#I. how would I. that’s his name and also the series name.

[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow @travelingtwentysomething @shoujo-wizard @stripey82 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @cr0w-culture @notaqueenakhaleesi @bookworm0690 @r0seprincess @estrellami-1 @little-annie @dreamercec @tinyplanet95 @rawrx3ky-txt @bexinator3000 @justalittledrainbamage @scarletyeager @themoonagainstmers @yesdangerpls @mydysfunctionallife @maverickricky @silentiumdelirium @i-amthepizzaman @samsoble @foolishness-and-confusion @dragonmama76 @gregre369 @thewickedkat @lexr86 @martinskis-lydias

[whereispearlescentmoon]

My thoughts on Billy are this:

Pearl has no named pet in Last Life. She had a wolf army but only two survived with her to the final fight, she didn’t react very much when they died, and she never named any of them. She used them to great effect for killing, however, which is a lesson she would bring with her into DL. She did utilize them to help Ren kill Cleo, which… cycles and all that. “We want to kill Cleo and then we can reconnect the three Gs” lives in my head rent free. The only other pet she has is her two axolotls, which she does not name and both of which Joel kills.

I don’t know that Pearl has ever really connected to an animal the way she connected to Tilly because she hasn’t been alone since Double Life. Tilly was her lifeline because she was all Pearl had. She was her soulmate because no one else wanted her. She was the only living being who Pearl could rely on. And both times losing her were devastating to Pearl. The first time, it kicked off the Scarlet Pearl arc, and the second time it spurred on her rampage towards Impulse and Bdubs, and Cleo and Martyn. She had her wolf pack because when you can’t count on allies to fight beside you, to protect you and want you to live, you have to be able to count on something.

This is in contrast to every series since, where Pearl has largely kept her animals tucked away in her base and where her pets have been more important in the way they help her interact with other players than anything.

The first thing Pearl says to Froggy is, “I found you! Hello! This is gonna be my friend of the season, in animal form”, because she wanted to be prepared in case she was alone again. And then said “You are my love. If you die, I don’t know what I would do,” because again, she was thinking about what happened after Tilly’s first death. She was preparing to need animal companionship in lieu of players, but then she found BigB.

Froggy stayed at the bottom of that pit trap for the rest of the series if I remember correctly, and Pearl hardly ever moved her from that one corner of the tower even before that. Why? Because she had BigB to bounce off of, and because, frankly, cats just aren’t as useful as wolves in Minecraft. You don’t get a cat for protection, unless you’re really that scared of creepers. Pearl wanted a companion from Froggy, not a warrior. She didn’t want to risk losing something dear again, so when Froggy falls into the pit trap that kills Pearl, that she herself set, she leaves her at the bottom.

Mailbox and Matchbox were closer to the kind of companionship she had with some of the wolves in DL, but certainly not Tilly level. And again, she didn’t want to risk losing them, which is why they stayed tucked under her base near the skeleton farm. It’s why her main concern when the wither and the warden were out was to get three things underground: Matchbox, Mailbox, and Bdubs. She didn’t want to lose any of them.

However, the most important thing about her wolves in SL, to me, is how they affected her interactions with other players. For one, they were the catalyst for the “Pupper Alliance” with Cleo. Pearl doesn’t play the social game, so she often takes alliances in situations of when you can materially help each other, rather than out of friendliness. Needing bones to tame wolves gave her a material reason to ally with Cleo. It also meant that we got yet another Cleo and Pearl betrayal when Cleo killed some of Pearl’s wolves later on. The other is something Pearl actually said in her episode today. She knows how powerful a wolf army is, it’s a large part of how she won Doible Life. Which is why when it came down the wire, because she had no intentions of winning, she left Matchbox and Mailbox at home and sat down her wolves so they wouldn’t hurt Gem. That was Scar’s kill, his fight with Gem. It’s probably the most literal example of her wolves taking a backseat to her companionship with other players.

In Real Life, she was just doing it as a joke and because she wanted to pet a Minecraft wolf in VR (which I respect so hard) and thus I have no analysis lol.

As for this season, it seems like Pearl’s theme this whole season has been “trying to live up to what people think I am, even though I’m not that anymore”. It’s why it’s kind of funny that she keeps trying to do the cool Scarlet Pearl killer thing and failing miserably. And it’s why when she comes across the wolf in episode one, she goes out of her way to not only tame it, but name it something so close to Tilly (yes I know she was likely also playing into the Tilly Milly thing). But just like with Froggy and just like with Matchbox and Mailbox, her main priority is keeping them safe, not with using them to win. She doesn’t want to win, she’s here to have fun!

Losing Billy isn’t devastating to Pearl because, unlike in DL or LimL, she doesn’t really need the wolves for emotional support, and unlike in LL, DL, or SL, she had no intention of making a dog army because she has no intention of placing high. Pearl has literally said she wants to see a top four of people who haven’t made top four before (and Impulse lol), which as the only person who’s ever made top four in all of her seasons (4th, 1st, 4th, 2nd), is a pretty big tell. She was trying to keep him safe by not moving him, but like she said to Joel, everything dies in the Life Series.

I would also like to point out, Pearl has only ever named two of her pets entirely on her own, Matchbox and Milly. Martyn named Tilly because she had accidentally trampled some wheat (tilling, get it?) She named Froggy after the frogs that BigB had said were his family, because Froggy was hers. Mailbox, if I’m remembering, was a Bdubs idea. Matchbox was only named because Pearl kept accidentally calling Mailbox Matchbox so she decided to just name one of her other wolves. Milly was a joke that Pearl came up with. And Billy was Cleo’s suggestion. To quote Pearl when she found Froggy, “I don’t know what I’m gonna call you yet. We’ll find out. You know usually we kinda figure these things out when we go talk to somebody,”

[babybratzmaraj]

You Don’t Know My Name

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: Today was the start of your day which already wasnt worth a lick of shit, but what if someone changes that?

A/N i gave the nigga a full name, yall gone see, but SURPISEEE! @megamindsecretlair you clocked me and it is Mr Terry that was in the coming soon, hope you enjoyed yet another cameo in this series and i hope you like it!♥️ also @violetmuses ik i gave you this idea, but i stole it back and i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: Nothing, just pure cuteness and family time.

For Boosted Experience, Heres the Official Soundtrack. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2K7IeGXgQq7K16YP1Jb7yN?si=UCA3v7yZQieKWNRrBg0wdA&pi=u-4AXbUCgzR42u

Your eyes fluttered open at the annoyance of your alarm clock blaring in your ear, you looked over to see it was 7:45, 45 minutes past your time to get ready for work.

Over today already, you slammed your hand onto the clock, not giving a damn if the thing broke or not. You looked outside to see the sun’s beautiful attempt to wake the people of Earth, the vibrancy of the colors making you jealous that you have to work at 9:30 but choose to get up to prep for it.

You glanced in the mirror and almost gave yourself seven years of bad luck, The one time you take your braids out is the day you decide to get five more minutes of sleep, Luckily, you washed and blow-dried it the night before, so it shouldn’t give you a hassle, but your hair never agrees.

You turned off the alarm clock before the snooze timer exploded your eardrums, grabbing your phone to put on your get-ready-for-work playlist.

Summer by Kenya Vaun blasted through your pink headphones, enjoying the outside before heading to work which would take the whole song, but it was just a nice way to start today.

The vibrant colors scrambled away as the blues paraded throughout the sky, the clouds playing tag and creating little symbols and animals, you could stand still and watch the sky all day and not get bored, even the heart-shaped cloud winking down at you.

You approached your job with a fake smile, Westside Diner! Home of one of the best coney dogs in your opinion, the 1950’s 1950-inspired diner was filled with memorabilia from the past and fifties like decor, you admired how much time and effort was put into making the wonderful restaurant if only there was one for us black people.

You scurried across the street, smelling the breakfast scents that lingered out into the air and slapping you dead in your negro nostrils, envy filled your body towards the people who were enjoying themselves at this establishment.

Pushing open the door, the door suddenly became lighter, shooting your hands forward as you braced your fall, an arm flung around to catch you, a small ‘oof!’ flew from your mouth.

‘Please get off me, I’m finna clock out’ You said calmly in your head, closing your eyes to not see if there were any witnesses.

Your despair was vocal enough that a deep chuckle shook you straight, “No one saw it,” he said, low enough to be quiet as a church mouse. You turned around to see if the voice matched the face and whew!

This fine… Heaven sent of a man completely towering over you, he sported a brown sweater with khakis with black dress shoes with a gold buckle on the side, gold gracefully complementing his skin tone, and not too much gold to wear it drowns the color from his eyes, good lord his eyes! as ethereal as the sky.

“Alrighty buttercup,” you snapped your head around to see Ms. Olaynika, the manager and your third mother you have collected like a Pokemon. She snapped her fingers and hurried you, “It’s 8:54, Times’a ticking and food is ready to go in stomachs!” she finished before going back to her table like she didn’t just rush you, the professionality, you loved it.

“Thank you, hope you enjoy your day.” You thanked the man before scraming away from him.

“So you mean to tell me,” Your best friend Nicole stood there with a face with her arms crossed with her eyebrows scrunched up and away like her braids, “You had this fine ass man who saved you from embarrassment, held you for a long time, and had nice eyes?”

You smiled while rolling your eyes, “I just know that isn't what all you got from that.”

“No!” She tilted her head to the side as her voice went up an octave higher than normal, “I’m just saying I don't know how you standing right here talking to me instead of going downtown.”

“I wish, but I need a ‘you deserve it’ weekend, I’m tired of being cooped in the house.” you sighed walking up to the counter with Nicole trailing you. “I can’t have Mr. Bigshot to distract me.”

“You know that’s a damn lie,” she told you in a sing-songy voice, “You gone think about him all day and that's ok! You deserve that along with your ‘you deserve it weekend’.”

She was right, but you couldn’t let her know that she wouldn’t let you hear the end of it even after your shift. You checked the notebook to see whose section was where and when the time switch was. “And how do you know he finna be on my mind?” You asked without looking up from the notebook.

“Because he is currently, at your section, Have fun!”

You finally looked up from the scribbled on paper to see that he really was in your section, his glasses placed on the tip of his nose, his gaze fixated on the book, and he had a good pick! White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson, Your smile flipped inwards as you admired his taste in books.

You straighten your posture, checking if your shirt was ok and decent for the eyes to absorb. You pranced towards his booth with a smile on your face, clicking your pen to hide the fact that you were absolutely scared to talk to this man without your stuttering sneaking through the flaps of your mouth.

You stated your name with a smile and snuck glances at his book. He was at the part where Marigold was sneaking around her mom and her stepdad to make her very own weed farm, but it was destroyed by something or someone? Who the fuck knows, you never got to finish, maybe you can go to the library soon to catch up on it.

“Passionate reader huh?” He asked, noticing your desperate attempts to read along with him. You hid your smile behind your notepad, “You caught me, That is my favorite author, even though I only finished one book.”

“Really?” His eyebrows were hunched, sticking a napkin in place of a bookmark. “Yes! The book was called ‘Grown’. It was such a lovely book and-” You started to ramble about the book but you’ve realized, you don’t get paid for sharing interests, you get paid for working.

“What would you like?”

“Oh, you can’t do that to me.” he covered his heart as if he was just insulted, “You can’t leave me like that, I wanted to hear about this book.”

“Maybe if we meet again, I do look better outside my work clothes,” you joked and he laughed, your toes spazzing out inside your black Nike huaraches, He laughed! And he had a nice one, a very cute one along with his ear-to-ear smile.

“Coffee, Please, and whatever food you think I would enjoy.”

“Ooooook.” You jotted down his order, “And how would you like your coffee?”

“Sweet, Like you.” he winked.

“Give me 5 minutes and I’ll be back with your coffee.”

It’s been 20 minutes since you last gave Mystery Man his meal. Since he let you be the judge of what he ate, you gave him one of your favorites at this diner! The Western Omelette with crispy hash browns on the side with a smiley face in ketchup. While waiting at other tables, you observed him nervously, scared that he might not like your selection of breakfast foods, that you put too much sugar and whipped cream in his coffee, which you also made a smiley face on as well, he had you anxious and you didn’t like it, he was a cute stranger after all.

After a while you sucked it up, shaking your jitters away as you walked up to his booth. “Everything alright with your order?”

“Mm!” He signaled you to wait for a little minute as he took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he gently set the mug down, “I loved it, the hash browns may be my new favorite here.”

You felt relieved, your muscles that you didn’t even know were tensed eased, “I’m glad I can make your morning better! Would you like anything else?”

“Uh, A To-Go Box and a Fruit Punch To-Go please.” He smiled, grabbing a napkin to dab the sides of his mouth.

“I can start on the fruit punch and if you want, you can follow me to ring out your order.”

“No need,” he said, digging into his pocket and handing you his black card. This nigga is fancy.

You looked at the card almost dumbfounded. You never really saw a black card, only heard about it from Fabolous and movies and shit, but never seen it in person.

You carefully grabbed his card from his hands, “I’ll be back.”

You walked away and checked on your other table that wanted your attention before him. Making sure everyone was ok with their needs met, you walked to the cash register, punching in his food and coffee, sneaking a peek at the name on the card, Terrance Richmond. A sophisticated name for a sophisticated man, a wonderful sight to see.

You slid the card with the receipt into your waist apron as you asked one of your co-workers to ring in a new customer while you started on his fruit punch with light ice. The fruit punch here was delicious and it didn’t need to be watered down with hella ice.

Swiftly grabbing a To-Go box on your way out, you happily waddled towards Terry’s table. “Your Box, Punch and,” You dragged your last word as you pulled out his card and receipt out the apron, “Card, Mr. Richmond.”

“Oh! I see you snuck a peek for my name, it's only right I know your full one.” he teased you as he examined the paper.

“I don’t get paid for that, I get paid to service you.” you teased back as you can only hope you get to do that for free.

You gave him your pen and pointed to the line below the total, “Since you did pay with card, You need to sign here, for fraud protection purposes. While you do that, I shall be back with your copy.”

He silently thanked you, his smile growing wider and more innocent. You looked around and made eye contact with Nicole, making matching faces as you two met at the counter.

“Sooooo,” she started, “How’s Tall, Black, and Lightskin?” she asked as you covered your mouth, silently howling in the semi-busy environment around you two. “He has a name, it’s Terrance.”

“I’m not calling him that long ass name!” she huffed as she rang in her customer's order, “That nigga name will be Mr. Pretty Eyes.”

“Terrance too long of a name but Mr. Pretty Eyes is just right? Kinda backwards shit is that Yoda?”

“Care about that shit, I do not!” she perfectly said in Yoda, causing you both to snicker, tapping each other on the shoulder. “Plus must I remind you of that alien ass nigga you had a crush on in 6th-”

“Eugh!” You verbally voiced your displeasure with yourself, his face just flashing into your head. “We don’t speak about that vermin.”

Nicole threw her hands up, taking a pen from the clean cup to scratch her head full of braids. “Aw, Shit. I gave him my pen.” you reminded yourself scooting past her to go to his booth but he was long gone, all that was left was his fruit punch, your pen, and a 50 dollar bill. The writing on the cup said ‘Enjoy Yourself:)’. You looked around for his silhouette, but he was long gone, you smiled at his nice gesture of leaving you a fruit punch.

What a way to start off your morning.

Home, 8 pm,

You closed your eyes as your bed welcomed you back into its arms, the savory smell of chili floating around in your room.

You finished your shift with ease after your little encounter with that man. That’s rude, his name is Terry, Terrance, but permanently Terry. You have got to stop beating yourself up over something small.

But it wasn’t small, everything that flowed off that man was so intoxicating, a mystery in a good book or show that you just want to solve, but not so quickly, you needed some fun in your life.

After your shift, You and Nicole walked to your house to talk for a few and according to her, you were a daydreamer. Every few minutes or so, you would zone out, even her calling you Buttercup didn’t snap you out, and that’s close to an army vet being awoken by ‘At Ease’.

You denied it but you definitely were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about how his reading voice is, Was he gentle? Was he passionate? Would he carefully rub the pages before turning? Does he lick his index to turn it? Many outcomes, Many Possibilities.

A tickling sensation jolted you out of your trance, your eyes zapping to the culprit, which was your grandmother, “I’ve been yelling your name Cupcake!” she sarcastically smiled, waving the clean black spoon around like a mad woman.

“Sorry Mama Moonie,” You bounced to your feet, grabbing your phone off the bed before extending your arms towards her.

“Yeah, Yeah. When we get to this table you gone tell me what boy got my baby acting like she’s Tiana.” she pointed the spoon in your face, giving you an up-down before she walked away leaving you speechless. “Who said it was a boy!”

You trailed behind her as she grabbed two navy blue bowls out of the cabinet, peering at you like you must’ve forgotten who she was.

“Cupcake lemme tell ya,” she started, ready to tell you information you already knew by saying:

“I have been on this earth for 63 long ass years, that's 6 decades’ worth of knowledge compared to the few you have. You don’t think I have had those experiences where a man would have me ina spell! His aura haunts you in a way that makes you paralyzed, the masculinity he possesses within himself, and to not be an asshole in the same breath. I could go all day but you don’t wanna hear about my pussy being wet.”

“MOONIES!” you yelled as she started howling, your body shuddering at the thought of- That! But she is always so blunt in everything she does, you have no choice but to love it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, swatting her laughter away, “But I’m saying, I’ve been there, so you might as well spill that tea before I clock that tea.” she finished, hitting the spoon on the pot before turning around with two full bowls of chili as she headed to the table.

“I have got to get you off of instagram reels,” you said aloud, popping the top on the pot and running water on the spoon before placing it over a towel to dry. turning around to see her shimmy into her way into the dark oak dining chair, her hands await yours.

“Let me grab crackers, I’ll join in a second.” you hurriedly opened the cabinet to grab the open box of ritz crackers, your feet shuffling to the left and the right before shimmying yourself into your seat, setting your crackers next to your bowl as you joined hands with Mama Moonies as you bowed for prayers.

“Lord I thank you for returning us to our safe and humble domain, may the food we are about to eat gives us the nutrients we need and the energy to finish our day strong, Lord I ask you for anything we don’t feel like talking about, to be in your hands, bless us with what we need, rid us of what we don’t. Lord, I also ask you to let our questions that need to be answered, be the answers that keep us sane. In Jesus name, Amen.”

The prayer ended and the tea quickly began to be spilled. You told Mama Moonies about everything, the one thing you loved about dinner time in this house, it was a time of love and happiness to be spilled around, with a lil bit of judgment here and there, but all harmless.

You told her about how the man basically saved you from embarrassment, wanted to know more about you, even made you get your own drink with a tip and a message, even telling her how you hoped he would become a regular. Her face stuck on a smirk as she downed her chilli. “Oh what Mama!” you exclaimed after having enough of her looks and giggles from time to time.

“Seems like you have a crush.”

“That I don’t!” Yes you did.

“You definitely do, and I don’t blame you, because you are either that or delusional, and my baby ain't that bullshit!” Welllllll.

“That man looks nice, is nice and the pockets right, of course I’m not saying you should go for his pockets, that would be wrong. But go for your heart child, open yourself, be free!” Moonies smiled as her arms expanded as big as the galaxy she was imagining, her wrinkled hand resting peacefully on yours, rubbing your knuckles with tender care. “I know you are shy, but it’s time to let it be known that you are here! be known that you deserve love and hey! God will bless you with a man, or that man. And hopefully, he packing.” Moonie's bluntness slipped out at the end, filling the room with belly laughter.

As the laughter died down, so did the food, bellies protruding out of their correct spots. “I’ll clean up, you go take a shower and enjoy your evening.” Moonies pat your hand, swiftly taking your bowl without your knowledge.

“You don’t have to!” You protest but she shot through your sign with a glare that will make a christian do Satan's stare. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I shall see you in da murrning!”

You blew a kiss towards her direction, pushing yourself up as itis started to race with your energy, and your energy was losing, but at least you can spend what you have left daydreaming about Mr. Richmond, something tells you that wasn’t your last time seeing him.

You Got Mail!: @megamindsecretlair @thecapodomme @harmshake @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @yaachtynoboat711 @miyuhpapayuh @nayaxwrites @planetblaque @darqchilddaydreamz @henneseyhoe @slippinninque

[yuurei20]

I see you mention Magical Archives a lot. Is that like an official artbook? Can I get it in English somewhere?

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been hoping to write about this for weeks 🥳

The Magical Archives Game Guide vol. 1 (full name: 『ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド』公式ガイド＋設定資料集 Magical Archives ) is maybe the single-most informative Twisted Wonderland resource available!

It includes a huge amount of extremely detailed information, from gameplay to the characters to early-stage development illustrations to a multi-page interview with Toboso Yana herself, only one of two that she has ever given on Twisted Wonderland.

While it may be described as an artbook it is also much, much more, and if you are only capable of purchasing one piece of Twst merchandise in your life, it is absolutely the #1 thing I would recommend.

First published in 2020 it is still available for purchase from outlets such as Square Enix's Online Store, Amazon, Rakuten, Animate and more.

It is not currently available in English, but for a brief while Aniplex USA was releasing "Player Guides" for free via social media:

These were multi-page PDFs that were, visually, quite similar to the first 1/3rd of the Magical Archives game guide, but with updated gameplay information.

These game-guide-inspired PDFs combined with how out of date the gameplay information in the original guide has since become makes me wonder if maybe there not are any plans for any official translation of the original Magical Archives :<

There has since been a second volume of the Magical Archives released (in September 2024), but it is not quite as detailed as its predecessor, including gameplay information and a huge library of game sprites but very few sketches from Yana and no interviews.

On the subject of translated art books, there actually is an official English-language book being released in December!

While its English-language title is "The Official Artbook," this is actually one of four books of a series called "Visual Books!"

Much like the magical archives the first volume is the most detailed, including pre-colored base art and the occasional messages from Yana to the colorist (re: a comment that there is no need to put any light in Rook's eyes for his labwear vignette groovy ww).

The Visual Book Series is not really comparable to the Magical Archives, consisting of pre- and post-groovy card art.

The "Design Note" might be the closest to the usual definition of "artbook," consisting of insight into event outfits worn by various characters and even including a few sketches of unused designs.

Unlike the Magical Archives, however, there are no behind-the-scenes notes such as "He has a black-hearted side, so he may laugh with a hint of that often" (about Trey) and "He has vertically-slit pupils that become round in dark places" (about Leona), which can only be found in the game guide.

There are also volumes 1 and 2 of the Art Gallery! These are collections of artwork by artists that are unaffiliated with Twisted Wonderland, depicting Twst's characters, much like Square-Enix-branded fan art (no contribution from Yana involved).

Lastly, there are the fanbooks! Contrary to their titles they do not consist of any fan-made content.

Volume 1 of the Fanbook mostly consists of character/story overview, but it also has some fascinating etymology information and exclusive interviews with several members of the voice cast!

The second fanbook focuses moreso on events, and also includes detailed recipes of Master Chef cuisine, a report on the since-concluded Twisted Wonderland Exhibition, a look into a Twst-themed hotel room in Tokyo Disneyland's Ambassador Hotel, and more.

And a third fanbook was just recently listed 🥳 (Amazon link), said to include event, card and story content from the 2nd to the 4th anniversaries.

I hope this helps! ^^

[zepskies]

Ahaha that is a great gif @lamentationsofalonelypotato! Diving into the rest of your lovely comments...

I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏

I was also sad to get to the end, but tbh I still had ideas even after writing the ending. So you might be on to something there with a little Elijah... 😘

I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.

It's bittersweet, isn't it? 🥲 On the one hand, bonding. On the other hand, it's a memory of everything Dean's left behind.

Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻

Hahaa I love her too!! 🥰 100% She's gotta protect her man, even if she's not totally sure he should be her man yet. 😝

Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!

Aw thank you so much!! I try my best to create meaningful story titles and chapter titles, and making room for those moments that reflect the major themes of the story. "Choice" is of course the biggest theme in this story, as it could be for every story--characters making decisions that push the story forward and help define their character.

I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.

LOL I love it!! I absolutely love the height difference thing too. 😏 I'd imagine the spooning is the best!

Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!

She said his name for the first time!! That moment after the river was probably my favorite scene to write, since it's the first time they truly explore their connection. 🥰

I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.

Ahaha don't be too scared! I'm all about happy endings, and I'm so glad you're loving their dynamic. 💜

Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭

Ughh right?? Dean is just a Good Man, no matter how much he doesn't see it in himself sometimes.

So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.

Ahaha I'm so glad you caught that! It was such a funny visual to me too, and I felt like it was something that would happen to Dean. 😂

This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂

Aww thank you. There are a lot of bittersweet moments in this, and this is one of them. But like you said, I felt it was important for them to have this moment where she acknowledges what he's done for her, as well as gauging if he holds any resentment. Of course, Dean doesn't regret his choice. 😉

Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️

Thank you very, very much my wonderful friend!! 😭 I'm too much of a hopeless romantic to have either Dean or Mila die. I researched into wedding customs for the Lakota people at this time, and apparently until Christianity reached their culture, they didn't have formal "weddings" in the sense that we know them today. It was more of, as long as the man got the blessing of the woman's father (and gave a nice gift), the couple would pair off and from then on live together as husband and wife.

Safe to say, Dean didn't get the chance to go about that custom lol, but there are other cultural elements I would want to explore in future chapters--along with them having a kid!! I LOVE the idea of Dean finding his role in the tribe by helping take care of/break in the horses. 💕💕

Thank you again so much for reading!

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Ben and Quinn's relationship continues to flourish, but an unexpected encounter threatens to throw a spanner in the works.

Chapter Word Count: 6.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

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The sun sat low behind the skyline, making the clouds blush, drenching everything in a gleaming golden hue. You sat with your legs crossed under the long table, laptop open in front of you as the conference room slowly filled with people, the murmur of conversation and scent of coffee drifting in with them. 

The chair beside you creaked and a hand quickly reached over to mash on your keyboard, forming a line of gibberish across the blank word document. You rolled your eyes, smacking the top of Nick’s hand before turning to him with an unamused glare. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Not like you to be the first one at a meeting.” 

“Mm, well I’ve been coming into the office to write. Been here all day,” you replied, sighing as you glanced back to the empty page on the screen. “Can’t focus at home. Too many distractions.”

“Tall, rich, handsome distractions…” 

“No,” you said bluntly, though there was a part of you that secretly agreed with him. “I just… If I try to write at home I just end up watching TV or falling asleep or… suddenly realising I haven’t seen my passport in a year and turning the place upside down to look for it.” 

“How’s it going?” 

“I found it, it was in an old makeup bag in my bathroom cabinet.” 

“Not the passport, dick head, the writing.” 

“Oh.” You sighed. “Well I had a few edits I needed to do for the gala article, then I wrote a listicle about moisturisers. Thrilling stuff.” 

He nodded. “You’re still fuming about your op ed, aren’t you.” 

“Yep.” 

Julia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large windows. You watched as she lowered the blinds, shielding the room from the bright evening sun as she began to speak. 

“Hello everyone,” she began, her tone cheerful yet commanding. “Thank you all for coming in. Just a quick one today to delegate some coverage pieces.” 

You placed your fingers on the keys of your laptop, eyes fixed on her as she moved to the head of the table, Leo McGrath’s advice still ringing in your ears. 

“Let’s see,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking through a folder in front of her. “I need someone to cover an exhibition at the London Fashion and Textile museum this Friday-”

“I’ll do it,” you said. 

She arched her brow sceptically, before shaking it away and scrawling your name down with her pen. “Okay great. Then we also have a launch party for Roe - some influencer’s new makeup brand apparently-”

“I’ll do that too,” you said. 

A few of the other writers glanced at you in confusion, your willingness to volunteer so surprising that they couldn’t help but stare. 

“Okay…” said Julia suspiciously. “And Draft’s been invited to a Q&A for-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“Quinn, you haven’t even heard what it is yet,” she said, holding back the urge to snap at you. 

You heard Nick chuckling quietly to himself. You ignored it and gave a shrug. 

“Just… feel like taking on more work, that’s all,” you said. 

“Right, well the beauty launch and the Q&A are on the same night,” she replied. “One in Chelsea and one in Mayfair. So are you planning to teleport between them?” 

A murmur of reserved laughter rippled around the table. 

“Fine, well someone else can do the Q&A,” you said. “Or, y’know, I’ll figure out the teleportation thing.” 

Julia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to someone else. 

“You’re going to send her into early retirement,” Nick whispered to you. 

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m an editorial assistant’s worst nightmare.” 

You returned to your desk after the meeting, scrolling through pages of reviews to figure out which moisturiser would take the number one spot on your listicle. It was mind numbing, pointless, filling you with the temptation to find the worst rated cream and give it a glowing write up, just to mess with readers, see how many complaints you could rack up.

Your phone buzzed on the desk. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the glare of the computer screen before looking down at it, your mood immediately shifting to something less weary. 

Are you still in work? It read.

I am, you replied, catching a smile before it spread across your face. 

Are you almost done? 

I can be done whenever I want. Why?  

I’m outside the building.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you grimaced to yourself in embarrassment. Yet still you packed up quickly, shoving everything into your bag and rushing to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift.  

You stepped out onto the street, the air cold as it brushed across your skin, despite the glorious sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you glanced up and down the busy street, brow furrowed as you searched for him amongst the sea of pedestrians. 

A familiar black car sat idled further up the road, wheels bumped up on the kerb, tinted windows shrouding the driver in darkness. You made your way over to it, peering down as the passenger window lowered, just enough to reveal Ben smiling at you from the driver’s seat. 

“What’s this about?” you asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning, wanted to see you before I go,” he replied. 

You felt your cheeks warm as you stepped closer to the car, glancing around at the bustling street. “This was risky of you.” 

“Only if you don’t hurry up and get in.”

You slipped into the car and closed the door quickly, throwing your bag into the backseat as he began to drive. 

“I didn’t think you were leaving until Wednesday,” you said. 

He shook his head. “I got my days mixed up, it’s tomorrow.” 

Your lips curled into a pout, like a disappointed child. He glanced over at you and gave a soft laugh, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. 

“You know, there’s still time for you to change your mind and come with me,” he said. 

You exhaled a cynical laugh through your nose. “Yeah, I’ll just drop everything to follow you on your press tour.” 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “It would be nice to have you with me. Think about it; fancy hotels, big beds, deep bathtubs, me, completely at your disposal…” 

“Hm, tempting. But I have to work. Not all of us can just jet off whenever we feel like it.” 

He let out an exaggerated puff of air. “Who needs work? You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.” 

“Shut up.” You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “You don’t mean that.”

He chuckled. “I know I don’t. But in all seriousness though, it would be nice to have you with me. You could write on the plane.” 

“Stop it,” you laughed. “I’m not coming.” 

He pulled into the carpark of a hotel you’d always admired but never been inside. It was breathtaking, a blend of grand architecture and modern details; glass and stone, steel and marble. It was a place celebrities went for drinks or a private brunch without having to worry about mere mortals and prying eyes, a threshold you’d never held the status to cross. 

It felt bizarre to walk with him so openly, to stroll through the foyer side by side without fear of being spotted; no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, no nosy reporters. An employee led you into a lift, and you couldn’t help but flash a suspicious glare at Ben as you passed each floor, wondering how long he’d had all of this planned. 

You stepped out on the top floor, following behind Ben as he made polite smalltalk with the employee on the way to your room. You found yourself fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you went, as though the building itself was judging you; offended that you could walk its carpets in a pair of trainers, grace its corridors in some well-worn jeans and an old cardigan. 

When Ben opened the door to the suite, you felt your breath still for a moment. It was bigger than your entire flat; bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchenette and large, open living area. Beyond a set of glass doors was a private terrace. You stepped out into the fresh, cool air, taking in the London skyline as it wrapped around the entire balcony. 

The terrace was framed with warm, glowing lights and draping greenery, the city like a glittering tapestry as the sun began to disappear below the horizon. A table stood in the centre, a bottle of champagne resting inside an ice bucket beside it. 

You turned to Ben. “This is… subtle.” 

He smirked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. "You like it."

“Says who?” you teased, brushing past him to lean your elbows on the railing, taking in the view. 

He followed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently back against him. “Me.”

Your mouth twitched with a smile. “If this is all a ploy to make me say it back…”

“You think I brought you here to trick you into saying you love me?” he asked, his tone soft yet playful, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t need to hear it, Quinn, I already know you do.” 

The words made your stomach flutter, but you refused to let it show. “Bullshit.” 

He chuckled, spinning you around to face him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You found yourself staring up at him in awe. He was so confident, so certain. It had been a week since he’d said those words, yet he didn’t seem to care that you still hadn’t said it back; his ego unbruised, like he knew you too well, understood you better than anyone ever had. 

Your protest died in your throat when his lips grazed your temple, lingering there as he pressed his body against yours, hands sliding down to your backside.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured, your fingers dancing over the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, lips trailing down to your cheek, your jaw, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. 

“You. Being so… smug.”

“I’m not smug,” he said, though the glint in his eye contradicted him. “Can’t a man treat his girlfriend to a nice evening without being accused of ulterior motives?” 

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “There you go again, saying we’re a couple.” 

“Because we are.” His grip on you tightened, his voice deepening. “If I asked you outright, you’d make me beg. And I’m not above begging, but I’d rather save that for… other things.”

You felt yourself growing hot as his lips found yours, forcing yourself to break away to mutter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he countered softly, tilting your chin up with his finger and kissing you again. “If you weren’t mine, you wouldn’t keep coming back to me.”

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other gripping the railing behind you. You slid your hands up to his face, feeling yourself melting into him, excitement and anticipation rippling in your core. 

For a man who’d been so strict in his abstinence, the past week had completely unravelled him. He was insatiable, his touch lingering even in the most innocent moments, his kisses turning deeper and hungrier with little provocation. He’d taken every opportunity to make up for the time you’d lost, and you’d welcomed it gladly, savouring the ache that would follow you in the aftermath. 

He broke away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Dinner will be here soon,” he whispered.

You exhaled a laugh. “You ordered for me?” 

“I know what you like.” 

You slipped away to one of several bathrooms, taking off your cardigan and zhuzhing your hair until it sat just right. It was easy sometimes to forget who he was; the money he had, the power he wielded, the status he held that didn’t just surpass yours, but eclipsed it altogether. Whenever it hit you, it would make you feel uneasy; the imbalance throwing you off kilter, making you wonder what he saw in you, why a man who had the world at his fingertips would let himself fall for a single grain of sand. 

When you returned to the terrace, you found him sitting at the table as a waiter lay out a spread of food in front of him; steaming plates and pretty side dishes, a basket of your favourite bread and the dessert you’d been craving for weeks. The smell drifted through the air towards you, making your stomach rumble, your mouth water with hunger. 

You hovered in the doorway as the waiter placed down the last few plates, tucking a tray under his arm when he was done and pushing a large trolley back towards the suite. You stepped aside to let him pass, allowing yourself a moment to take in his face, the name on his badge. Perhaps it was cynical of you to assume he’d go running to the papers, narcissistic even, to think he’d care to.

Ben stood up as you made your way over to him, pulling out your chair for you with a charming smile. 

“This looks amazing,” you said as you sat down, admiring the food in front of you.

He kissed the side of your head and returned to his seat. “Champagne?” 

“Sure.” 

“So,” he began, popping the cork in his fist. “Guess what happened today…” 

You narrowed your eyes, cocking your head slightly. 

“I am officially divorced,” he said, almost beaming at you as he filled your glass. “I got the final order this afternoon. Decree Absolute. It’s done.” 

“Oh wow, congratulations.” 

“Congratulations?” he replied, jokingly mocking your voice. “I’m free, Quinn. No more contractual obligations, no more interviews pretending my marriage was anything other than a glorified business transaction. I can finally move forward. With you.” 

You stifled a smile, instead tapping your finger against your lips with a contemplative hum. “I don’t know. Now that you’re a single man, the excitement’s sort of gone.“

“Oh is that so?” 

“Mhm. I mean, where’s the thrill in sneaking around if it’s not with a married man?” 

He smirked, his eyes flitting to your mouth as you took a sip of champagne. “You need the thrill, hm?” 

You nodded. 

“Well you know what would be thrilling?” 

“What?” 

“Coming to America with me tomorrow.” 

You threw your head back and let out an exaggerated groan, making him chuckle as he began to eat. 

“Was worth a try,” he mumbled.

You talked and ate until the sun went down, until the cold puckered the flesh of your bare arms and numbed the tip of your nose. You sat with your legs outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably between Ben’s as you listened to him speak - not about work, or divorce, or the two of you - but about his family, his childhood, the things that made him happy and the last time he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. 

In the moments you were reminded of his fame, it was easy to feel starcrossed; like there was an entire ocean between you and no way to common ground. But then the moment would pass, giving way to a warm laugh or a tender touch, and suddenly in that ocean would be an island, where you both resided as equals; your own private paradise. 

His hand had found yours across the table, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles as he continued a sweet anecdote about his mother. You’d never been very tactile, finding the hand-holding and arms around shoulders completely embarrassing, the chaste kisses and legs brushing under tables far too soppy. But here you were, chin resting on your fist, the other hand in his, gazing at him as he spoke, without a speck of desire to pull away. 

You laughed softly as you watched him bring a glass to his lips, somehow missing his mouth and spilling champagne down his shirt.

“I’m not drunk, I swear,” he laughed, releasing your hand to pick up a napkin and dab at his chest. 

“What’s that, like a tenner’s worth of champagne you just spilled?” you teased. 

He laughed again, picking up the bottle and looking at it with a hum. “About… forty quid?” 

Your smile dropped. “Tell me you’re joking.” 

“What?” He shrugged. 

“You’re saying we’ve been drinking a £2000 bottle of champagne?” 

“I think it’s closer to three,” he said casually.

“Oh my god! Wh- I- Well then how fucking expensive was all of this!?” you gestured to the terrace, the food, the suite beyond the doors. “Jesus this is like the watch fiasco all over again.” 

“Which I notice you still haven’t worn…” 

You glared at him. 

“Quinn, it’s fine,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I wouldn’t spend it if I didn’t want to.” 

“But why on earth-”

“Why do you feel like you’re not worth it? Like money spent on you is somehow a waste?” 

“Because…” You settled back slightly in your chair, eyes flitting around in thought. “Because it is.” 

His smile faded, his eyes creasing at the corners as he gazed across the table at you. “Do you really believe that?” 

You shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening your posture. “I do.” 

“Well you’re wrong,” he countered bluntly. 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued quickly. 

“I know this imbalance between us bothers you. I know you’re independent, and you don’t want to feel like I’m trying to buy you or show off or make you feel indebted to me. But that's not what this is." He gestured to your surroundings, the city lights twinkling in the distance. "If anything, this is me showing you that you’re not a waste - not of my money, or my time, or my affection - none of it’s wasted on you.” 

His sincerity was disarming, how quickly the evening had gone from joking and banter to complete seriousness. You tried to remain neutral, but your eyes betrayed you with a vulnerable glaze, making his face soften, his hand squeezing yours more firmly.

“You are so deeply rooted in my life now that I don’t see any of this as frivolous,” he said. “I just see it as… being with you. No different than sitting on the couch in front of the TV.”

You sighed. 

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t think I can get away with denying this is a relationship anymore, can I.”  

He laughed. “No. No, you can’t.”  

You laughed too, rolling your eyes when you saw a smile creeping across his face. 

“This- us-” he said. “It’s far beyond the secrets and the sneaking around and worrying what strangers might say about me in the fucking papers. I’m not saying I’m ready to go dragging you down red carpets with me, but I like to think that you see it… getting there, maybe, one day…” 

You drew in a deep, cleansing breath through your nose, trying to soothe the nerves creeping into your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “Whether you say it back or not, it doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, Quinn.”

You gazed across at him for a moment, at the warmth in his expression, the vulnerability in his voice. You swallowed past a lump in your throat. “That’s… unfortunate for you,” you said. 

He dropped his head with a deep, throaty chuckle. “I don’t know,” he replied, eyes meeting yours again. “I feel quite fortunate… Most of the time.” 

You scoffed, taking a sip of your - extremely expensive - champagne. 

He gestured with his head for you to come to him. You stood up and walked around the table, settling in his lap and draping an arm around his shoulders. He held you close with a hand on the small of your back, the other reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face as you leaned down to him, lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. 

“You’re cold,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your bare arm. 

“I’m fine,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You stood in the living area, staring up at a painting on the wall, head cocked to one side as you wondered if anyone would notice if you stole it. You shook the thought away as the sound of voices and rattling dishes emerged from the terrace, glancing over your shoulder to see the waiter from earlier wheeling away the remnants of your dinner.

Ben thanked him as he left, shutting the door behind him and sliding the chain lock in place. He spun on his heels to look at you from across the vast suite, though his large strides carried him over to you in moments. 

You ran your fingers over the pale yellow stain on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wondered if you’d ever tire of his embrace, if he would ever tire of embracing you. You hoped not. 

“I have the suite for the night,” he said. “But if you’d rather go home, I can take you. I know you don’t have anything with you so I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“Hm, my tiny, messy flat or this stunning hotel with you,” you replied, pretending to deliberate with yourself. “What a difficult decision.” 

He laughed, kissing you on the cheek before stepping past you.

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Bed,” he replied simply. “Are you coming?” 

“Bed? It’s only half nine…” 

He raised an eyebrow as he backed up slowly towards the master bedroom, waiting for the penny to drop. 

“Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching out his hand in a gesture for you to join him. 

The car idled quietly on the road outside your flat building, the blue morning sky clear and bright, promising a warm day. You knew you had to leave, to climb out and get ready for work, but every time your hand so much as brushed the door handle, Ben’s lips found yours again. 

Your laugh came breathlessly as you finally pulled back, lips blushed and swollen from his endless kisses. “You’re going to miss your flight.” 

His smile was lazy and unapologetic as he yielded, dropping his head slightly with a gentle sigh. “Can I call you when I get to my hotel?” 

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

He leaned in, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, feeling his smile against your lips.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he muttered, his hand sliding through your hair. 

You laughed softly. “I’m sure I’ll manage. I took on a ton of work to keep myself busy.” 

He chuckled, but you quickly swallowed the sound with another kiss, leaning into him with more fervour. 

His hand dropped to the side of your face, the other firmly gripping your thigh; his touch making your stomach coil, the orgasms he’d given you last night still echoing in your core. So many orgasms you were sure you’d still be reeling for the next few days. 

You forced yourself to break away again, shaking away the fluster warming your cheeks. “Okay, you really are going to miss your flight if you don’t go.” 

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch lingered, stroking your temple before trailing down to your jaw.

“Last chance,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

You hesitated as you looked at him. There had been no pressure in his voice, no coercion in his expression, only a gentle invitation, and you could see in his eyes that he already knew your answer.

“Not this time,” you said, the corner of your mouth curving into a small smile.

He gave a smile that matched yours, like the subtle shift in your answer hadn’t gone unnoticed. No longer a flat refusal or a guarded deflection, but something warmer, an unspoken ‘someday’. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning in for one last kiss. “I’m going to miss you.”

You smiled faintly, your usual sarcasm faltering as you replied. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Two weeks,” he reassured, though you were uncertain which one of you needed it more. “Just two weeks and I’ll be back.” 

“Yeah, for three days,” you countered. “Before you have to go again.” 

“Well, we better be sure to make the most of those three days.”

You nodded, finally reaching for your bag and opening the door.  

You climbed out and closed it behind you, turning around to lean down and meet his gaze through the open window. 

There was a mournfulness to his expression as he looked at you, like it was physically paining him to let you go. And you understood, because you felt it too; already longing for his return before he’d even left. 

The back of your tongue felt heavy with the words you’d refused to utter, almost like they belonged there, ready to pour out of you like an impulse, as natural as a ‘goodbye’. But something made you swallow them, forcing them back down your throat with a sad smile. 

“Have a safe flight,” you said.  

His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Bye, darling,” he said, his voice carrying the same forlorn weight as yours.

“Bye.”

You stood on the pavement as he pulled away, watching the car until it disappeared down the street. Only then did you suck in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh. You remained there a moment longer, staring at the quiet, empty road before finally turning to go inside.

You stared up at the distinctive orange building of the London Fashion and Textiles museum, accents of bright blue, vivid yellow and hot pink decorating its exterior. You pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the large poster hanging near the entrance - Ornamented: The Art of Embellishment in Fashion - as a healthy crowd filtered inside.

You meandered leisurely through the opening of the exhibition, taking pictures and scrawling quick notes in your book, the extra weight on your wrist catching you off guard whenever you raised your pen to the paper. 

The watch face gleamed beneath the soft lights of the museum, the gold bracelet strap shimmering every time you moved. It had sat safely in its box, tucked away in your underwear drawer since Christmas. Every now and again you would take it out just to look at it, perhaps even put it on, but you would always stow it away soon after, like a child secretly trying on her mother’s expensive clothes.

But you were Ben’s girlfriend now. A fact that made your stomach turn with fear and excitement whenever you thought about it for too long. And as his girlfriend, it somehow felt right to wear a piece of him when he wasn’t with you. 

You walked up to a display encased inside a large glass cabinet; an array of intricately beaded flapper dresses from the 1920’s. Time had discoloured some of them, loosened some seams and lost their sparkle. But still, you found yourself almost pressing your nose to the glass, admiring the meticulous patterns and letting your mind wander to the women who might have worn them. 

You crouched down to the ground, resting on your haunches to steady your notebook on your knee as you scribbled your thoughts. You were making a note of the designer’s name from a nearby placard when footsteps approached you, heels clicking on the concrete floor and stopping at your side. 

“Quinn, isn’t it?” 

You glanced up to find Faye Dennehy glaring down at you, her tall stature even more imposing from your hunched position below her. You felt your lungs empty, your heart thumping in a hollow chest as you rose to your feet, blinking at her a few times before snapping out of your stupor. 

“Yes, it is. And you’re… Faye, right?” you replied. 

It was clear that you both very much knew the other’s name. But if she was going to pretend otherwise, then so were you.

“It’s nice to see you with your clothes on this time,” she said, her light, airy tone masking the sharpness of her words. 

She didn’t know you could be mean. Extremely mean. Brutally, mercilessly, remorselessly cruel. She also didn’t know that you were currently pressing your lips together as a courtesy to her, holding back the venom trying to force its way out. 

You gave a weak, obviously fake chuckle. “Yeah that was… quite the morning, for all of us.” 

She nodded with a wry smile before turning her attention to the dresses. You let your eyes trail the length of her; the long a-line skirt and perfectly tailored blouse, the pointed toe heels and long, bouncy blonde hair. You couldn’t deny how chic she looked. She always looked chic. 

Bitch.

You shook the thought away and looked down at your notebook. 

“So you’re here for your magazine?” she asked. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking back up at her and clearing your throat. “Yep.”

“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll give the exhibition a glowing review. You seem very good at painting things in a favourable light.” 

You smiled. “Ben already told me you didn’t like the feature I wrote about him.” 

“Oh he did?” She nodded, peering through the glass at one of the dresses as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it. It just came across a bit… disingenuous.” 

“Disingenuous. Sort of like… PR relationships…” 

You noticed the muscles in her neck flex, but she remained calm, returning her gaze to you. “Sort of like that, yeah.” 

You closed your notebook and hugged it to your chest before moving towards the next exhibit. 

“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre?” Faye asked as you stepped around her. 

You spun on your heels to look at her, a blank expression on your face.

“The watch,” she said. 

“Oh.” You glanced down at your wrist, then back to her. “Yeah, it is.” 

She allowed a slight smile, letting out a short, contemptuous hum. “Expensive.” 

You feigned a clueless expression, doe-eyed and innocent as you shrugged at her. “Is it? I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.” 

“How thoughtful of him,” she replied bluntly, emotionlessly. 

“I never said who it was from…”

“Well,” she laughed. “I doubt anyone else you know could afford something like that.” 

You found yourself holding back again, biting the inside of your bottom lip until it tasted of iron. “Enjoy the exhibition,” you said, feigning kindness as you gestured around you. “I’m sure this theme’s right up your street. We both know how much you love embellishments.” 

You walked away without waiting for a response, blowing out a puff of hot breath and fanning yourself with your book until you reached the next display. On a small platform stood a row of mannequins, each one draped in a stunning jewelled sari. You squinted to read the placard beside them; the history, the significance, the craftsmanship that went into them. 

But you were soon disturbed again, letting out a huff before turning to Faye again. 

“Are you following me?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“I don’t know what you think you know about my marriage,” she began, speaking quietly, her tone curt. “But when he inevitably gets bored of messing around with you, I hope you have enough integrity to keep it to yourself.” 

“I have no intention of ever exposing you, Faye.” You shook your head. “But I’ll be sure to let Ben know you think our relationship is doomed to fail.” 

“Relationship,” she giggled.

You narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Is that what you’re calling it? A relationship?” she scoffed. 

“What else would it be?”

“You’re the fun, Quinn. The wild oats he sews before he decides he’s ready to settle down.” She gestured to your watch. “You’re the one he spoils, keeps sweet, flies out to whatever country he’s in because he feels like a quick fuck.” 

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, but the words were bitter and torturous. It made the back of your neck tingle, your ears burn, stomach twist.

“And I don’t blame you,” she shrugged. “He’s a celebrity. Who’s going to turn down the opportunity to have a fling with a handsome, charming actor? But what happens when that novelty wears off? When you realise how… wrong for him you are?” 

People were passing back and forth around the exhibition, buzzing with conversation, brushing shoulders, gathering at displays and moving on to the next. But the place might as well have been silent, bare, just the two of you in an empty room. 

You gave a clipped laugh, though no smile accompanied it. “How on earth would you know if I’m right or wrong for him? You don’t know me.“

“No but I know him,” she countered assuredly. “I know that he wants children, and he wants them soon. That’s one of the main reasons our marriage ended. Are you willing to give him that?” 

“Well actually, I’m three months pregnant right now, we’re very excited,” you replied dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “No you’re not.” 

“Of course I’m fucking not,” you said quietly, rolling your eyes.

“And when he wants you to be, what then? When he comes to you a year from now and says ‘Quinn, I really want to be a father, and I’m not getting any younger’. Is that going to fill you with excitement, or dread?” 

You kept your face expressionless, but your heart was beginning to race, her words travelling right to the place where they stung the most. 

“He wants to live equally between here and America, did he tell you that?” she continued. “Are you willing to pack up your whole life and follow him back and forth? Give up your career? Live in houses you have no equity in? Drive around in a nice car you didn’t pay for?” 

She straightened her posture, chin raised with indignation. “Quinn the kept woman,” she taunted. “The trophy wife that the media never actually cares to learn the name of because she’s unimportant, insignificant when compared to him.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat, though you couldn’t tell if it was made of sadness or pure rage. But still, you found a way to compose yourself, checking over your shoulders before stepping closer to her. 

“I know it must hurt,” you eventually said. “To be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. To be married to him, to convince yourself that ‘maybe with time he’ll see we’re meant to be’.” You lowered your voice, leaning in to speak slowly. “Yet still, after two years, the only time he’d willingly touch you was when there was a camera there to catch it.” 

Her face hardened, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“And I don’t blame you either, Faye. If I were you, I’d want to hurt the woman he actually loves too.” 

She forced a smile, blinking away what seemed to be tears forming in her waterline. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m warning you.” 

She turned away, beginning to walk off before stopping and looking back at you. 

“I may not have liked what you wrote in that feature,” she said. “But the way you wrote it wasn’t half bad. I just think it’d be a shame, for someone with so much potential to end up known only as the one that came after me.” 

You held her gaze until she finally turned around, disappearing into the crowd with a flick of her hair. 

You stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down at the spot where Faye had stood. The buzz of the exhibition faded back in, a cacophony of excited voices, camera shutters and footsteps. But it was still muffled, like there was a bubble around you, separating you from the rest of the world. Faye’s words echoed in your mind, breaking through the armour you’d built around yourself and burrowing down to the quietest corners of your soul, the places you didn’t like to visit. 

Quinn the kept woman. The one that came after me.

You wondered if she was right, if you could ever be satisfied living a life that always had to bend to the shape of Ben’s. He had never denied the pitfalls of his fame, never sugar coated the demand of his work or hidden his desire for a family, for children. Were you really holding him back from finding someone to share all of that with?

You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes to soothe the itch behind your lids, and with trembling hands, you opened your notebook and forced yourself to carry on to the next display. A collection of gowns embroidered with floral motifs, their petals moulded from delicate beads and sequins that seemed to bloom beneath the soft light. You traced the edges of one with your eyes, jotting down notes with uneven, messy handwriting.

Your watch caught the light again, the gold surface glinting like a mocking wink. You almost wanted to take it off, but instead you fiddled with it for a moment, recentering the face in the middle of your wrist.

By the time you finished your tour of the exhibition, your notebook was full, but you could barely remember anything you’d written in it. You slipped it into your bag, hoisting it over your shoulder as you walked toward the exit and out into the late evening air. 

The sun was still shining, but there was a bite to the breeze that made you shudder. You pulled a cardigan from your bag and shrugged it on before taking off down the street towards your car. You pulled your phone from your trouser pocket, looking up Ben’s name, thumb hovering over the call button as you walked. But you never pressed it, unsure what you would even say, where you would start.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma 1/2 01x08 - Darling Charlotte

Charlotte? Wait... Hang on... Isn't that... Is she supposed to be here this early?

Oh, no, it's THIS girl. My mistake.

Okay. Yeah. I completely forgot she even existed. My memory was conflating her with the... with that one.... You know who I'm talking about....

...

*google google*

Akari. I was thinking of Akari. For some reason I thought Akari was the "CHARLOTTE!!!" girl, and I remember Akari is like endgame late introduction. But she's not the Charlotte girl.

Apparently these guys are named Shingo and Kiichi according to their photos.

The stuff in brackets isn't anything interesting. It's just quoting the dialogue they deliver here.

The two Ranma photos are Saotome Ranma, but an interesting note is that the pair have different names. They're both Ranma, yes. Both of them are 早乙女 Saotome. Which, fun fact, means "young maiden responsible for planting rice". Have fun with that, Transfem Ranma headcanon team.

But the girl Ranma is named らんま Ranma in Hiragana while the boy Ranma is named 乱馬 Ranma in Kanji. Ranma's name, incidentally, means "chaos".

When P-chan hears Akane call out to him, the kanji in his eyes flip from 気絶 kizetsu meaning "faint" to 起床 kisho which means "getting out of bed".

Wait, that's who the Charlotte girl is? I remember this guy. This is the ice skater bro who Ranma and Akane have to do a doubles match against, with him and some girl.

I completely forgot that the Charlotte girl was that girl. ...and thought she was Akari instead. Wow, my memory of this series leaves a lot to be desired.

"...they're what now?" ~Junko Enoshima, intrigued.

Look at that happy smile. Azusa really wants to bean him with that table. This is her second time reaching for it.

FACT CHECK. Let's check out the replay. Aaaaaaaaand:

Oh yeah. Without a doubt. Ignore Akane's squealing gal pals and the romantic flowers in the background and just look at that face. Akane is half a second from splitting him crotch to throat with a fucking ice skate.

Ranma's challenge fish cake saved Mikado's life.

You know what's fucking hilarious about this?

1 - It would actually make more sense for Ryoga to be Akane's partner than Ranma. Like Akane, Ryoga is very invested in Akane winning the contest and getting to keep P-chan. He doesn't want P-chan going with Azusa any more than Akane does, while Ranma's kinda rooting for the enemy team.

2 - However, despite having a compelling reason for replacing Ranma in this contest, Ryoga can't actually present that argument. The only reason to let him replace Ranma is because he is P-chan. Without that context, this is a wild-ass out-of-left-field demand for him to suddenly burst out of their bathroom and issue.

3 - But if he did explain that context to Akane... he still wouldn't get to replace Ranma, because the entire purpose of even competing in this match would be instantly voided. P-chan wouldn't be welcome in her room anymore.

So he's just. Fucked. He's just fucked. His tangled web of deceptions has left him powerless to participate in something that really matters to him.

Try not to live your life like Ryoga.

So begins the era of Ranma weaponizing his curse in order to escape the pressures of his own interpretation of masculinity. He turned himself into a girl because men shouldn't be bad at ice skating. I like that Akane's a little bit offended when she finds out why he switched.

Akane: I'm not impressed! I can do that too!

The 100-man spar is a cool demonstration of how talented these two are at ice skating as a martial art. But also, this is just a typical weekday morning for Akane.

In fact, Akane's actually more impressive because this is choreographed as shit. These guys are wearing jerseys with the number of their engagement on them. They attack in sequence so Mikado and Azusa can take down 01 then 02 then 03 then 04 and on and on until they hit 100.

This is a performance, not a brawl. Most generously, it's a training exercise to help them work on specific maneuvers. A very complex and multi-person version of practicing your kata. But it's not a real fight, where Akane's version always is.

YOU PICK THAT UP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW

I mean, the collar is actually adorable and I'm kinda with Azusa on that. It's way better than P-chan's shitty neck-rag that probably smells like three months of unwashed wandering.

BUT THAT THING IS MADE OF STABBING AND THERE'S LIKE A DOZEN OF THEM FOLDED INTO ONE

DO NOT LEAVE THAT LYING ON THE RINK FOR ANYONE TO FALL ON.

The way Ranma reacts to Mikado's advances is... honestly fascinating.

We saw Akane earlier. She was a moment away from breaking this sex pest in half. We talk a lot about Flight or Fight response, and Akane has a well-honed Fight response to sexual harassment. It's. Kind of. Been a thing for her for a very long time, both the harassment and the Fight response.

But an oft-overlooked response is the Freeze response. Both times, when Mikado moves in on Ranma, his response is to Freeze. Freeze is an involuntary stress reaction that temporarily suspends both Fight and Flight.

Once the deed is done and Ranma's able to form conscious thoughts again, then we see Flight.

Until he can reassert his masculinity, and only then does he react with Fight.

Which is itself very interesting. Not just for how it speaks to Ranma's internalization of gender norms; That he reacts with Flight when female and Fight when male. But there's more than just that going on here.

Ranma doesn't just flee from the rink. He flees to the public bathhouse and throws himself into the hot bath. He's not fleeing Mikado. He's not fleeing Akane or the situation.

Being violated in this way makes Ranma flee from femininity. His immediate kneejerk reaction when his brain retains the ability to make conscious decisions is, very emotionally and very powerfully, that he desperately wants to stop being a girl now.

A tragic choice that many women don't get to make.

Not only was Akane the only person on the rink that was able to keep up with the action here - with possible exception of Mikado but explicitly not Azusa - but she was even able to count how many hits Ranma landed.

This fight establishes that Akane and Ranma are actually more formidable than Azusa and Mikado. Like, if this were a street fight, they'd trash these suckers, no problem. Pound for pound, they're tougher.

It's only because they have to compete in Azusa and Mikado's arena that this is going to be difficult. Azusa and Mikado have the home field advantage, in a contest where mobility is intensely challenging and must be mastered and controlled in addition to the fighting.

He says while wearing the fucking collar. XD

This family needs a TV. XD

[azaharinflames]

I can see the show slowly banking away from the queer arc. A soft retcon of Bucks bisexuality would also be perfect to continue baiting without having to either follow through or fear queerbait accusations again. Buck continues to only date women from now on, they never mention his sexuality ever yet Oliver is free to play Buck as queer as he always wanted. And by that I think he meant sending horny looks Eddies way to keep his base happy and engaged. It's really win/win for them. They got all the cloud for it last season, they could bait for another 15 seasons now all while not having to actually put any thought in how to tell a queer story.

Hi, Nonnie! Thanks for the ask.

See, in my mind, there are again two creatures:

One agrees with you, and definitely believes from now on Buck will only have female LIs. Most likely short relationships to keep Buck as the eternal bachelor of the series (like @unfuckablebogtroll said, have him be the Olivia Benson of 911), and then they'll put together a last-minute LI once they know the series is canceled (perhaps a female LI no one really knows, like Natalia, perhaps Tommy in a rushed right-person-wrong-time SL. I can definitely see both). If someone asks, well - he's bi! so him dating women exclusively doesn't erase that. Which, true, but in this context it is all much trickier than that.

One that disagrees with you, if anything because I don't want to become too negative or too cynical*. Because, yeah, sure, they can move on from Buck's bisexuality, but that is an insane bad look on them. If they still want to be praised and be recognised for their diversity and inclusion, it won't be it. Because, as I said, as much as a bisexual person is still bisexual even if they only date people from the opposite sex, fact is that in television things are trickier. Because it isn't as easy as just knowing something, they have to show it. Things are held to a different standard, and that's just the name of the game. So if Buck were to only date women moving forward, that would mean 1. a bad look on them, kinda like they lured their queer audience in (some of which had given up on the series already), only to bait them and 2. I honestly believe they would face some serious backlash for this. Of course, I cannot say this will happen, but I would be surprised if it hadn't.

All in all, we know there is a rebound in the near future, and I will be honest, I'm fully expecting that rebound to be a woman. I will be pleasantly surprised if he rebounds with a man - as much as we know the relationship is very short-lived, as Tim has already warned.

We'll see - I'm one of them that believes that, for Buck, it's either growing back together with Tommy, or nothing. And nothing as in - he'll be the eternal bachelor until the series ends, because I truly believe they won't be able to find a LI that tops Tommy, or one the audience falls half in love with, in comparison to how much they loved Tommy. So. I might be wrong on this one, but I truly think that, long-term, it's either getting back together with Tommy, or a string of half-assed and unfulfilling LI until the very end of the series.

Oh! I also want to add - I don't see the 'throwing glances' at Eddie, mostly because I want to believe they are not that stupid. They're playing a dangerous game and are currently toying a very thin line here. We know they don't have plans to have Buddie happen, but if they actively start baiting their audience, it will look extremely bad on them.

My inbox is open for ranting, venting, or discussing! And if you wanna talk more things than 911, it is open for that as well!

Take care <3

*Disclaimer: not saying that you are being too negative or cynical. I 100% understand where you're coming from, especially after the way the show has dealt with all of this in the last few weeks. I see what you're saying and I partly agree with it.

[jariten]

Roundup-Catch up: August 2024!!

Let's catch up! Looking back at my list of August reads my head spins a bit. Most of this year I got way too eager picking up series from my shelf or the library and was juggling maybe 5 series at once. Which did a huge disservice to the reading experience for some of those series as I wasn't giving them my full attention. It wasn't until August I managed to wrap up most of them and enter the more focused way of following or reading through a series that I had previously. But in the frenzy I still had some great reads.

I had always heard whispers of No Longer Heroine by Momoko Koda but I'd never crossed paths with it. But when the english run of My Love Mix-up ended I had a huge contemporary High School Romance shaped hole in my heart and this is one of the titles that's filled it (I will get to the rest). I love mess, I love stories of teenagers learning to navigate the minefield that is human relationships so I can be the opposite of nostalgic for a time that, praise be, I will never have to relive. But I also read titles like this wondering how a constructive conversation around it could be had among young readers who from my experience can come off very frustrated and unsympathetic to the type of drama it depicts where the heroine and hero's feelings and decisions are extremely irrational and reckless. I really like the Yen Press, but as a license acquisition it feels kinda random? And in my honest opinion if you're 10 years late to a title you kinda have to make it an omnibus or collectors edition because waiting for individual volumes for, again, an over 10 year old series is pretty frustrating. But I will stick around to the end.

Yumiko Ōshima's Sava series was one of my favorites of 2022. The way she captures me with stories where honestly "nothing" really "happens" just floored me and made me optimistic for Goo Goo Datte Neko de Aru. A diary comic that begins with the passing of the cat Sava and her purchase of the cat Goo Goo (Short for Good Good). But Goo Goo isn't the only cat that enters her life. In rather rapid succession stray kittens begin entering her life. We follow for over a decade her journey rescuing, rehoming, and caretaking of countless stray cats (the latter to the dismay of her neighbours). Reading it today it highlights the challenges of clashing attitudes over stray cats and how these populations should be taken care of if at all. Famously it is also a chronicle of her cancer survival journey but its a rather short part of the whole but nonetheless maintains the Ōshima charm.

I want to make a gift recommendation for the upcoming holiday season: Your Letter by Hyeon A Cho. While I've had some really really good encounters with Korean Manhwa, Webtoons is still a world unknown to me. I think the Ize Press initiative bringing Webtoons to print in english is extremely cool, but the lineup just hasn't had any titles that caught my eye. Until Your Letter. A 10 chapter single volume story that I liked so much for its artistic presentation and the story it was telling about bullying and finding your place in a new environment that I immediately was overcome with the need to pass it along, which I did. Really think it would make a great gift for anyone 5th grade and up who are interested in comics. OR it can be read for free in its entirety on Webtoon!

Satou Gashi no Ie by Kyoko Fumizuki was a title picked up a bit at random. I'd gotten a taste of her work in the Suki Desu, Kono Shoujo Manga anthology and was one of the more memorable entries in an already extremely well curated collection. Satou Gashi no Ie is a 5 story one-shot collection with to meeee back to back hits. The titular story centres on a teenage boy named Richard who suddenly appears at his childhood's friend Elsie's school with a baby in his arms, that he claims to be his, and that he's a widower. But there are too many holes in his story. Who exactly is the baby's mother and how did he come to care for her at the end of her life? And how does this change Richard and Elsie's relationship? There's a warmth to Fumizuki's artistry in this era and the way that she hits all the story beats that really drew me in and augh I honestly have no words for it. This collection really stood out and among her peers I've yet to read anyone who could compose manga exactly like this. And you know what's cool? You can (In Japanese) read this and a handful of her other work from the same era for FREE on Manga Library Z!! (JP only)

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Pearl Wild Life Session 6 Live Reaction

Title has me scared, thumbnail has me hyped. Murder camel?? But also Loss??? | | |I

|| | |_

Yay trap day!

Ooo our only choices are Gem and Lizzie!

Meeting time! We have a six person team that’s literally crazy. Grandpa and Ghost are here.

Not them being liars in chat lol “This is crazy!” “no way” “YOU GUYS DONT HAVE THIS?” “that was scary for a second” the power of having so many people is you can just lie.

PEARL STOP GOING PLACES ALONE! THIS IS HOW WE DIE PEARL!

Hi Billy! Hi cows!

Bluetooth redstone!

BILLY NO!

GUARDIAN AND PIGLINS AND PILLAGERS??

Billy is a donkey now??

New camel duo!!

OG CAMEL DUO YAY!

“How much do you hate me today Gem?” “A lot!” We may be on a camel but the divorce is still on!

“You know why though? I’ve reasons today. I have reason. I’ve reflected. Do you remember last session when you couldn’t remember, you thought you put your eye into the portal! Do you remember that?” “Ohhh but we weren’t even there for you putting the eyeball into that!” “Did you even look me in the face during our murder camel happenings?” “Yeah we had such a good time! It was so much fun!” “Do you remember what my face looked like?” “Oh. I forgot about your skin.” “Are you guys bonding?” “No, not bonding at all Impulse. This is so sad” “Okay and then other than that!” “It’s okay she’s gonna talk about it Impulse.” “You 2v1’d me! I’m still holding a grudge about that! And you know about holding grudges across seasons!” “Let’s put this straight! I didn’t 2v1 you. I let Scar kill you, I watched.” “No, I remember specifically you hitting me once!” “Just once! Just one little wack!” “It was not a regen based season!” “I sat the dogs down, Gem. You had so many hearts, you were gonna live!” “Once was enough!” “You were fine, you see look at that! We’re thriving!” You’re both right and both wrong. The best kind of argument.

“I’m just saying, I’ll forgive you if you actually 1v1v1v whatever me and not 2v1.” “It seems kinda like we’re trying to kill each other at that point. Seems kinda against the point, no? Right?” “Yeah, we have to die Pearl, that’s the game.” “Seems like there’s only resolution after the game, right?” “We can die six times, we don’t have to die.” “I CANT DIE SIX TIMES? I can die twice!” “You can die once.” “Okay, 1v1 me right now Gem.” “Okay!” “You were too all into that.” “Well. It’s high stakes for you. We’ve PvPed on Hermitcraft, it’s about 50/50 who wins who loses.” “Yeah but I’m yellow.” You two are going to drive me insane. SHES OFFERING YOU A SOLUTION PEARL PLEASE I KNOW ITS HIGH STAKES BUT THE DRAMA WOULD BE DELISH EITHER WAY!

Oh no what happens if Billy becomes hostile. Do we have to kill him?

Lizzie sacrificed herself to Jimmy! Gem is the last dark green…

Impulse and Pearl trapping together! And failing!

“You don’t need Impulse! You’re capable!” “Clearly not!” Seems like you weren’t there for her 27 fails against Lizzie last session lol.

“Two hunks on the hump” martyn why

“Puppy! Awwwww”

All that argument about the cows was for nothing…. We made enemies with Gem and Joel for nothing…

A positive shiny duo interaction? In my wild life? (Ignore that she called Gem a rat and tried to kill her it’s fine) AND THEY GOT ON A CAMEL AFTER!

Tango on the camel! A new murder buddy! Hi Skizzy! Can’t wait to watch other povs and see her camel scooting across the ground lol.

SKIZZ GOT THE GEM KILL YAY! Pearl didn’t aww

THERES A WARDEN WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING IN THIS SERIES!

Oh it’s Tango, Pearl and Etho! That’s the perfect trio to encounter a warden! The decked out winner, Queen, and game master lol

Oh great they name tagged it so he can never leave. Beautiful.

Pearl’s immunity to warden fear is real and true. I do not believe Grian even a little bit. No one should get near the warden lol.

SKIZZ RUN SKIZZ RUN SKIZZ WHY YOU JUST GOT BACK TO GREEN

Skizz, Scott and Pearl slowly tridenting a warden to death is so funny. PEARL DO NOT GET CLOSER PEARL!

Oh she got the totem! Yay!! I should have believed Grian!

A creeper claims another kill. Oh BigB with a creeper! He doesn’t get a life cause Skizz was light green tho.

Ah! A pit trap on the creeper farm! And a trap on the wheat! This whole base is rigged to kill and that’s wonderful.

Scar died to a Vex? Ironic. And Etho to a Skellyboy!

Ooo Skizz on red!

PEARL WHY DO YOU WANT TO START A RAID??

“Pearl and I are off to cause chaos!” Welcome to the summary of Impulse and Pearl’s wild life season. Aw the raid isn’t working :( NEVER MIND ITS WORKING NOW SCRAM

Jimmy was killed by bloop?

“You know I want you to win the series!” AWW SHE GAVE HIM HER TOTEM! THEY ARE BESTIES! I LOVE THEM!

Skizz is gone! Aw! Jimmy is officially the highest rank he’s ever been btw.

It’s a birthday cake! Yay!

Since when was Lizzie on red? Hello?

Pearl failing to kill… again. She’s so washed up (affectionate)

Trip cancelled! Trip cancelled! That editing was hilarious with the music stopping.

Pearl you will not be able to successfully trap Gem. I think we have to give up at some point. (This is a joke)

“Pearl, Scar wants me to kill you and I said no way” “Why would he want to kill me? I haven’t done anything to him.” “He said you want out of the series, so, and I said no that’s a lie.” Nosey Neighbors crumbs.

Calling a lie a “porky” is the most Aussie thing I’ve ever heard.

Omg she stole Gem’s camel. There’s some symbolism there I guess.

Yay Bdubs ally! I dub thee, Gonzo.

I liked the wild card this episode! Very fun, especially cause of how much of the season has been squabbling about cows lol. Who cares, the cows are dead!

[lightlycareless]

I was thinking about your portrayal of Naoya and I was already thinking of a JJK actor au which led me to think of how actor Naoya upon hearing that Y/N was going to be in this new romance movie, I feel like he’d immediately use all his connections(Ofc he could audition but he needs to make this a sure thing plus he’s fs a Nepo Baby XD but at least he’s got the skills too) just so he can be in that movie with Y/N(Maybe the Male lead was gonna be Nanami too!). I bet they’d end up getting together by the end of filming Teehee. You don’t have to write anything if you don’t wanna but I thought you might think this au is fun too if only to just daydream about it :D

Heya anon!!

Thank you for your patience hehe. I have to say, AU’s where Y/N or Naoya are a celebrity is kind of like my guilty pleasure; I don’t really indulge much on it because I don’t have a plot line most of the time, but this was the perfect excuse to see what I can do with it :> I just hope you enjoy it!! Also, this is going to be a two-part oneshot so… yeah hehe.

Btw, thank you all for those who voted for fluff, but we know how this goes so I had to put a little bit of drama somewhere :) it’s Naoya we’re talking about.

Warnings: AU. Naoya and Y/N are actors; he’s an idiot, a nepobaby, womanizer, etc etc, but we already knew all that. What’s interesting is his so called redemption OOF.

Happy reading!

Established actor Naoya that’s quite popular amongst the audience even with the rumors of his difficult work ethic, less than desirable personality, and blatant nepotism, thanks to his good looks and deceiving charm.

Because of his status, whatever project he wants, he gets. Sure, there are some that still have the audacity to require an audition from him, but it’s just a formality that he dejectedly complies to—Naoya knows that even when doing a bad job, he’ll still get the part at the end of the day.

But that doesn’t mean Naoya goes for any kind of role; he’s quite specific about what he wants: a pretty co-star.

And the studios had a variety of reasons to allow such demands, starting from a financial benefit: with a handsome face like his to match with an equally attractive coworker, he’ll only sell-out all functions; and in turn, he’ll get his fair share of enjoyment with his fellow partner of the moment. The same ones he discards immediately after getting bored; careless if they unwittingly got feelings for him—but nonetheless a win-win situation all around.

Such a quick lifestyle has him already setting eyes on his next target, a relatively unknown rising star with a seemingly promising future whom he was immediately smitten by upon seeing her for the first time, just as the rest of the world was.

“Y/N L/N” Naoya would repeat, enjoying how the sound of your name rolled off his tongue—fitting for someone of your beauty: vibrant eyes, rosy cheeks, shiny hair… and to top it all off, a humble yet shy demeanor that just made his obsession for you grow tenfold.

Wouldn't be the first time he’s grown interested in up and coming actresses, because in Naoya’s perspective, they’re much easier to impress, far more gullible to manipulate how he wants…

But it would be the first time he’s ever been so desperately obsessed to be with, for soon after he saw you, you became all he thought about. Causing him issues with his current fling (it briefly grazed the headlines, his team quickly fixed that)and some commitments he almost fumbled, keyword: almost.

Naoya couldn’t explain it; there was just something about you that attracted him, almost like you were destined to be together.

He needed you—one way or the other—and he needed you now.

Per usual, he soon demanded his manager and assistants to get a detailed list of all your upcoming projects, to see which ones he could be part of, and if neither were to his advantage, make those opportunities. Naoya was not to let you go so easily.

”A movie adaptation for some romance series that’s been in the talks for a while now.” His manager highlighted. “It’s her biggest work yet as a protagonist—in fact, development just started because of her.”

”Romance?” Naoya breathed, excited at the implications. “Do they have the male lead yet? I don’t think I need to tell you what I want, do I?”

”Oh, uh, no—you don’t, but… about that—“

”What is it?” It was always frightening to see how easily his behavior oscillated when facing his disapproval, but once already here…

“What?! What do you mean the casting’s already done?! Why wasn't I made aware of this????”

Because as obvious as his womanizing ways were, it would be physically impossible to have him assist every single call in hopes he’d settle with someone attractive enough for his standards.

Besides, this project already had their co-stars in mind way before it was even announced, the studio was just waiting for the right female lead to come along: and when that proved to be you…

Nanami was quickly brought on board, perfect for the role in all ways that mattered: from physical similarities to his character which made the fandom very, very satisfied, to work ethic; his professionalism was always beyond everyone’s expectations, no one has ever complained about him.

Kento was, hands down, a dream to work with—and considering what all of this meant, it was safe to say that Naoya was not happy about it.

”Well, get them to change actors!” He quickly demanded. “Call them and let them know I want the part, should be easy enough considering my status, no?”

”Ah, I— I guess I could but I’ve heard other people tried before and failed… so I don’t want to waste your time if you’re going to face that same result…”

The way how other’s interest in the film is implied behind his words makes Naoya’s eyes widen. Because surely no one cares about participating in that irrelevant series he’s never heard of until now, if it didn’t mean getting to work with you, that is. Everyone’s favorite girl of the moment.

His girl.

Ever the competitive one, it doesn’t take him much longer after that to call who he had to call, bribe who he had to bribe to finally, after many insistences, sign the contract that effectively labels him as your co-star.

Careless if his decision would prove detrimental to the project in the long run, or if it would strain relations between him and Nanami. Naoya never really minded him, outside of being bundled together with some other actors the audience generally cataloged as the most handsome in the country—if this change meant they’d never get to work together, fine! He had obtained a much better reward in return anyways.

Naoya wasn’t to allow anyone to deprive him of what was rightfully his—even if he wasn’t aware of it beforehand—and thus, when the fateful day to start working alongside you finally came along, the moment he’d see you for the first time without the interference of a screen, or through a picture—

His breath ran short. Heart skipping a beat when his eyes fell on your figure: truly, the cameras did you no justice.

You were far more breathtakingly beautiful in person.

So much was his shock, that the smooth introduction he had planned for the moment was limited to a stuttering mess, a shame to someone as charismatic as him.

”You’re—you’re Zen’in—No, I mean, I’m—“ Naoya says, a stranger to the heat forming in his cheeks, inwardly demeaning the weak presentation he must’ve given you now.

But if he wasn't already fixated enough on you, the way you appeared to be indifferent to his nerves completely captivated him. A wide smile on your lips as you greeted him with that same enthusiasm that made the whole world fall to your feet.

”Nice to meet you, Naoya!” You chirp. “I can’t believe we’re working together… I mean, so early in my career! Thank you so much for this opportunity, I promise I won’t disappoint!”

”The pleasure’s all mine.” And so is the curse you’ve seem to have unwittingly placed upon him after sweetly declaring you’d be under his care.

He’s made up his mind, Naoya will make you fall in love with him in less of what it takes to wrap up this movie. He’ll make you his, and will go to any length to ensure so.

Even if it meant ignoring your father’s (your manager, a veteran actor of days past) clear warnings.

”Don’t think I don’t know how your kind works.” Eiichi, your father, threatens Naoya during a short moment of privacy. “And I’m well aware of the rumors that surround you, even if you have your team quiet them. I should’ve known you were up to something the moment you insisted on Nanami’s removal—but I’ll let you know that whatever it is that you have in mind, I won’t allow it.”

”I assure you, Eiichi-san, I have no other intentions with your daughter outside of making our best efforts to have this picture timely done.” Naoya cynically responded, which just made your dad even angrier. Your co-star thinks your manager is an all bark, no bite type of dog. An old dog too, and treats him like such.

“Then surely asking you to act appropriately for once in your life isn’t too much to demand, is it?” He frowns. “Especially for someone who’s barely starting in the genre.”

”Wait—you mean to say—“

If this is your first romance movie, does that mean…

You haven’t done your first on-camera kiss?

Or perhaps even better—you haven’t kissed anyone at all?

Not quite, nor were you ever going to disclose personal matters that truly only belonged to you.

But if your father intended to protect you, he really, really shouldn’t have said that. Eiichi shouldn’t have gone ahead and essentially pushed you further into Naoya’s claws, his words being the last piece of motivation to become completely unhinged and make your time with him… tense, to say the least.

Oh, but how could he not? You were simply too adorable when trying to do your best to fulfill everyone’s expectations: barely putting up a fuss when Naoya got a bit too dramatic to what the script demanded, far more handsy, even when not recording: all for the sake of staying in character, he’d claim.

And when he dejectedly worked on those scenes where nothing of his interest was happening, you didn’t even complain. You kept quiet, submissive, taking the situation as best as you could and kept on working—because that’s what professional actresses do, isn’t it? And you’re nothing but the best.

But things didn’t really escalate until it was time to record that long-awaited kiss; what the script demanded to be the first kiss between their characters, in other words, something sweet, overall a touching scene.

However, Naoya naturally had to blur the line between his work and personal life—and instead of taking this moment as what it was, just two people trying to get the job done, he decided to… mark it as some declaration of feelings.

Confirmation that the time the two had spent together, a few weeks now, had actually amounted to something; aside from figuring out what your soft lips tasted like.

Because to Naoya, those interactions in between breaks, outside of the set, and even during filming, had been quite meaningful to him. To you too, he suspects.

Your shy nature just didn’t allow you to openly affirm it, a little push was all you needed to do so.

”Don’t be nervous, dumpling.” Is the nickname he’d given you upon seeing your excitement for last week's catering. You’ve politely told him it wasn’t necessary to call you that, but he insisted otherwise, calling it their very first inside joke. What everyone does to get along better. “Just follow my lead and I’ll worry about everything else, ok?”

Not exactly the reassuring words you were searching for, but for someone of Naoya’s expertise, alongside the physical hold he had over you at this point, hands over your arms, keeping you close to his chest… it’s not like you could demand otherwise.

And so, after everyone was in position, the director finally signals the scene to begin: Naoya delivers the script with an uncharacteristic perfection, outside of that slight rush behind his words, eager to get to that one particular moment, it’s obvious he’s been looking forward to recording this.

To kiss you, which he abruptly does by suddenly moving his face towards yours and then, captivating your lips onto his—giving more than his interpretation of the character’s desire: it was him wanting to take in your scent, warmth, touch, everything, and bask in it.

Claim it as his own, for those in the room, and the world in due time, to see.

One might’ve even assumed you were fine with his intentions too, given how you didn’t complain nor fight back against his desperate gesture, struggling to follow his lead in a way that appeared he was trying to eat you alive.

Which thankfully didn’t happen once the director cut the scene, and just before you ran out of breath.

”Naoya, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, that was—a bit too much.” The director said; if he was aware of your and Naoya’s fluster, he didn’t comment. “Let’s do it again, from the top.”

Normally, Naoya would’ve retorted at what he considered unnecessary reshooting, apparently his time was far more valuable than the rest even when he was being paid millions to be there… but this time around, he was nothing but obliging, in fact, Naoya even suggested that they’d go at it once more just to be sure they captured the right sentiment. Fulfill his desire.

With each time becoming more and more desperate than the other.

Naoya frequently claimed himself to be immune to any kind of addiction, thought of it as weak for the character, above such “petty” faults—But when it came to you… he just proved to be as human as the rest.

He physically needed to have all of you; they’d have to forcibly pry him away to stop—

Or for you to do so, swiftly placing your hands over his chest and pushing him away when it became too much, putting an end to the scene before the director could and subsequently raising many eyebrows around you.

”What’s wrong, Y/N?” The director asks upon seeing your distraught face—exhausted from the many reshoots, and of course, Naoya’s overbearing ways. “Is everything alright?”

”Ye-yeah, I just… I’m sorry, I think I need a break.” You silently plead, looking over to your manager who was more than ready to step in if your request was dismissed; which thankfully, wasn’t. The director sighing before turning around and stating:

”Alright everyone, take 5.”

The perfect opportunity for Naoya to follow through with his so-called affirmation of feelings, trailing behind you soon after.

“Hey, dumpling, wait up! There’s something I need to—“

”Not right now, Naoya.” You respond, your pace unwavering. You didn’t even turn to face him. “I have to—be alone for a moment.”

”Y/N—“

Your father and sister, manager and assistant respectively, close in on you and break eye contact between the two, allowing you retreat into what he assumed your dressing room—

And leaving him behind to deal with his anger, which he immediately takes out on the director, stomping his way to him and giving him a piece of his mind.

“So you’re just going to let her go?” Naoya hisses, the man, having worked with him on previous occasions, simply sighs.

”What do you want me to do, Naoya? You saw how she ran away.” He responds. “Besides, we’ve been at it all day, I’m tired too.”

”This is just going to ruin the pace of the film, you know that, right? You should, considering your… experience.”

”Look, Naoya— it’s quite obvious what you were trying to do back there, I’ve seen it before; but we’re not going to discuss that.” He adds. “The girl is new in the game, naive, and overprotected. Did you know that her management sent us a long list of requisites after the studio offered her a contract? If it weren’t for her family, she would’ve been immediately dismissed.”

”Requisites? What kind of requisites?”

“None that I can discuss with you, but I guess I could tell you the obvious: you were not part of them. There’s a reason why Nanami was firmly set for your role, but guess that doesn’t matter since you know your way around these things…”

”Is there something else you’re hiding from me? Why bring it up if you’re not going to tell me anyways!” Naoya growls. Why was Nanami brought up again, out of nowhere??

”Just take 5 minutes, Naoya. Clear up your head, we still have a long day ahead.” The director insists. “And if it’s worth anything, Y/N will be back, she’s very dedicated to her work, I’ll give her that. Even with your weird… plays, I’m sure.”

But that wasn’t enough to calm Naoya—not with the way you essentially fled from him.

Your behavior led a part of him to feel… inadequate. Underperforming—stupid.

Rejected.

And he’s never been rejected before.

A dangerous observation to make considering his easily ignited attitude.

The moment you were back, he’d demand an answer. Hear, directly from you, why you’d cruelly dismiss his advances when he had been nothing but nice to you.

… but that moment wouldn’t come today.

In fact, not even in the subsequent ones, for after everyone was abruptly requested to go home, the studio announced that filming would go on a brief hiatus to sort out some… unexpected issues—which Naoya immediately connected to you given your radio silence.

Forcing him to directly reach out to you… but you’d never answer. In fact, all of his attempts were swiftly ignored; your team didn’t even acknowledge them! As if dealing with junk mail.

Naoya’s desperation naturally spiked after that, frantically searching for an answer—

Which he’d get soon enough, but only through a tabloid which probably described the worst case scenario he could’ve imagined unfolding for this situation:

“Y/N to abandon latest project—close sources blame differences between protagonists.”

Naoya’s heart sinks.

Also, I wish to apologize if these little comma things “ appear weird? Like not the right ones at the beginning? I’m currently out of my home so all of my writing is being done through a tablet lol I’ll come back later to fix them :> I hope it didn’t ruin your reading experience :’v

And I might as well comment I didn’t feel like ending part one with just the headline, but at the same time the whole naoya’s heart skins doesn’t completely convince me…. But I don’t know, might be my impostor’s syndrome or something who knows!!!! All that I know is I have to make Naoya pathetic on the second part, so if anyone has any ideas of what you’d like to see send them in hehe I want to make him suffer :) or at least guilty, damn…

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking!! I shall proceed with the following part after I write down a little smut hehe. Thank you so much for sending in this ask, take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[starrblossom12]

Wild Life Session 6 Summary

Below the cut are all deaths and wildcard information for session 6,

Wild Card: Random Wild Life! (The mobs not the series)

Around every ~10 mins ALL mobs, passive, neutral and hostile, are randomly relocated then randomized as increasingly dangerous and rare mobs... this process is incredibly laggy.

Chronological Record of Deaths:

(number in parentheses are lives left after the death//kill)

Lizzie(3) sacrificed herself to Jimmy(2) in the not-so-secret Bamboozler bunker, thinking she would die anyways to witch poison

Gem(3) pretty much intentionally stands in line of fire for Skizz(3) to land a TnT minecart on her

Lizzie(2) was slain by a Vex

...Skizz(2) gets blown up by a creeper... by Bigb(2) (as revenge for last session, in which Skizz killed Bigb for no reason) Lizzie warns Skizz loudly but alas...

Bigb(1) was slain by a Vindicator

Scar(2) was slain by a Vex

Etho(2) was shot by a Skeleton (Joel, Grian, Scar and Etho were in a Trial chamber when the wildcard went off, Scar died due to not paying attention to his hp and not eating, apparently Etho died to lag)

Skizz(1) was doomed to fall by Martyn(3)

Jimmy(1) was slain by Bloop, a named iron golem he stole....

Martyn(2) blew up from a trap set by Lizzie, meant for Skizz

Lizzie(1) was impaled on a stalagmite, trap set by Bigb (Martyn narrowly avoided the same fate)

Skizz(0) was doomed to fall by Tango(3)... yet another Tango wind charge sent at the sub-one spanners... this one 100% caused the final death

Total Deaths: 12

Lives at End of Session:

(number in parentheses is lives at start of session)

3: Bdubs(3), Grian(3), Tango(3), Gem(4), Ren(3), Scott(3), Joel(3)

2: Etho(3), Martyn(3), Scar(3), Impulse(2), Cleo(2), Pearl(2)

1: Jimmy(1), Lizzie(4), BigB(2)

0: Mumbo(0), Skizz(2)

Sorted by alliance (average ignoring eliminations: total lives):

The Fast & Furious Family(3:6): Gem(3), Joel(3)

Sub-one Spanners...(3:3): Grian(3), Skizz(0), Mumbo(0)

Tuff Guys(2.67:8): Bdubs(3), Etho(2), Tango(3)

Renwood Mound(2.5:6): Ren(3), Martyn(2)

GGGG//The Final Girls(2:10): Scott(3), Pearl(2), Impulse(2), Cleo(2), BigB(1)

BAMboozlers(1.33:4): Lizzie(1), Scar(2), Jimmy(1)

Chronological Deaths by Player:

Unchanged: Bdubs, Grian, Tango, Ren, Scott, Joel, Impulse, Cleo Pearl

Gem(4->3): Gets blown up by Skizz

Etho(3->2): Gets killed by Skeleton + lag?

Martyn(3->2): Gets blown up by a trapped chest set by Lizzie meant for Skizz

Scar(3->2): Gets killed by a Vex in the trial chamber

Jimmy(1->2->1): Kills Lizzie -> then dies to an iron golem named Bloop he was trying to kidnap

Lizzie(4->1): Semi-sacrifices to Jimmy -> gets killed by a Vex -> then dies to a trap set by BigB

BigB(2->1): Dies to Vindicator, unsure how

Skizz(2->3->0): Killed Gem w/ a TnT mine cart -> Creeper killed by BigB -> Doomed to fall by Martyn -> Wind charge knocked off a high place by Tango...

Events of Note//Misc. Comments

Gem and Pearl having "therapy" on a murder camel (aka: Gem justifying her behavior this season to Pearl with actual reasons for why Gem has a vendetta vs Pearl in Wild Life: You didn't remember it was MY EYE in the portal + you pulled a 2v1 on me!)

P.E.T spot a warden and instantly Etho goes to nametag it (I think he said he named it "goobert"), I guess those three aren't really scared of Wardens b/c of all that Decked Out 2 experience, lmao. -> Pearl gets a totem of undying from the slow trident community warden kill -> gives it to Impulse b/c she wants him to win

Speaking of Impulse, there are some absolutely evil traps set up in the GGGG's creeper farm, behind the tree and wheat fields. Also Pearl and Impulse start a lvl 5 raid at Gem and Joels, it fails b/c the raid mobs get randomized

Joel stumbles upon a trial chamber -> Joel, Etho, Grian, and Scar, raid the trial chamber... then the wildcard hits... Scar and Etho die, Etho doesn't go back, Bdubs joins in.

Grian and Scar combine forces to give Etho a shulker box after Scar pulls a "what does this button do?" on Etho while he was trying to set up a trap, lmao

...Grian is all alone after his Trio dies... again...

In other news this is the best Jimmy has ever placed, also only Jimmy's parrot gets burnt by the blaze's stray fireballs...

The GGGG's make another birthday cake looking base, like Grian and Scars from DL... Scott is well aware that it will burn down

(I only had enough time to watch Pearl & Scar's episode + a skim through Scott's, I bet I'm missing a lot of information on POV's I haven't seen, apologies)

[lillaydee]

The Arrangement Part 9

Frontier! Joel Miller / Reader

Your life crumbled to nothing during a migration to Jackson, forcing you to agree to an arrangement just to survive.

NOTE: Possible inaccuracies in baby developments, food intake and inheritance or ownership laws coming. I really know nothing, but I needed to put some stuff in for the sake of the story line, so please forgive me and take everything in the spirit of storytelling yeah?

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Frontier Joel, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Virgin Joel, Virgin Reader, Minor Character Death, Period-typical Misogyny, Marriage of Convenience

I think i need to preface this chapter by saying I'M SORRY. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 8

You didn’t know how long you stood there. You heard him come out of his room, and heard splashes of water, probably cleaning himself. And then, there was silence, and after a few moments, some quiet sobs and sniffles.

Was he�� crying?

What was going on?

You heard his footsteps heading towards your room. You pressed your body tight against the door, worried that he might try to open the door. You were not scared of him, exactly. You knew he didn’t mean to hurt you, that he didn’t mean for things to go the way it did, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to face him at that moment. You could feel him press himself against your door, whispering your name, his sniffs evident, his breathing heavy.

He stood there a while, but eventually he went into his room and shut the door. You waited a long time, not daring to go out in case he came out. What would you say to him? How could you look him in the eyes again?

Eventually, you went out, washcloth in hand. You could hear his bed creak slightly, as if he sat up to listen to you. You wet the washcloth, wiping yourself. An involuntary hiss came out your mouth from the sting, the light-coloured washcloth evident with blood, even in the low light. You knew that would happen, of course. Your friends, the ladies you lived with, alluded to it sometimes.

Of all the stories you had heard over the years, you gathered that women would belong in one of three categories when it came to intimacy with their husbands.

There were those who gushed about the experience. How life changing it was. How they could not imagine living without it. How it brought them closer as a couple. How much the experience made their lives so much better. How mind blowing. How they never knew ecstasy before then. How in love they were with their husbands.

There were also those who seemed nonchalant about it all. How their lives were unchanged by it. How they didn’t think much of it, neither enjoying it too much nor hating it. How their relationships with their husbands were as it were. How their lives moved on with or without it. How it could sometimes be good, but not so good at other times. How sometimes they come to a finish, whatever that meant, but mostly not. How they tolerate their husbands.

And then, there were those who feared the experience. How painful it was. How they were glad they only needed to do it until they were with child. How they would be glad to live the rest of their lives without going through that again. How it made them fear their husbands. How much worse their lives had become because of it. How annoying. How they had never known pain like that before. How much they resent their husbands.

These were often the women who were glad that brothels existed.

You had always connected the difference between these three groups of women with how they felt for their husbands, when it came to intimacy. Basically, you believed that if they were in love, the intimacy would be great. Being in love, to you, meant there was a spark, a connection on a deeper level. Which, up until now, you thought you had with Joel. So, in your fantasies, you believed that since you felt so strongly for your husband, and believed that he did for you too, the intimacy would be wonderful. That you would belong in the first group.

Obviously, that was all in your head.

**********

You laid in bed, still digesting the happening in the next room. And suddenly, you came to a realization.

He did you a favour by marrying you. Because of this marriage, you now had a roof over your head. Because of this marriage, you were living a happy life in this wonderful new town, making friends, having hobbies, a family of your own. Because of this marriage, you were not back in your old town working for pennies and scraps for something to eat. Because of this marriage, you had the pleasure of his companionship, this man who you now cannot imagine life without.

Sure, he touched you. Showed affection for you. But maybe that’s just what a good husband would do. And he promised you that he would be one for you.

He had kept every single one of his promises. He had treated you well. He had given you everything you asked for. He had never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to. He had supported you in whatever you wanted to do. He had been a good husband. He provided for you, protected you, was faithful to you. You trusted him. You knew he would never deliberately hurt you.

So the intimacy was not what you had imagined it would be. Was that so bad? Surely there was more to life than that? Those ladies you had known - even those in the third category - their lives were not miserable as far as you could tell. They lived their lives, persevering, even under the shadow of bad, painful intimacy. And you knew for a fact that their husbands were nothing like Joel. He never laid a rough hand on you. He never raised his voice at you.

See? You had it better than them, at least.

This was your own fault. You expected too much.

You let yourself get lost in the situation you were in, the good that these two months had brought you made you believe this was real.

You forgot yourself. You were not the chosen bride whom his heart beat for.

He married you for the convenience of having someone to care for his daughter, for his household.

This disappointment was your own doing.

You let yourself fall in love with him.

You turned on your side, staring at Ellie’s empty crib. You heart felt as if someone was squeezing it tight. And despite all the things you told yourself, you cried yourself to sleep that night, finally accepting that this was how things would go, that this marriage will never be more than that.

Just an arrangement.

**********

You woke up early the next day. Your sleep troubled by the images of Joel marrying a faceless woman next to your grave, the soil still red, passionately kissing her, his hands all over her body. Your face was wet with your tears, the ones you shed in your sleep.

Your body was wet with sweat. You opened the window to let the cold morning spring air in, the sun just peeking its head somewhere. You sat on your bed, mulling over how you planned to go about being in his presence that day, and the day after that, and the day after that, for the rest of your life. Could you ever look him in the eyes again? You honestly could not imagine going about life without having a constant dose of those brown eyes of his.

So, you decided there and then. When this arrangement began, you told yourself that you would be the best wife you could be to him. And that’s what you were going to do. You’re going to get up and be Joel Miller’s wife. He had kept up his end of the bargain, you should too.

You hissed as you relieved yourself that morning, the pain was searing. No matter. This was fresh. You will go to the doctor if it doesn’t improve. But that might alert Liv and Diana. You must not let them know. You shouldn’t shame your husband like that. He didn’t do this on purpose.

The door to the house opened as you made your way back from the outhouse, a frantic Joel looking relieved when he saw you. His demeanour was awkward, his eyes studying the way you were walking, worry clouding his face. He asked if you were alright, his eyes looking beyond yours, as if trying to read your mind. You gave him a smile, telling him you were alright, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. You went into the kitchen and began lighting the fire, taking a bucket and filling it with water before filling the pot with it, going outside to brush your teeth and wash your face, getting some bacon from the ice box for his breakfast.

The water had started boiling when you finally realized he was still standing there in the living room, just watching you, his face unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him, placing the pan on the stove, moving to get the kettle to make his coffee.

He hesitated, before asking you if you were alright again.

“I’m fine. You should get ready. I’ll start making breakfast.”

He stood there for a good few minutes before finally moving, looking defeated.

You prepared his breakfast and Ellie’s formula, some rice flour and squashed peaches added into it, before going over to Maria’s to get her. She was happy to see you, squealing excitedly in your arms. You kissed her over and over, taking in the sleepy, milky, musky smell of her little head, realizing that you missed her.

Another reason to just persevere. You could not imagine your life without this sweet little girl.

Joel immediately took Ellie from you when you got home, showering Ellie with kisses, taking her outside to feed her, cooing and talking to her the entire time, softly laughing at her ‘replies’, clearly missing her too. Before he went to work, he stood in front of the door, looking unsure on his feet, telling you he’s going, so you brought Ellie to him for him to say goodbye. After giving her so many kisses, he hesitated a bit before bending down to give you a chaste kiss on the cheek, put his hat on and left.

You told yourself that this didn’t mean anything. Of course it would be awkward. The two of you took a step into a new level of intimacy last night. It’s to be expected.

Right?

**********

Things were like that for about three days. He hardly spoke to you, and you to him. The two of you merely existed and danced around each other. You still sent him his drinks and snacks, kept him company when he was working, read to him at night. But it was with an air of unease that suffocated you both. He kept his distance from you, only kissing you on the cheek when saying hello or goodbye, and immediately took a step back when done. He hardly looked you in the eye anymore, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you whenever you were not looking.

There were no sitting on the bench looking at the view with your arms around each other. He didn’t hold your hands when you went on your evening walks with Ellie together. Every bit of conversation revolved around Ellie, to her, about her. It was as if your relationship had taken a step back, and you felt horrible for it.

By the fourth day, you were no longer in pain when you relieved yourself. Everything went back to normal. But he was still keeping his distance from you. You decided to take matters into your own hands and gave him a quick kiss on his lips before he left for work that morning, making him flinch, keeping his body away from you. But it was an improvement over the last few days, so you didn’t say anything.

That evening, when the three of you were preparing to leave for your walk, you made the effort to place your arm in the crook of his as he held Ellie. He didn’t protest, although the smile he gave you was a bit hesitant. But your arm did remain there for the rest of the walk, and that evening, after Ellie was down, the two of you did sit together to look at the view, albeit not touching.

It took a few more days of that before the awkwardness became unnoticeable. But there was no more hugging, no more passionate kissing on the lips. Your conversations went back to normal, the two of you were laughing again, joking with each other, but his head had remained on his pillow during the reading sessions, and lip kisses remained chaste.

You and the ladies were talking one day, when the dreaded subject alluding to intimacy was brought up. Liv was talking about her excitement to move into her house, just a week or so from completion now. Diana made a comment about how relieving it would be to not to have to worry about boxes and wooden trunks falling on them when they were in the throes of intimacy with their husbands in the wagon.

Oh, the wagon rocking suspiciously and everyone would know what you were doing! Liv added, and everyone laughed, nodding their heads enthusiastically. Even you played along, not wanting any awkward questions to be asked your way. Maria chimed in with something along the lines of maybe settling for being a bit boring and just lying there quietly for a while, and maybe not be too enthusiastic, and Liv said something about not being a boring wife in the bedroom.

They were all laughing until they were bent double. You laughed along, as if it was the funniest thing you had ever heard, but that night, you laid awake to a horrible realization.

What if you were just horrible in bed? Was that why Joel no longer initiated anything with you?

Oh God. No.

**********

That thought didn’t leave your head for days. When you think of the way he couldn’t get enough of touching you before, it made you think that having you that one time turned him off. Did he not like it? Sure, it wasn’t good for you, but surely it would have been good for him, nonetheless? He did… finish, if you were correct in that assumption.  

So why did he not want to touch you? Was he… disgusted by you?

You were so worried by this change, your body had become attuned to any movements from him, any pauses, even any sounds that came from his room. You were awoken one night by the sound of him leaving the house. He was careful about it, his steps careful, his movements light, making sure the door didn’t creak too much. You brushed it off that night, maybe he was just using the outhouse?

But then it happened again the next night, and the night after that.

The fourth night was a rainy one. So you placed a chamber pot in his room, not wanting him to run out in the rain. Even in full spring, Jackson was a cold place at night. The last thing you wanted was for him to get sick. But even amidst the pitter patter of the rainfall, you could hear him leave the house.

Worried, you went out of your room and peeked through the window. You saw him move towards the other side of the house, opposite to the outhouse. You heard him outside, through the wall, behind the house, near the kitchen window. He had stopped walking. What was he doing? You went to the kitchen window, careful not to let him notice you, and peeked through the gap in the curtain.

He was standing next to the laundry table he had built for you, parts of him hidden from view by the table and the barrel he had placed there. His back was to you. His hand was moving furiously in his trousers, his head up to the clouds. You could hear his heavy breathing, even with the rain.

It didn’t take you long to realize what he was doing.

You were frozen. You took your eyes off him, you thought, but you still saw him. You saw his body stiffen and bent over, holding his trousers down for a bit, before rinsing his hands in the rain and tying his trousers back up, settling his breathing, his hands laid on the laundry table while he caught his breath. You were too shocked to move fast enough back to your room, and he entered the house just as you got to your door.

He looked flushed, shocked, like a thief caught red handed.

“What are you doing up?” he asked you.

“Just thirsty,” you honestly shocked yourself at how easy that lie came out of your mouth. “Where did you go?”

“Outhouse.”

“Oh, I put the chamber pot in your room,” you can’t help but notice how flustered he got, how much he didn’t want to be there being questioned by you.

“You did? I didn’t notice.”

You wanted to comment on the lack of water he had on his person despite his claim of walking to and back from the outhouse, but you just told him to dry himself before going back to bed. You closed the door behind you and laid in bed, watching Ellie sleep.

He didn’t want you anymore. He would rather leave the house in the pouring rain to relieve his needs with his own hand than be with you.

You cried yourself to sleep again that night.

**********

That Saturday, he told you he had a job to do in town, asking you if you would like to come with him. You needed groceries, so you nodded and got ready to go, Ellie strapped to your chest since he would be working. You spent the entire journey to town in silence, you even sat far enough from him to for another person to sit in between.

It was as if you gave up. You felt defeated. You shouldn’t have asked him to take you that night. All this could have been avoided if only you had just kept your naughty thoughts to yourself. Before that night, you had a man who cared a lot about you. Now, he was but a husband who lived with you.

After you saw him that night, you distanced yourself emotionally and physically from him. You remained the devoted wife on the surface, keeping him company, cooking and cleaning for him, reading to him, going on walks with him. You were never rude or angry, you remained the gentle person that you were with him. But you didn’t touch him, just as he didn’t touch you. You didn’t talk to him unless necessary, nor him to you. His nightly habits remained, you still heard him leaving at night. Coming back after a while and snoring not long after. Good for him, getting the release he needed.

You knew it was petty. You knew you shouldn’t do it. But you found your heart hurting every time he kissed you on the cheek, or even touched you, remembering the kisses and touches he used to give you before that fateful night. Before he drew back ten steps. Before everything became awkward. So you withdrew, no more touching, no more kisses hello and goodbye. If you didn’t have it any longer, eventually, you wouldn’t miss it, right?

The first time you didn’t kiss him goodbye, he lingered, waiting for you to do so. When he stepped forward to do it instead, you used Ellie’s fussing as an excuse to take her inside for a nappy change. The second day, he moved to kiss you first, but you turned and busied yourself clearing the table. He stopped trying on day three.

You didn’t even know if he was affected by it, if he noticed. You didn’t look him in the face anymore. You couldn’t. It hurt. What if the longing looks and yearning smiles were no longer on it? What if his warm, kind, brown eyes were now filled with emptiness for you, or, even worse, coldness? How could you live like that? And if they were still there, what if you gave in, fell deeper for him, only to feel so rejected again?

Most of all, you just felt stupid. Two months of connecting, getting to know one another, gone just like that. All because you needed intimacy.

Stupid, stupid!

You were jolted back to reality when the wagon stopped in front of the grocers. You climbed down yourself, his steps stopping as he ran around the wagon to help you when he saw you had done it yourself. He placed his hand in his pocket and pulled out some money to hand to you, but you instead of taking it, brushing hands with him, you held your hand out, palm up for him to place the money on it. When his fingers almost brushed your palm, you jerked back, causing the money to fall to the ground, and you quickly bent down to get it, holding Ellie steady, before scrambling up to get to the grocers.

You didn’t know why you were being so petty. Truth was, you were worried that if you let him touch you again, you would turn to stone. Your heart hurt. And every time he showed you any form of gestures at all, you just felt it hurt even more, knowing that he didn’t want you anymore. You had to find a way to live with that. And so far, this pettiness, it’s making the hurt more bearable.

You went about the town going to different stores to place your order, setting whatever you had picked up in the wagon before moving along to another store. Just as you were getting the last of your orders, Esther came out of the tavern to sweep something into the street, her eyes looking you up and down in disgust, before looking at something behind you, sneering, and telling you that her guess was right. You were not good enough for him after all.

You turned around and saw Joel come out of the brothel, his toolbox in hand, Rose accompanying him, shaking his hand. You rolled your eyes at Esther, he was doing his job, you menace, you thought. You climbed back into the wagon, just as Joel placed his toolbox in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat. You let him coo at Ellie for a while, sitting right next to him as Esther watched smugly, letting the wagon get out of sight before moving away from him as you did before.

You nodded when he asked you if you got everything you needed. The rest of the ride home was quiet.

That night, after you read him the next chapter, you closed the book and quietly got up to go into your own room.

“Elena,” his voice came to you. You turned, eyes on the mattress rather than at him, and answered “Yes?”

He didn’t say anything, but he fidgeted a little bit, before saying goodnight. You nodded and left the room.

**********

The next morning, you went about your routine as usual. Making him his breakfast, getting Ellie ready for the day, feeding her, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, keeping yourself busy, trying hard not to think about the way things were in your marriage. Joel busied himself with the horses, doing some yard work, fetching the water, mending the wagons, before telling you that he had to go to a house near the edge of town for a job after lunch. You nodded, your hands kept busy ladling out some porridge for lunch, placing the bowl in front of him and setting yourself down with Ellie to feed her.

When he finished eating, he made to clear his bowl, but you gently took it from him and washed it yourself. He stood around watching you, fidgeting with his hat, before finally putting it on and leaving. He walked, you noticed, rather than taking the wagon. About half an hour passed before you noticed that his tool box was still at home. Maybe the house had their own tools for him to use? You had your own lunch, and put Ellie down for a nap, before settling down to begin cutting the materials for your new client’s dress.

Maria and Liv came knocking, Maria telling you she forgot that it was Tommy’s birthday the next day. Could you come with her to town? She needed to buy him something, and maybe get something from the bakers? You told her Ellie was sleeping, but Liv told you to go, she could stay with Ellie. Will was working anyway, building something for their newly completed house. So you went with Maria, the two of you walking leisurely, catching up with each other.

She got Tommy a new leather pouch for his money, his was too ratty, she said. As the two of you made your way out from the bakers on the way home, you ran into Tess, arm in arm with a man you had never met. She introduced both of you to her husband, Max. They both looked so happy. Apparently, Max had to follow the Red Cross wagon for a while before arriving in New York, before finally managing to settle and get a job to buy a land. He told you he was looking for men to build, and Tess said that the Miller men could do that? He would be willing to pay. There was no way he could build on his own, not in the time he needed to get the house done, he said.

You and Maria told him you could ask your husbands, they were about to start another build in a day or two, but you will let him know. His land was just a few lots away from the Millers, apparently, so it would be great if they could help him out. As you were talking, Tess suddenly froze. You followed her line of sight and saw him, all the way at the end of the row of stores. It was far, but you would know him anywhere.

Your husband, sans toolbox. Walking out of the brothel with Rose. His face flushed, his hand rubbing his neck, smiling shyly at her, while she gave him a kiss on his cheek, rubbing his arm up and down, a huge smile on her face.

Your body went numb. Cold. Frozen.

The good news was your heart no longer hurt.

The bad news was it had completely shattered.

Gone.

Millions of tiny sharp pieces filling the cavity of your chest.

Your legs stopped working. Tess and Maria caught you by the arms. Maria looked livid. She made to go to him, but you told her no. Just, please, you needed to get out of here, please. Max immediately helped you up onto his stripped-up wagon, Maria climbing in after you, Max telling Tess he will see her later that day.

As Max got ready to start the ride, Joel turned his head and saw you.

To say his face turned chalk white would be an understatement. He walked towards the carriage, his strides long and fast, before breaking into a small run. Tess told Max to go. Now, go.

Joel broke into a run, running after the carriage to the edge of the town, calling your name desperately, as his panicked face got blurry from the heartbroken tears filling your eyes.

Part 10

[sufferu]

Y'know re zero reminds a lot of umineko and higurashi. Stories where the protags are dying and resetting over and over again to fight against fate. For a chance that is "infinitely close to zero"(yes literal quote---thats how unlikely victory was) or that one dude from toaru that died 100 billion times, resetting through horrific worlds.

What do they have in common? The protags save/forgive/pity their torturers. WHDAA cast has every right to beat some sense into Subaru damn. I get the whole "understanding the heart of others" theme. I love it, but like--there should be a line somewhere that got lost in the corpses of previous loops. Especially, since most of the time they are redeemed because they have a tragic backstory. Like "ofc I forgive you for torturing me for 100 years because your parents are dead"

Penny for your thoughts?

God I need to watch Higurashi. Too bad I cant FIND THE DAMN SERIES ANYWHERE— also I’ve heard of Umineko but I have no idea what it is lol. Maybe I’ll check it out. Same with A Certain Magical Index.

And — honestly, to an extent I agree with you lol, cause even if I haven’t watched any of those series I am very familiar with the “all is forgiven” trope that tends to happen in anime a lot. I think it often tends to feel a little unbalanced, ESPECIALLY if the perpetrator is some sort of waifu character. Like — okay, there’s this anime that came out a few years ago called Ranking of Kings that I actually really liked for the most part, except the way they handled the main villain (a woman named Miranjo) was just BAFFLING. She did all this horrible stuff in the first half, but then the second half was basically just — everyone bending over backwards to excuse/forgive her simply because…that’s what the author wanted to happen. And the thing is? I was one of like five viewers (judging by those comments :/) who would actually have totally been on board with her redemption if they hadn’t done that. I thought she was a fascinating character, possibly my favorite in the series, and I even saw the potential for her becoming a better person if they were to go that route. But then they hammered it in SO MUCH because the author wanted the audience to like her SO BADLY that — it just RUINED her.

That’s what I think the problem often is: the hand of the author becomes too obvious, and as their actions get excused by the narrative practically bending over backwards to get the audience to like the characters, the characters get flattened down and all their edges sanded off. To be entirely honest it’s the main issue I have with how Rem is often portrayed in this fanbase, because — a really large subset of fans seems to have looked at that HOT MESS of a person and decided that taking her “perfect waifu” facade at face value was the more appealing option, lol.

—It totally makes sense for Subaru, though. As a character this is, it makes SOO much sense that he’s like this. And…I’m actually holding out hope that it’s gonna be addressed as an issue in-universe at some point, due to 1) some very choice descriptors on his part of all those horrible things being “good memories” that are VERY worrying and 2) post-amnesia!Rem very explicitly ending up in antagonistic role to her old self regarding how they each want Subaru to develop going forward.

As for my own react fic…yeah. Rem is. Rem is gonna be in some SERIOUS hot water. If I may: I think that a lot of react fics tend to gloss over her behavior a little too much for my liking, due to her being a popular character (or even a favorite of the author lol) and as such the fic goes out of its way to make sure that the conversation leads to everyone forgiving her one way or another. …I, personally, do not plan on pulling my punches one single bit.

;)

[noegrets]

I love him, and I love to hate him! Gin is a really wonderful villain. He's extremely skilled, extremely perceptive, and able to hold in that he knows something until the right moment — unlike a certain protagonist we know who just has to blurt out his deduction the moment he has it.

Example: Gin knew when Sherry was hiding in the fireplace — because he could hear her breathing! — but let her think she had escaped so that he could learn more about the situation and better confront her later. How many other times has Gin actually known more than he's let on? When Conan was hiding in the locker, did Gin really just coincidentally decide to stop looking right then — even with Conan breathing heavily right there?

Does Gin really forget the names and faces of the people he's killed? If yes, that's kinda cool in its own evil-zen way (and lol at the tag: #go ruthless guy with face blindness and shitty memory <3). But I also wonder if he really was being 100% serious when he said that, or if this is just another example of him being more aware of the situation than he's led us to believe.

Gin is also so so so horny to be an assassin. He's absolutely found his calling in life. He's got the classic car and the black trenchcoat and the long hair draped over the black trenchcoat because he doesn't even need to be subtle. And he's got the gun and the cigarettes and the cigarette lighter from his classic car and the cigarette smoke in the noir shadows... And he's gotten ever more impatient and homoerotic as the series has gone on. Which on the one hand is awesome, but on the other hand makes me a little bit worried that such a cool character as Gin is in danger of becoming flanderized for the sake of senselessly hot violence. He can maybe have a bit of senselessly hot violence sometimes, as a treat. Or as a character flaw, ooo, that would be awesome. But I think Gin would generally be much more into sensibly hot violence.

Example: Gin caught an FBI agent, stuffed his gun into the FBI agent's mouth, and asked the FBI agent if he'd be willing to spill the secret location? The FBI agent unintelligibly went murfmumrmah with the gun in his mouth. And Gin goes, hm? not willing to talk huh? And then Gin shoots the FBI agent dead.

Either: 1) it's a plotpoint that, actually, Gin doesn't need the secret location and this was all a ruse just for some sadistic fun! (hot and sensible, very good, yes). Or 2) Gin really does need the secret location but he got too horny to hold himself in check (hot but not very sensible and might veer into out-of-character territory if he does this sort of thing too often without it being addressed in some way!)

Like, this easily could be a flaw, and he has made other mistakes in the past that could be attributed to horny impatience (example: he made extremely predictable choices when ensuring the death of someone he really wanted to see dead). But if Gin keeps messing things up by being too horny, it's a bit weird that Vodka never comments on it (hey Aniki, are you sure that was a good idea?), it's never an issue for him, etc etc.

Gin messing up due to horniness is at odds with his other characterization of being so extremely perceptive and competent. He's also sadistic, yes, but you can't just throw his other characterization away for the sake of a sadistic scene. Unless you are writing it that way very much on purpose!! If written well, this would make Gin more complex and probably hint at the mode of his future downfall. But if written poorly, it could make Gin lose the cool characterization he had before.

So, ultimately, Gin is a character I love enough to worry that he might get flanderized! :X

[mr-e-nigma]

The different versions of Gordon should all have distinct different styles of glasses so here’s my suggestions

Gordon Freeman (the og): the basic black squares that he has canonically. The blueprint.

Gordon Freemind: 70s aviator-esque glasses. Think Herbert West’s glasses but more square/sharper corners and also black metal frames.

Gordon Feetman (hlvrai): dad glasses. You know the ones. The thin metal rounded rectangular frames. Similar to Freemind’s but rounder and w/o the extra piece of metal over the top of the bridge.

Gorgeous Freeman: cat eye glasses with rhinestones on em