Even if he could hear your sharp breaths as clear as the day?

Oh! Or maybe his favourite one could be the moment of when he tackled you down?

Pinning your body under his, finally cutting the chase so the real fun can begin?

And that beautiful moment of how you hopelessly dug your nails into his skin til blood trailed down his arms?

That one beautiful moment engraved into his head of how you desperately clawed at those lanky hands of his?

His hands that trailed, squeezed and pinched at your body, feeling you up like a winning prize, like a fine piece of venison?

Ah, it was so hard to pick which one was the most treasured one!

Hell, it could even be the simple memory of the melodious sounds of your cries.

That melodious, angelic sound of your pleading, whimpering, sobbing and screaming.

Especially those sounds you made when he bit down onto your flesh.

Oh, and that taste that hit his taste buds back then...

He still remembers it like it was yesterday.

And his tongue still tingles, and saliva still floods his mouth every time he thinks of just how tasty you were back then.

And now his mouth waters as he silently wonders... would you still have such taste even now?

Or did becoming a demon change the sweet, addictive flavour of your fragile flesh and thick blood?

Oh, how his senses urge him - beg him - to just grab you and take at least one single little bite...

I'd be really easy too, now that you're a part of the hotel staff.

Silly little you, you didn't flee when you were faced with the fact that he - the one who took your life - also works for the hell's princess now.

You didn't take the more than gracious chance to turn on your trail, run and never return while you still could.

No, you are too stubborn, and you insist on staying, even despite how frightening seeing him on the daily is for you.

Silly little you! Don't you realize how easily he could snatch you away and repeat history?

All it would take is a single moment of when you're alone and-

Ah, but he can't do that - at least not yet...

Where would be the fun in that?

It sure would be a shame to end your lovely reunion this fast and early on, no?

Not to mention the odd, messed up attachment the deer demon feels towards you...

Now, not to be mistaken! What he feels isn't the usual attachment one would think of!

It definitely isn't the good or healthy kind either...

So, we shall not be mistaken, let's not get our hopes up and think he cares - for he doesn't.

You mean nothing to him - at least as far as it comes to you as a person.

Your value could be most likely compared to something of a sentimental value, a plaything at best if you will.

Still, no matter what you are to him - you are by far his most favourite one at that.

That's what can be said for a fact.

And for reasons beyond us and even Alastor, those memories he shares with you are put on a pedestal - put way above the rest.

There were so many faces that twisted in fear, so many names he kept tabs on, so many tastes he's tried, and so many lives he's taken.

But very vast portion of them is long forgotten, not really standing out all that much.

Nor holding any real value. Barely any of them mattered...

But you, on the other hand - oh, he could never forget about that one lovely night you shared...

And even when more victims - more faces, more names, more tastes - came, they couldn't compare.

No, they never could.

Those memories of you and your taste were always stuck in the back of the radio demon's head no matter what new person was on the menu - what new dish was on his plate...

So, one can only imagine just what he feels now that you're back within his grasp.

Oh, not even his wildest fantasies could've come up with or prepare him for such sweet moment!

This was like a gift from the Devil himself!

Yes, a gift - one that Alastor would make sure to cherish greatly...

Ah yes, he would cherish you so.

He'd take his time unwrapping you like the perfect little gift that you are - he would savour you.

And only when he'd get tired of messing with you, only then he'd get to the real deal.

Oh, and when he'll finally do, it'll be like a starving man plunging onto bread crumbs!

It'll be such a beautiful, satisfactorily moment - Alastor can almost feel himself drooling at the mere thought of the moment.

Oh, how he just can't wait for the very moment!

The moment is so close, and yet so far - and every little glance your way is like a test.

A test of how long he can resist the temptation.

Every little move you make, every little noise that leaves you, every little expression your face twists into.

Oh, he can barely hold himself back!

His body feels so restless, and his thoughts are all over the place.

And no matter how much he reminds himself to be patient, to not cut straight to the chase just yet.

He still can barely keep himself in check.

His thoughts are going to dangerous places, and your familiar, sweet scent teases his nose.

Oh, and you're so within reach too!

It'd really just take a single little moment and-

"Geez, that perv's still at it?".

Oh, that's right.

He's almost forgotten about those curious eyes watching him from afar.

Watching, and trying to see inside his head...

But judging by the response Vaggie's hateful comment receives, it seems she's the only one to see right through him.

The only one to see the real danger behind that wide smile he always wears...

"Ya-uh! His eyes have not left her ever since she's joined the hotel staff!".

Ah, Charlie. Dear, sweet Charlie - now she's something else.

She's completely different from her girlfriend - she's quite naively trusting and optimistic.

Fully believing that there's a piece of good in everyone.

And hence not being concerned for your safety when the deer demon started to show an interest in you.

Ah, that sweet, silly little thing.

Caught up in trying to see only the best in people and their intentions...

It's amusing - and truly adorable.

And oh, does it play into Alastor's favour oh so well...

"Okay, that's like so sick and totally-".

Oh, Vaggie - she tries, she really tried to warn the others.

Make them see Alastor for what he truly is.

But aside from Husk, nobody really listens to Vaggie's concerns.

No, she's not all that listened to when she voices her opinions on the deer demon.

Not even when she expresses her concerns for how the latter constantly follows your every single step no matter the time of the day, no matter where you go...

And to think she has quite enough of a say in things as the hotel's manager, as well as the princess' girlfriend!

Oh, that poor little thing - it must be such an awful feeling.

How humorous!

And oh, how unfortunate...

"Ah! Do you think he's-?".

Niffty is completely on board with Charlie.

Similarly to the princess - she too doesn't see the real harm in Alastor's advances towards you.

Seeing his behaviour as nothing other than subtle romantic gestures.

The little demoness' version of romance sure is rather twisted...

And yet, it's still quite surprising Niffty doesn't see the harm in things.

After all, she herself knows Alastor just as well as Husk does...

"Yeah! Strawberry pimp totally got the hots for that one!".

Angel was caught up in the spiderweb of romanticizing the same thing as well.

Just like Charlie and Niffty, he couldn't see the truth...

"What? No! Are you all crazy?! That's not the case at all! How can you all not see that?!".

Oh, Vaggie - again and again, she really tries and tries.

But the result is always the same - nobody pays her warnings or concerns any thought.

And yet she still keeps on going.

What a miserable little thing she is.

"Oh my- I have like the best idea!".

Not even Charlie notices how Vaggie nearly begs for them all to see things from her point of view.

None of them can see things for what they really are.

Alastor's got them all right where he wants them.

Without even having to try much...

"We should totally get the two to have some alone time!".

Charlie is quick to naively play into the radio demon's games.

Without even knowing she's doing that.

She can't see this all is exactly what the deer demon wants...

And neither can Angel or Niffty.

Aw, those naive little fools...

"Yes! We should- like- create some really romantic atmosphere and leave them to it!".

Niffty follows through in Charlie's steps.

She too plays right into what Alastor wants.

Though whether or not she's aware of it is up for a debate...

"We should lock 'em up in a closet together or somethin', or even give them a little... somethin'... to just... ya know, set just the right mood in.".

And angel is quick to fall for Alastor's games too...

Ah, those silly fools...

Unaware they're making all this much easier than it should've been.

They're sealing your doom - the inevitable end you're ought to meet at his clutches.

They're making this all too easy...

They're shoving the little mouse right into the lion's den.

What unfortunate silly fools.

And what an unfortunate little you.

Your friends are serving you to him on a silver platter.

All of them - or nearly all of them - thinking they're doing you a favour.

Thinking they're simply helping a mere fool in love gain the heart of his love interest.

When in reality, they're actually helping a starving predator get closer to his chosen prey...

It was rather humorous - a good source of entertainment for sure.

So, Alastor would humour the group.

He'd indulge in their schemes of trying to set you up with him.

He'd gladly play along and lead them to think he's interested in you.

Well, interested in you they way they think he is, not the way he actually is...

No, they can't know what he actually wants from you.

They won't know.

He'll make sure of it.

They won't know until the very last moment, until the deed's already done.

Or, he'll lead them to think your disappearance has nothing to do with him.

After all, the sudden disappearance of a poor little sinner like you would be nothing new in hell.

You'd just be added to the endlessly growing numbers of hell inhabitants going missing.

Your disappearance would be just a part of the mere statistics.

Well, he'll see.

All depends on which option would prove to bring more benefit.

As well as which one would prove to be more entertaining.

That's what, to the deer demon, matters the most at the end of the day.

For now, he'll just go with the flow and let the situation progress by itself.

With the occasional shove to the right direction, of course.

But it doesn't seem like he needs to wait for that long for everything to be set in motion...

"Hey, Al, you got a minute?".

Yeah, he really doesn't need to wait for that long...

___________________________________________

[crayonsquadlilac]

I had to scribble out his ending dialogue. I just couldn't lose this image i had in my head, of this poor charachter who tried his best still (for lack of a better word) dying, and not screaming or crying when it's happening but instead saying this and then gently apologizing, like it's his fault, and that's the last he ever says. I think this scene's gonna stick with me for a while.

I'm actually so sick about him like god like "I've wasted my whole life hiding, I think I should try saying hello." God. Me when the character is kind and well meaning and funny and silly and yet tragic by nature. Me when the character never gets the good ending they deserved (in a well written way.). What the Hell. God

Super Ultra Rambling under the readmore if you're curious about my elaborate Thoughts;

Ik is my favorite charachter because he is very silly and my best friend ever in the world but also because of the Tragedies. He's a person used to fear, a people pleaser, who let mr. Sob manipulate him and turn his hotel into something he never wanted, simply pretending it was still the same, who spends the whole game trying so hard to keep you in high spirits and unworried even when he himself is terrified. Someone who cares too much and tries so hard and probably never even gave nearly as much to himself as he did to others. Even at the end, as he describes to you all the horrors that unfolded on earth, he makes jokes and quips and keeps up his goofy manner of speaking despite the information clearly disturbing him.

When he tells you the story of his death, he never once mentions anything about how sad it is, and if you respond with "I'm sorry," he says like basically "oh it's fine," before hesitating with a concerned look on his face. His death may be something he avoids thinking about a lot.

And describing him, i can't help but relate to him, understand him, perhaps that's why I am so Insane about him right now.

I think this game is about, no matter what happens, at the end of it all it will still be the end. It may even end sooner than you'd expect. The human race before dying out solved all their problems and created a perfect world, Ik tried hard to do good and make people happy, Mr. Sob gained his own twisted control over many souls of the afterlife, you the player just kept going onward as much you could, but they all came to the same unceremonious end. I suppose it all matters on your perspective- do you focus on the ending, or how you got there?

When Ik tells you about his death, he describes how he saw the stars, and the view of his town from all the way high up, how he stopped and looked for a long time. But he couldn't stay forever, he had to keep moving. I think that's the part that mattered most. Even in so terrible a situation, he got something beautiful out of it. And like i guess part of the game is, "we can't stop what's coming, there's no use hiding, so we may as well face it with a smile and a greeting." Or maybe more like "the time will pass anyways" type of thing. If that makes sense.

I've seen some people interpret the Morning as everyone is brought to a final resting place peacefully. And of course, it's wide open for everyone to interpret it however, but for me personally I thiiiink Ik was probably right about it being the end of time. The thing seemed a little bit too obliterating-you-type-deal in the final cutscene. All the humans are dead and it's time for their afterlife to go too now. Maybe it's to make room for something that'll replace us, or to start over from scratch with everything, but for all the human souls, it's the end.

Maybe the sole survivor of all existence is Shrimp, in the afterlife, always running from the Morning, wandering for eternity. Which i say to be silly but also that would be really sad actually. He'd be alone... he'd get hungry and there'd be no one there to feed him lounge chairs and tables and glass vases..... poor shrimp..........

I don't know if it would have been better or worse if you could just find his abandoned collar on the ground somewhere before that last lantern. Probably worse actually. Yeah no I'm glad that's not a thing. I'm sorry for saying that.

But anyway, what a damn good game. I'm sad it didn't get more attention when it came out, it feels like such a passion project. I feel bad for only finding out it exists recently. I'll try my best with telling all my friends to play it too though. Cause like oh man. Good god. It made me laugh, it made me scared, and now it's made me cry, drawing and typing this post. It's a thinker. I love existential wonder in media, but this one is more like, existential indifference or something. but it doesn't feel cynical at all, i don't know. I like it a lot. Putting it right up there with my favorites.

also actually nevermind fuck all that noise good ending where the morning never comes and they just wander the woods forever together yippee wahoo!! who needs themes and messages and meanings !!!! when The Characters could be happy !!!!!!!

jtjfjfjdhdjskfskdkdsfdhdhsfjcjdhfhshsfhd everything is fine i am Fine definitely not Crying More why would you think that

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

I am now at least far enough away from the incident that I can give some more articulately expressed opinions about Kriemhild and that part of Traum, and also my general bugbears when it comes to Higashide. To really elaborate on them, I want to make a point of comparison to show this isn't just like, bias getting in the way, and that's Caster.

Well Medea. Obviously.

Caster has a really big advantage going for her over characters such as Semiramis and Kriemhild. She has two gigantic and well-written visual novels backing her up. While the first thing you probably think of when it comes to Caster is her relationship to Kuzuki, you can probably think of a bunch of different things that you know Caster for. Caster's relationship to Kuzuki is a big part of her character, but it is not the only part of her character, and most importantly, it adds to her character. It is in and of itself a jumping off point for discussing her relationship with Jason, how that has affected her, and what Caster is looking at her future for.

Bu it's not her entire character. She still has a very complex relationship with Saber, and Hollow Ataraxia's character interactions with her and the rest of the cast are all interesting, not to mention her own interactions with Kojirou either. She exists as a character beyond that, and that is also very likely why Kuzuki is just not a factor in F/GO at all. She is a strongly written character that is recognizable without him.

When it comes to Semiramis and Amakusa, Apocrypha itself is written fine although I don't really believe in the two of them having real chemistry with each other, especially as time has gone on and more of Semiramis backstory has come out, Amakusa feels very written in but without the proper framing to me to make it work. But as time has gone up, unlike with Caster, Semiramis has had her entire character swallowed up by this relationship, even though canonically she shouldn't really remember it. This is obviously to some extent fanservice, but this is a problem, because it means that Semiramis stops existing as her own character. There are entire interludes about her history that are boiled down at the end to just being about Amakusa. If you want to know Semiramis like you would Caster, you can't.

A good relationship adds to the character, it does not BECOME the character. This is especially weird because Amakusa has had a lot of interesting screen time and character writing without Semiramis being present. It starts to feel like there's only really one important character in the mix. There's Amakusa, and Amakusa's girlfriend. That's weird.

Kriemhild is that on turbo, but the issues with her writing go even further. At least with Semiramis, while her relationship with Amakusa is strange, it's not necessarily contradictory. It's definitely odd, but not out of question. Kriemhild, especially for those who have summoned her and didn't go through Traum quickly, is in a contradictory boat. She clearly in her dialogues does not like Siegfried, even if she still loves him, and it's also clear he is directly responsible for a ton of hurt that she felt. This is consistent of what we know of Siegfried, it makes sense that he would do these things, we've already seen him do it in Apocrypha. Here, we are being asked to confront the human cost of that. In Apocrypha, he's not screwing over anyone we care about. But here, he's directly hurting people, and by extension, leading to their death.

Siegfried's actions are not portrayed particularly nobly, they're considered mistakes, at least in part chiefly by Siegfried who wants to live a life doing the right thing now. So it makes sense that Kriemhild would be extremely bitter and angry at him. He...abandoned her, and didn't even explain himself. That's extremely fucked up.

For almost the entire chapter in Traum, we're not given any indication that there is going be a flip-flop in character motivations. Kriemhild is portrayed, consistently, as being antagonistic to Siegfried. She wants her revenge on him, she calls him leftovers, she talks about destroying the world he keeps trying to save. Zhang Jue hides away Siegfried not because he believes that Kriemhild will turn on the realm for him, but because, as a Berserker, Kriemhild is likely to become extremely unstable upon seeing him.

Even later on, when Siegfried approaches Ritsuka and asks for a favor, the most likely conclusion to come to, knowing Siegfried, is that he wants to fulfill his wife's revenge. That makes sense from a character perspective. Siegfried's actions have consistently trended towards those that self-sacrifice to protect others.

The problem when it comes to Kriemhild is that it is both contradictory to what we've been communicated with in the story, and that the end result is that it destroys her character. It is both bad, and quite frankly, very cheap. It's a cheap use of the love conquers all trope. In the span of one to two sentences, Kriemhild implicitly forgives him for everyone that he's done, reverts to a lovey-dovey wife, and even reneges on everything that to this build are the foundation of her existence as a Servant.

It turns Kriemhild into nothing, into what is insanely flat, because all of her depth has been removed. What is left is a character that is entirely one-dimensional. Nothing exists for Kriemhild past her love of Siegfried anymore. There's no discussions about hurt or pain or the twenty years of vengeance beyond Kriemhild immediately turning a double face on it.

There's not a nicer way to put this, so let's just get it out of the way now. Siegfried will continue to be a character independent of Kriemhild. Unlike say, Sigurd, whose character is primarily defined on his relationship with Brynhildr, Siegfried's character is not defined really at all by his relationship to Kriemhild. Kriemhild has no path from here, and as we can glimpse in further events, her character is entirely defined by her relationship with Siegfried. What are her character motivations past this point? Well obviously its not ANY of the ones we took pain to previously establish.

This is classic, textbook, misogynistic writing. Kriemhild has been turned into a lamp.

Siegfried is a very popular character, and I imagine for a lot of people, there is incentive to ignore all of this. Siegfried is getting his happy ending, he's getting his wife back. But if you cared about what Kriemhild's character was, this sucks tremendously. Reconciliation is not off the table, but what happened is not reconciliation. It's not anything resembling that. Kriemhild essentially loses all of her agency, so dramatically she dies after this happens.

Like at least Urobuchi would have just killed her.

[disassociation-daydreams]

Secret Admirer Part II - Dave York x F!Reader

A/N: So, it's been over a year since I wrote the first part, and yet, this only took me a few hours. Probably because I've written it so many times in my head. I just felt like I finally needed to get it down or else I'm not sure I ever would. If you've read Part I, I hope this gives you the ending you were waiting for. I’m posting this before passing out from exhaustion and am honestly terrified because I don’t know how I feel about it now that it’s actually typed out, especially the dialogue. Regardless, thank you to everyone who supported Part I. @murder-wife, your reblog today is really what gave me the final push to make this happen. 🤍

If you haven't read Part I yet, you can do so here: Secret Admirer Part I

Text Divider by @bunnysrph

Summary: Dave can't watch you through the window anymore, so he watches you elsewhere. It's only a matter of time before you catch him. Will it all come burning down?

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mdni)

Word Count: 2,267

Tags and Warnings: allusion to murder, possessiveness, stalking, obsession, age gap, pervy Dave, pining Dave, allusion to drug addiction, angst, too many Icarus references, probably more things so let me know if I need to add any!

You start to feel it again… that paranoia that you’re being watched. It’s different this time. Not in the way it feels, but that it’s happening everywhere outside your apartment now.

You closed the curtains peering into your apartment a week ago, and if you’re being poetic, you metaphorically closed the curtains to your heart along with them. The feeling has been back for a day: you first felt it while making your way to the subway, then again when you exited the station near your work, and when you went down the block to the coffee shop on the corner for your lunch break. You felt it when you walked back into your office building, when you walked to the subway after work, and when you made your way home from the station.

Of course, you couldn’t be certain it was the same person watching—no, admiring you—and maybe you should have been more concerned, seeing as they seemed to know every little detail about your routine and where to find you. But if we’re being honest, your self-preservation skills have never been a strength, and you may have some slightly worrisome quirks that make this whole thing set your skin on fire in the best way. And, well, you just knew that whoever this was, wasn’t a threat to you. At the end of each day, the only thing you were left wondering was if you’d ever get to meet the eyes of your secret admirer.

He knows you can feel him watching again. He could tell the second you became aware of his presence this time. He’s a selfish man, maybe a little deranged, though he thinks you could be too. He should have taken the closed curtains as a sign. Should have rid his mind of this obsession and gone back to focusing on his missions.

He tried to justify it. He just wanted to make sure you were okay, that you hadn’t closed the curtains for any other reason. It was only supposed to be one time—following you to the station on a workday when it was easiest for him to blend in, just to see that you were alive, and then he’d move on with his life and stop worrying about some random girl. But he also wanted to make sure you got to work safely, that there wasn’t some freak subway accident that would stop you from getting to your destination. He learned through a quick search where you worked and which station you’d be getting off at, so he met you there… kind of. He watched you exit the station, followed you around the corner and down the block to your busy office building, then took a seat in the bustling lobby while you waited for the elevator. It was easy enough for him to blend in with everyone else, especially since you always seemed to be lost in your own little world, oblivious to the people and everything else around you.

When he followed you home that day, he told himself that would be the end of it. He’d finally get to see the other parts of your routine he’d missed before—he could fill in the gaps, memorize these pieces of you that he had only previously imagined. But you were like an addiction, and if he was honest with himself, one he didn’t want to kick. So, he was there the next day, and the next, and almost every day after that for a month, excluding the weekends.

Why hadn’t you really tried to figure out who he was? Maybe he should be more worried about you if you didn’t seem to care that you were being stalked—even though he knew he would never hurt you. He could see you looking around sometimes, attempts at being subtle, but you made no real effort. You kept going through your monotonous routine each day: subway, work, lunch, work, subway, home. Subway, work, lunch, work, subway, home. Subway, work, lunch, work, subway, home. Subway, work... You got off at your usual station—but you didn’t head to your office building. You still turned the same corner and walked down a block, but then you kept going. You ended up at the same coffee shop you frequented at lunch. Maybe you needed an extra jolt this morning because you slept terribly? Maybe you ran out of coffee at home and needed some to survive the day?

But then, why were you sitting at a table now, staring directly at him, with your usual order placed in front of you and a plain black coffee set down in front of the seat across from yours?

You wonder if he thinks you’re truly oblivious. Yes, you wear earphones almost everywhere, and you tend to stay focused on yourself instead of the strangers around you. But that’s a force of habit—if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone.

You couldn’t figure out who it was right away, to be fair, and there was no way to be completely sure. It took you about two weeks into this game you seemed to be playing to really narrow it down. You’d look around subtly, study your surroundings with your peripheral vision, sometimes use the reflection on your phone to see the people behind you.

There were a few choices as to who it could be. You knew some of the people in your office building lobby each morning since they worked on the same floor as you. Some of the others you had seen around for much longer than you’d had this feeling of being watched. There was a younger man, probably mid to late 20s, close to your age. You hadn’t really seen him around before, and he always seemed to be leaving the building for lunch around the same time as you. But you soon found out that he was a new hire on another floor, and you saw him walk the opposite way of your subway station one evening as you were leaving the office when you still felt the eyes on you. So, no, definitely not him.

Another option was a middle-aged woman. You had caught her eyes on you a few times, even making eye contact once or twice, only for her to quickly look away. You guess you hadn’t completely ruled her out, but you didn’t get that certain feeling when your eyes met hers. Maybe you were delusional to hope for some kind of connection and dismiss someone based on something you couldn’t even describe.

There was a revolving door of possible people, but there was one you were really holding out hope for. He was older than you—maybe even 20 years your senior. He dressed like a businessman—nice dress slacks, black loafers, freshly ironed shirts. He had hair the color of freshly brewed coffee, broad shoulders that you could easily imagine wrapping your arms around. You couldn’t tell the exact color of his eyes, but from a distance, they looked dark—in color and meaning.

You’re pretty sure he was at least a semi-new addition to the dull routine of your day-to-day environment. You’d have to be blind not to notice someone as striking as him. You could be wrong, of course. You never saw him during your lunch break, even when you felt the eyes on you, and he wasn’t there, or at least not in your line of vision, when you left work each day. Now that you think about it, there seems to be more evidence pointing to him not being the owner of the burning-hot stare you feel tracing your body throughout the day. And yet, you just have this feeling.

You think it might be easy to know for sure. Maybe you’re naive, considering what you suspect he might have done to your neighbor without getting caught, but you still have the feeling that you’re the one weakness that might make him slip up.

It’s simple enough—they follow you every day, they know your routine. All it will take is for you to change it up a little bit, knowing they’d be curious about where you’re going, needing to know your every move. You couldn’t make it too obvious, though, so you picked a place you frequent—the coffee shop down the block from your work. It makes sense to go there in the morning too. Maybe they’ll think you ran out of coffee at home or didn’t have time to make some before heading to the office.

You place the order on your phone ahead of time—your usual, plus one more: a plain black coffee. You took a guess, inspired by the color of the person’s hair you’re hoping to finally meet.

As soon as you reach the shop, your orders are already at the end of the counter for pick-up. You grab them quickly, knowing you have a little time before they'll arrive as they must follow you from a safe distance. You sit at the table directly next to the door, the one everyone inevitably looks at when they enter.

The bell above the door chimes. Your drink is placed in front of you, the black coffee set down in front of the seat nearest to the door. Your eyes are already looking up, ready to make contact, and that’s when you see him.

His eyes are the color of espresso beans before they’re ground and lose some of their depth. They’re the color of pure, dark chocolate—rich, indulgent. You can see the bewilderment in them—the shock that he’s so easily been caught—but also awe, because what kind of mind would one need to best his?

He doesn’t run. He walks steadily to your table, his eyes never leaving yours, not for a moment. He pulls out the chair across from you and takes a seat.

“Hi,” you say simply as you reach across the table, hand outstretched in greeting. His much larger, warmer hand engulfs yours, and before he has a chance to utter a word, you speak again.

“I would introduce myself, but I have a feeling you know everything about me by now.” You say it with a smirk, a teasing lilt to your voice, bemusement in your eyes.

He chuckles because what else is he supposed to do at this point? Your small hand is still clasped in his, the feeling of your touch unlike anything he ever dreamed of, but everything he ever imagined.

“Dave York,” he introduces briefly. “And no, not everything.”

“Maybe we could change that,” you reply, smirk still in place, even as you stand. “I have to get to work, though I don’t need to tell you that. You know where I live. Pick me up at 7?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours, as if they’ve found something they never want to lose. He was worried before that meeting you might be like the story of Icarus—get too close to the sun, and everything would burn. But instead, he feels like the ocean, absorbing your light and reflecting it back to you. It’s the least you deserve. “See you at seven, sweetheart.”

He’d been here before. In the apartment next door, finishing a job. He’d even hand-delivered flowers to your doorstep prior to that, though that seems like a lifetime ago now.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before his knuckles can make contact. Your eyes meet his for the second time, but nowhere near the last. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything shine as brightly as you. You’re not just radiant, you’re celestial, a vision that demands reverence, a being who should have wonders and monuments built in your name. Maybe he is Icarus, drawn to you by an irresistible force, but if this is what it feels like to burn, he never wants to know what it’s like to be cold again.

His gaze shifts, sweeping across your apartment, landing on the floor-to-ceiling window. The curtains are pulled back again, and the fading evening light spills across the room, painting everything in soft gold.

You speak, your voice soft but steady, and he turns his attention back to you. “I thought you might like to see what the view looks like from this side—after dinner, of course.”

“Shall we?” His arm slips around your waist, pulling you close as he presses a tender kiss to your hair. You close the door behind you with a soft click, locking it with the same sense of finality you felt when your eyes met his for the first time this morning.

When you meet his gaze again, it’s heavy with an intensity that doesn’t waver. There’s no mystery left between you now—only a raw, unspoken understanding. It's his job, his life to know everything about everyone, and to use this knowledge to his advantage. Yet, he knows he’ll never truly know you completely and it doesn't scare him. In fact, the unknown no longer seems like something to fear. It’s the very thing that draws him to you. His obsession has evolved into something more—something deeper, maybe even predestined. But he is only one side of the coin.

As your eyes hold his, the coin flips. This isn't just his game—it’s yours as well, and you’ve already decided where it goes next. You won’t let him drown in his own darkness; you’ll give him the light he's been searching for.

And when the time comes, when you both get too close to the sun and can’t help but burn, at least you'll burn together.

[ananke-xiii]

usual disclaimer: this is just me thinking out loud, sort of, some of this stuff is probably incoherent or even incorrect, I'm just playing around with my obsessions lol, take it with a grain of salt.

Previously I've written that it's possible that Dean has inadvertently caused John to grow up without his father, Henry. Today I even dare to write that Castiel has accidentally ("accidentally" because he didn't know he was used as a pawn back then) caused "Mary's choice" by creating a causal loop where he sends Dean "back" in time causing the events to unfold as they did precisely because Dean was there.

In the episode "In the beginning" Cas sends Dean to the 70s saying he needs to stop "it" and that time is fluid and angels can bend it on occasion even if it's not simple. Then we have this dialogue:

Dean: Alright, if I do this, then the family curse breaks, right? Mom and Dad live happily ever after, and – and, Sam and I grow up playing little league and chasing tail? Castiel: You realize, if you do alter the future, your father, you, Sam – you'll never become hunters. And all those people you saved, they'll die. Dean: I realize. Castiel: And you don't care? Dean: Oh, I care. I care a lot, but these are my parents. I'm not gonna let them die again. I can't. No, not if I can stop it.

There are too many "ifs" in this dialogue. So can the future be altered or not? Is time fluid and can be bent or not? It seems the answer to these questions is yes but let's see what happens next.

Castiel has Dean under the impression that if he manages to stop "it", the family curse breaks and Dean very much wants it to be broken even at the expense of the people that he has saved. But the more Dean tries to stop "it", the more he makes it happen. He goes to that farm to kill the demon and Mary follows him there. She was not on Azazel's radar because we hear him say this:

"Where the hell have they been hiding you?"

And I wonder who this "they" is.

Then, after all the drama, Cas goes to Dean and tells him not to feel bad because he couldn't have stopped it and he just wanted Dean to see the truth. This is when he says this:

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination."

And that now Dean knows everything that "we" (the angels, according to Castiel) know.

Therefore, the answer to those questions and to all those "ifs" is a big fat no, right? Right?! The future cannot be altered and time is not fluid, well, that is, humans cannot alter the future and for humans time is not fluid. The angels spend a considerable amount of power to make humans believe so and I wonder why if all they, the angels, want is The End of Time, therefore they don't care about the future because they know (or they think they do) that time will inevitably end. Maybe they are not so sure after all. It seems to me that for creatures who are able to bend time and move through dimensions, angels ridiculously depend on humans' notion of time. Which, in turn, make them very powerless.

The episode ends with this dialogue which is insane to me:

Castiel: We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why – what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up. Dean: Where's Sam? Castiel: 425 Waterman. You brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will.

There's something that doesn't add up AT ALL, or am I crazy? If destiny can't be changed and Dean couldn't stop it from happening and all roads lead to the same destination then why does Dean need to go to the destination of 425 Waterman to stop his brother from doing something that supposedly nobody (actually "we" who are, again, the angels according to Castiel before he knew the truth) really knows where it might lead while it was established that Dean can't stop jack shit and, on the contrary, the more he does, the more he's dooming himself and his family in the process? (okay that was a veeeery long question, you can breathe now).

Is it "destiny" that can't be changed or is it the past? 'Cause they either are the same thing or they're not. If destiny is the past then the question of free will changes significantly because time for the angels is fluid and they can bend it on occasion but it's not fluid for humans. If destiny=past and it can't be changed then all humans are left with is the capacity to accept it as it is, it's the only way to break "the curse".

If destiny and past are not the same thing, then why Dean couldn't change the past? If destiny is destiny and the past is the past, it shouldn't matter if the past is changed or not, should it? Because eventually destiny can't be changed and all roads lead to the same destination. And since this "destiny" can't be changed and Dean indeed didn't alter the future it therefore means that it was exactly what Dean did that helped cause the events in the past. What would have happened if Castiel hadn't made Dean think that he could have broken the family curse? If all Dean did in the 70s was walking around enjoying the view? Would the events still unfold as they did or not? Would it have been necessary for Michael himself to sweep in and "save the day" like he had to in "The Song Remains the Same"?

If this is the case, if Castiel acted as a sort of "agent of fate", then no wonder it's Castiel who must tear up the script by showing up in the story unannounced because he was the primary instrument that caused the story to happen in the first place. He cannot break the causal cycle because he is the cause. By showing up at Chuck's house and start making it up as he goes the loop is left to itself and will forever be happening while, in the "future", he helps events deviate from their supposed "destination". In this light, then, what Chuck says in s15 might be true, there might be other timelines where Cas does what he's told, i.e. keeping the timeline intact but it's not happening in "our" (the one we the audience see) timeline because it's a new branch that he himself has created to break from the impossibility of changing the "destiny", whatever it means, of that specific timeline.

I'm not sure if I'm making any sense but, like, time travels in SPN are insanely fun because they don't follow any consistency at all and are therefore interesting if you like to follow the thread and see what they might have gone if thoroughly explored.

[popodoki]

Hey, teacher! Aka my damn motorcycle Catwin AU! Part 2! Cause I'm easily swayed x

In this AU, Edwin is a school teacher, and Thomas owns a really cool motorcycle :'')

I think its pretty clear, but just for the record: I am taking various liberties with characters etc here

I also know nothing about astrology, friends x

Edwin sighs as he looks over the latest batch of exam scores from his class.  High grades from his studious pupils as usual, lower grades from the boys who were almost equally as bright, but didn't put forth the effort. A long-standing issue, one the school board doesn’t seem half as concerned with as he is. Now alone in his classroom, Edwin hears the final bell, the ensuing floor-shaking exodus of students to the open air. He leans back in his seat, vowing to try to come up with some sort of solution to this problem later.   

He packs some essays to read, homework that still need to be graded, into his briefcase, retrieves his coat from the rack in the corner on the way to the door.  He very much needs a nice cup of coffee. 

"Hey, Mister Edwin!" A loud shout echoes from the end of the hallway, and Edwin frowns, to himself, turning to face the student that the other teachers have affectionately likened to a bird.   

"Mr. Finch, I have repeatedly told you to call me Mr. Payne. Not to refer to me by my first name, and especially not within the school grounds." 

The teen has the grace to look apologetic, yet in pure young-spirited fashion, physically shrugs off the comment just a moment later. “I’m sorry Mr. Payne. But I have good news for you!  Check it out!"  The young man pulls a thick book out of his shoulder bag, flips it open to a page, bookmarked with a grey and blue checkered bit of laminated paper, thrusts the turned book and open page at Edwin, near bouncing with anticipation.  Edwin bends his head and glances, inspects the writing, charts and scribbles. It's a large astrology analysis.  On the top of the page, written in bold letters is 'Capricorn'. Below, Edwin skims through a far too large amount of text, even for an avid reader, and regrettably still unwillingly picks up phrases such as ‘You’re in the market for a partnership, and you might be pleasantly surprised, Capricorn.’, ‘Any existing relationship can deepen through dialogue.’ or ‘Saturn favours staying power, so look for a plus-one who’s in it for the long haul.’ Edwin skims faster, rereading the same few sentences to stall, making an estimate of a more natural seeming amount of time to read a prediction of his love life, from an astrology tome held up by a fifteen year old. 

Next to all of this utter tripe, is a note stating 'check star alignment!'   

Edwin can't help but smile, still, at the student’s obvious enthusiasm for the subject.     

"Isn't that great news?" Monty Finch asks him with an answering smile, "Not only does your horoscope predict it, but I did in fact check, of course, and the star alignment today is also very favourable.  Know what that means?" He adds in a conspiring, whispering tone. 

"You have a bit too much free time and need to be assigned more homework?" Edwin asks, with a hint of a smile still on his cheeks and a tilt of his head to accompany his teasing intention.   

The teen starts up his own analysis of the analysis, and Edwin knows if he doesn't put a stop to this conversation, Monty will keep talking, undeterred, for the next 20 minutes.  "Alright, well Mr. Finch, thank you for sharing your inspiring passion for astrology. Enjoy your weekend."  He pats the boy semi-affectionately on the shoulder, and brushes past him with long strides, beating a hasty retreat. 

"Trust in the stars, Mr. Payne!" 

Edwin tosses his brown leather shoulderbag into the passenger's seat of his car, pulls out of the school's parking lot, sighs deeply, rolls the windows down and lets the crisp air fill the car, rustle his hair.   

He passes the Allcott estate on his way into town, glances out the window at it as he passes, though he doesn't know what he expects to find. The outer gates are closed, locked, he can't really see past them, so he shrugs to himself, refocuses on the road.   

Port Townsend is one of the most affluent in the state. The people who live here have money, and they like to show it off. The school Edwin works for is a private, all-boys school that prides itself on how many of its students move on to acclaimed universities and careers pre-planned by either doting or detached parents. The houses are beautiful and scenic, most of the people are shallow and nosy.    

Edwin pulls to a stop when he finds a good parking space, a few blocks away from his favourite coffee shop. It's small, locally owned, and one of Edwin's favourite things to do is order one of their dark roasts, with a scone, that is decidedly nothing at all like a bisquit, and settle in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window while he grades papers.   

When the little bell above the door softly chimes as he walks in, he's happy to see that his favourite barista is behind the counter, studiously arranging the pastries.  "Hi Edwin!"  She chirps, and immediately sets to the task of hand-grinding the beans for his coffee.   

“Hello, Niko, good afternoon.” Edwin smiles at her and looks for a seat, settling in with a cursory glance through the window. The smile falls from his face.   

He's utterly confused, instead, looks around to see if anyone has noticed that this is happening, or if he's just imagining it. A little shake of his head doesn’t clear the vision; the sleek black and brown motorcycle parked next to the curb across from the café. The man sitting on the bench near it in the lightest definition of the word ‘sitting’, limbs spread akimbo across the furniture, head lolled back against the backrest.  

"Quite weird, right?  I gave him a cup of coffee to go, and then he didn’t actually go. He pretty much fell right to sleep on that bench. I don’t think that’s a good position to sleep in.  But, he looked so tired I don't have the heart to disturb him. And nobody has passed that bench, the bike is turned off and parked legally, so I don't think anyone minds. Have you ever seen a bike like that? I like his jacket, so cool!" Niko smiles, retrieves his scone and reaches for a mug just as the coffee finishes brewing. Edwin thanks her, but holds up a hand, silently asking her to wait as he chooses another corner of the coffee shop, making sure he can keep the bench and its occupant in his line of vision, though he can't pin down exactly why.  

Probably just the novelty of it all. Port Townsend was a town steeped in tradition, both in values and a clockwork year-round schedule. The town council kept everything pretty, decent, and calm. If Edwin was completely honest with himself, it was the reason he settled here.   

He's interrupted from his wandering thoughts, when the sound of several high-pitched voices, barely audible over the loud clacking chorus of stiletto heels on well-maintained concrete reaches his ears. 

Oh no. This is going to go really bad, really fast. 

Edwin is out of his seat, ignoring Niko’s questioning little “Edwin?”, and heading for the door before he’s even consciously considered the decision. As soon as he’s greeted by the warm air outside, he’s also greeted by the sight of one Esther Finch, and several members of the Homeowner’s Association. When that calculating gaze locks on Edwin, and stays so, Edwin spares a thought, a quick mental note, that Monty must have been wrong about the star alignment. He does not feel particularly pleasantly surprised, at all.  

[aida-sparks]

To 9-1-1: Just Take One REAL Step Toward Buddie. See What Happens.

Hello fellow 9-1-1 buddie fans! I've been mulling over season 7 and a topic close to our hearts: the possibility of buddie sailing into full-on canon territory. We've heard people say the show can't give us buddie, using the unfortunate reason that it's because the larger general audience doesn't "see" buddie as a thing. That while the buddie fandom is huge, it doesn't compare to the size of the overall viewing audience, most of which don't even engage online in the fandom and might not know about the potential of buddie as a ship.

So that's the reason we may only ever get a love story that's written entirely in the subtext of the show? No, that's not good enough. I want to believe this show of ours is daring enough to let the general audience in on things and let them make up their own minds on the matter. Give the idea of buddie canon a fighting chance. Sure, the subtle nods and secret messages woven into the show might be crystal clear to us. But casual viewers probably don't pick up on those messages nestled in the nooks and cracks where buddie has been written up till now. We need to aim for more than subtext. And definitely don't settle for that color theory. If we are to get anywhere, we need to see them start spelling it out with explicit dialogue and storyline moments for the entire audience to interpret on their own.

By this season's end, the show needs to step out of the carefully crafted, unspoken undertones they always give buddie fans, and instead they need to explicitly spell out to the casual viewing audience, 'Hey there's a strong potential that Buck and Eddie might just be more than buddies (no pun intended). It has to be well done with clear hints leading up to it, of course, not just something in a single scene that's dropped on the casual viewers' heads like a piano. But it's more than possible to do, especially using flashbacks to buddie scenes and stolen glances throughout the seasons. Think about it. Eddie wrote Buck (and Buck alone) into his will; that's no small gesture! They can weave and layer these past moments into a current storyline, building up to a revelation from Buck and/or Eddie that feels like a "Whoa!" moment for all viewers (not just the buddie shippers), like, "I didn't see it before, but it makes sense. I can see those two as something more now."

And there are many different paths the show can take to get Buck and/or Eddie to this revelation. (I have my own idea of how it might go. The options are as diverse as all our fandom theories.) But how they get there isn't the important piece. What matters is that the possibility of something potentially happening between Buck and Eddie is CRYSTAL CLEAR in the narrative! Actually written into the dialogue and storyline, in a plausible way.

The show doesn't even have to commit buddie-end-game. They just have to give them a fighting chance by putting the possibility of it out there in the plain light of day, in front of the entire audience and see how it sticks. They could shift course in future storylines if it doesn't go over well, but my honest guess is that a majority wouldn't mind buddie becoming canon at all once they're exposed to it, especially if it was written/produced well; Oliver's and Ryan's on-fire chemistry is already there to carry it through. Many would come to root for buddie, especially over another new love interest introduced so late in the series that can't match all we've seen Buck and Eddie build together. Some viewers might not care one way or the other; they might just be in for the crazy emergencies each week. So then if we the remove this perception that buddie canon would not take well with general audience, what else is stopping it? I can't think of anything.... full steam ahead!

Now, am I prepared for the heartbreaking possibility that buddie might never go full canon in the sense we hope? That we may only ever get a love story buried in the subtext, if that's the best the show is allowed to give us? Sure, but it's much harder and so unfulfilling to come to terms with that outcome if the show never gives them a real chance at it in the first place.

This long ramble is all simply to say that I'm not demanding that buddie become canon. I'm asking that the possibility of it becomes canon.

If nothing else, it would take the "delusional" and "clown" stigmas off of buddie shippers' shoulders because addressing the potential of buddie in the show tells the audience that hey, maybe there could be something there; they didn't just "see things that weren't there". I don't see this as such a heavy thing to ask for. Please let this make sense to everyone. It does in my head. lol.

[resowrites]

Growing Pains - oneshot.

Summary: Henry does his best to reassure his pregnant wife about her changing body…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, nondescript OC body type/appearance, some talk of body image issues, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 1320

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Growing Pains - oneshot.

"Are these scales broken?" Her voice echoed from the bathroom, causing Henry to look up from the book he was reading.

"No, why?"

"It says I've gained three pounds!"

"… So?"

"What do you mean 'so?'" He blinked, unsure of the correct response.

"Well… you're pregnant. Surely you expected to start gaining a bit of weight?" Her mouth dropped open.

"Three pounds is hardly a 'bit' of weight, I'm not even out of the first trimester!" She harrumphed and began stepping on and off the scale.

"Careful, you'll break them."

"Why, cos now I've gotten so fat?!" She snapped.

"Okay, this is obviously gunna be a long one," Henry muttered as he temporarily closed his book.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Ollie, I don't know what you expect me to say, just try turning them on and off again." She began fiddling with the underside of the scales, though a much deeper frown appeared on her face.

"Now it says 'error,' oh God, am I so big I've busted them?"

"No, now come to bed."

"What happened to the manual scales you had?"

"I dunno, all we've got is the kitchen scales--"

"And how am I expected to use them?!"

"Well, I suppose you could always weigh yourself bit by bit and then add up the numbers?" He could see her nostrils flare. "Or I could fill the bath to the brim and measure the volume of water spilled--"

"Carry on matey and I will drown you in that bloody bathtub!"

"See? You don't want my ideas you just want to mean. Well, I'll bid you goodnight, madam." Henry then turned over to go to sleep.

"Oh no you don't!" She ripped back the bed covers.

"You know those scales probably are broken, you must have burned a good two hundred calories just this last half an hour having a go at me--"

"Oh shut up!"

"Why?! All I've done is try and help you!"

"No, you haven't, you've just been a little turd as per usual."

"Well then stop being ridiculous and come to bed, you look fine."

"Just fine?!" He sighed.

"Ravishing, exquisite, magnificent… now come to bed." She stepped off the scales a final time and turned to look at Henry pleadingly.

"Darling, I need you to be honest."

"Uh oh…"

"Is my arse the size of Japan?" He struggled not to laugh.

"… Which part?" She huffed and threw a toilet roll at Henry. "Oh come on, you were begging for that! If you're that concerned about your arse, come over here and let me get a good look at it…"

"I think not, pervert. God, I can't believe I've put on so much weight, at this rate I'll have a backside a hundred miles wide by the end of my pregnancy!"

"That's about the size of Osaka isn't it?"

"Henry, this is not a joke!"

"Well, are you sure you weren't three pounds heavier beforehand?"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?!"

"Calm down, I was only trying to help! You look beautiful Ollie, always have, always will." But she wasn't listening.

"Perhaps the weight's gone to my chest, do my boobs look bigger?"

"How would I know? You won't rest them on my face for me to be able to tell." That time she threw a towel at him. "Will you please stop chucking the contents of our bathroom at me?!"

"No, I will not. Now answer me, do my boobs look bigger?"

"I dunno, stand to the side--"

"HENRY I AM LOSING MY SODDING PATIENCE!"

"Well, what a bloody surprise! Anyway, you don't want reassurance you just want someone to be mad at. It's not my fault you're pregnant!"

"Oh no, then whose fault is it? Our Amazon driver?"

"Oh that reminds me, did my protein powder come today--"

"HENRY!"

"Alright, alright. And if you're looking for tampons to throw they're on the second shelf in the bathroom cabinet." She then got so mad she slammed the bathroom door, causing Henry to giggle. "Do you want me to bring in your pillow so you can be comfier?"

"Fuck off."

"Suit yourself. I wouldn't sleep in the bath though, it'll make your snoring echo." She unexpectedly opened the door.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overreact. Come here…" She held out her arms for a hug and he darted out of bed, eager to oblige. But without warning, she shoved Henry into the bathroom and locked the door.

"What… what are you doing? Ollie?! Let me out!"

"No, I don't think I will. Goodnight Henry, if you get cold wrap yourself in the shower curtain--"

"Wait! I'm sorry okay?!"

"No, you're not, you were rude and unsupportive of your pregnant wife--"

"Yes, and I'm sorry--"

"Don't interrupt! You have to learn Henry, and if that means you spend the night in the bathroom, then so be it."

"Well at least let me say goodnight to the baby!"

"Nope, they're annoyed with you too."

"How can you tell?"

"Cos I've got heartburn--"

"Then let me out and I'll bring you up a cup of tea and Rennies--"

"Nope, not good enough." He wracked his brains.

"Alright then, how about a foot rub?" She considered it for a moment. Henry seized his chance. "And you don't look bigger to me, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. I'd love you if you weighed a thousand pounds--"

"Are you trying to tell me I look ginormous?!" He swallowed hard.

"No! Just that I don't care what happens either way. I love you, darling - big arse or small." Henry could practically feel her anger radiating toward him. She then became eerily quiet and he half expected an axe to crash through the bathroom door. "Ollie? Is everything okay? Can you open the door? I'm not sure I locked all the knives away in the kitchen…" But what Henry heard in response sounded like whimpering. She was crying. His heart lept into his throat. "Ollie, let me out, please. Ollie? Oh, darling… I'm sorry, okay? There's no need to get upset, I was just joking! You know I never know what to say, I'm a man, alright? Stupidity is second nature to us… Ollie? Just open the door so I can see you're alright." Reluctantly she agreed and the look on her face made Henry's stomach drop. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "Now, you listen to me. You're growing a human life. It's messy, difficult, and yes, your body's going to change. But it's the last thing I want you to worry about--"

"But what if you won't find me attractive anymore!" She wailed.

"Don't be daft--"

"Henry, stop acting like we're a regular couple. You could have anyone--"

"Stop right there. I chose you to be my wife for a reason. And no, it wasn't just the sex," she rolled her eyes. "Now, you and your lovely arse are going to get into this bed so it can be appreciated in all its glory--" she quickly dashed to the wardrobe, removing something Henry could only get a glimpse of. When he saw what she put on, he burst out laughing. "I didn't know they were remaking Little House on the Prairie!" She threw an alarm clock at Henry though he managed to catch it one-handed.

"Stop it! You said I was attractive no matter what!"

"Yeah, but there's a limit! Did my mum loan you that?" He pointed up and down at the long, cotton nightie.

"No, she did not! And if you don't mind, I'm already feeling self-conscious!"

"Well, there's no need to wear a potato sack! Hang on, I think I've got some long johns I can put on…" She threw up her hands in defeat and swiftly removed the nightdress. Henry let out a low whistle. "Much better! Come here, you…" She giggled as he chased her into bed.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 35 - HUMOR

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: kellifer_fic

kellifer_fic wrote some of my favorite fics in this fandom, period. Their voices for the Avengers are all immaculate, and their way of writing dialogue is nothing short of incredible. It's even funnier than Marvel canon sometimes, and that's a feat that not many can pull off. I adore their fics, and if I could rec every single thing they've ever written here, I would. But alas, I'll restrain myself to some of my favorites.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

jealousy is all the fun you think they had

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 3,887 Tags: Jealousy, Bucky Recovering, Fighting & Making Up

Summary: Is it socially acceptable to be jealous of your boyfriend's ex-dead best friend?

Reasons why I love it: This fic is equal parts hilarious and a glorious trainwreck of Tony self-sabotaging himself, which is very on brand for him. I love how nonchalant Bucky is about the whole thing, he truly is the best bro. And JARVIS is just the best, full stop. I adore this one, and if you haven't read it yet, you absolutely should!

Therapeutic Guidelines

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 8,357 Tags: Action Figures, UST, Team as Family

Summary: "Are you suggesting I get a bunch of bunk beds in here and squeeze us all into one room?" Tony scoffs and the woman just looks at him. "No, wait-"

Reasons why I love it: Doctor Barrow's role in this fic is actually kind of genius. I love the plot twist and everything leading up to it. There are so many funny moments, I can't even say which one is my favorite, but I especially enjoyed the team bonding. This fic is wonderful, and you should definitely read it!

99 problems (and the dice ain't one)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 10,784 Tags: Living Together, DnD, Resolved Sexual Tension

Summary: Tony's life is almost perfect. He lives in a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), has a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things and a regular Friday night campaign. If his best friend, Steve Rogers, hadn't moved away to New York and left him behind, then perfection would've been achieved. Tony can roll with the punches though and he's almost all the way over that little bump in the road (shut up Bruce, he totally is) when Steve moves back, looking taller and broader and more confident than ever and Tony's left with a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things, a regular Friday night campaign and the uncomfortable realization that maybe he's in love with his best friend and has been since he was sixteen.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, they're all such nerds, I love them! Tony the grumpy hermit is adorable, and I love how ass-backwards Steve and Tony are when it comes to their feelings. Plus, the team as family vibes in this are phenomenal. Definitely check this one out, it's fantastic!

even the cake was in tiers

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: NR Words: 5,500 Tags: Accidental Marriage, Magic, Team Bonding

Summary: I'm pretty sure I'm married to Steve Rogers.

Reasons why I love it: Just the title of this fucking sent me. The Tony sass is on another level in this one, and I'm enjoying every second of it. I love how Tony has a whole Ebenezer Scrooge moment about his life choices, and the ending is super cute. This fic is wonderful, and I hope you go and check it out for yourself!

one hundred percent skill, fifty percent luck

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 7,418 Tags: Poker, Pining, Kidnapping

Summary: Where there is a poker game, a v-card and general misunderstandings.

Reasons why I love it: I love how everyone on the team clearly understands what's happening, except for Tony. All of the poker night scenes are amazing, and I'm super impressed at how well this fic is balanced between humor and drama. I love it, and I bet you will too, so I hope you'll give this one a shot for yourself, if you haven't already!

[lucielmars]

it's anon from earlier! jjk has a shitty system written into the story and it affects the characters a lot (just like in real life!) and it's so worth noticing but, unfortunately, most viewers tend to look over it. I do agree that the exploitation is the core of their relationship. both recognize it yet react differently towards it which eventually leads to their separation.

I just can't stop thinking about your satosugu. I'm sorry for being redundant but I really mean it when I say I love how you wrote them, especially gojo—the bits of his childhood that helped shape his present self; the self-destructive, depressing things he does to himself bc of the burden of being gojo; the complexity of his relationship with geto and how he doesn't receive his comeback very well; the desire to just let himself fall and be taken care of; etc. god, I love it.

and there's also a LOT of lines that hit so hard, the narration and dialogue, you write it so well!

sincerely thank you for this fic, the even more tragic and complex portrayal of gojo and jujutsu kaisen as a whole is so important methinks<3

I have no idea what the ending will be, I'm pretty excited to find out :)

Thank you again 😊😊

I'll put a spoiler warning ⚠️ here in case someone hasn't caught up with the manga.

Yeah, the premise of this fic to me was like, "Wow, Gojo never falters he's actually so level-headed." And then I thought : but does he have a choice ? He's literally THE adult in the story. And since we read the manga from the kid's POV, it seems normal, but if you really think about it, most of these kids don't even have parents. He's the only person on their side. If he breaks, the kids are immediately all at risk.

I'm also fascinated, personally, with how he keeps pretending that he can beat Sukuna, even if he knows he most likely can't. Because what's the point of worrying those kids, who already have such shitty lives ? Same as right after he kills Geto and just keeps going.

So the idea of Suguru returning, someone who is also THE adult, in the sense that he shoulders everything and see things as they are, how could Gojo not collapse ? He finally can, Suguru encourages it because his whole relationship to Satoru is enabling him to get what he needs. It makes for such an interesting dynamic, also because Suguru realizes that although he thought he was being selfless shouldering Satoru's hatred, Gojo is so fucking lonely without him.

I think in any fic I could write about them, I wouldn't change that : if Suguru returned, Gojo would collapse a little, and that's a good thing for him, because the alternative is that he dies 🥺🥺

[justarandomlambblog]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 [END]

The second shackle comes off

Get adopted and feel loved, mangey cat

We're gonna pretend I didn't give Heket the wrong shaped crown aight? aught 👍

(explanation beneath the cut bc I didn't want dialogue)

The harvest comes. Narinder can't help but notice how sad the wheat fields are, the wheat growing small and patchy at best. He remembers how Heket would make the wheat fields flourish just by walking between the stalks. The memory of the fields she would create early in their godhood makes him feel somber, realizing now what the cost of being a godless land is; their entire lives are left to the limitations of the earth, without any god to help them thrive. These people are making the best of what they have, and they're happy even though it's not a lot.

Narinder notices some are harvesting wheat while others till the earth once it's been harvested, and the old dog explains that once this wheat is harvested they plant "winter wheat", which can be harvested in the spring before they plant their summer wheat. They till and fertilize the earth before planting the winter wheat, of course. Narinder tries his hand at harvesting the wheat, and the old dog begins to teach him how to use the sickle. Time passes.

Over the late summer, autumn and winter, Narinder learns how to live this provincial, modest life. He tills the fields with the other villagers, he sees feral beasts for the first time in over a thousand years, learns to collect eggs from said feral beasts, learns how and decides he doesn't like to collect milk (the godless lands have more feral beasts than the Lands of the Old Faith ever did), has finally regained enough strength to draw water from the village well without help, learns to bake bread (with great amounts of help so as to not waste the precious resources with the inevitable first fifty failures), and attends his first lantern festival. All in all, this marks his approach to his second year here, most of his first year spent indoors recovering. (His fur is also getting long, something something new me new hair something (totally not an excuse for me to draw hair))

At his first lantern festival, Narinder decides to partake in what is usually a coming of age tradition for the village; he gets an ear piercing, choosing a symbol that will essentially act as his written name. He chooses a symbol that is a crescent moon inside of a sun, thinking of Aym and Baal when he sees it. (Note: He is not scared/nervous about the ear piercing, he isn't bothered by a literal pinprick of pain, but the fact that someone he barely knows is this close with a needle is what worries him)

Later on, days or even weeks later, the old dog gives him a chain with their individual symbols on it, with a loose chain hanging from the other side of Narinder's sun-and-moon charm. Narinder questions this and the old dog explains the symbolism behind the charms; two charms with a chain extending between them indicates marriage/partnership, and two charms with another charm on the chain between them indicates that couple's child/children. The one Narinder has is the latter, with the second parent's charm missing, indicating that the old dog views Narinder as his own son, now. It takes a moment, but Narinder realizes all at once that this is the old dog's way of extending an invitation to become family- and it's been so long since Narinder had a family... (And yes, the old dog is fully aware that this cat is thousands of years old (Narinder was very vocal about this in the first weeks before he eventually stopped bringing it up), but that won't stop him from deciding he's gonna be this abandoned, fallen god's new family)

Narinder goes to sleep, and finds that despite everything- despite how simple and quaint and, frankly, not easy life in this little godless village is, he's happy. He has none of the luxuries that he had as a Bishop; no worship, no reverence, no servants, no silks or satins or veils or anything of the sort. Here he's just... one of the people. Just another face in the crowd. And he's happy. Happier than he's been in a long time. Unfortunately for Narinder, he is failing to realize that this godless village is a little less godless every day he's there. But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The village wakes up to their fields flourishing like they never have before. The wheat is taller than the tallest villager, and no one is really sure what to do about this, but there is excitement throughout the village. Narinder thinks of Heket again, reminded once more how she would make the fields come alive. The shackle on his left hand opens up before dispersing into light, and he remembers the way she looked at him in the days leading up to his imprisonment, the quiet and somber warnings she would give him. He takes a moment to grieve before turning his attention back to the present, back to the family he's creating now.