#and something about a less than optimal home life

[goldensunset]

diversity win! the guy trying to remake the universe in his own image is autistic

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot

synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more.

notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she pushes the armrest up and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[daisystwistedgarden]

if you can't date for love, date for money.

ruggie bucchi remembers receiving this advice well. back when the news of his acceptance into night raven college felt like a dream, when the congratulations and well wishes from his neighbors back home clung to him like the subtle glow of streetlights at night. those days felt... fragile. breakable. there was a subtle tension in the air as he pondered whether the haughty halls of the academy would change him into someone he didn't recognize. he knew hunger pangs and cool nights on the savannah, not whatever bullshit academia had in store.

some of the folks his age-- deeper into their twenties, a bridge he had just begun to cross, with more life experience and cynicism under their belts-- had made jokes about him getting hitched to someone with enough money to give him a good life. money. status. no worries about where your next meal is coming from or if treating a broken leg can leave you homeless. hey ruggie. make sure you pick real good, okay? maybe if your in-laws are rich enough, you can get us all out of here!

ruggie was never one to have romantic fantasies. his ideal partner had a fat wallet and a retirement fund, a formless blob devoid of anything other than the sense of security only money can provide. rich kids just didn't get it. the scars of poverty ran deep.

why, then, did he not follow that advice given to him all that time ago?

his feet carried him across the icy steps of ramshackle, dry knuckles shoved into a threadbare coat, letting the puff of warm air from his tired sigh keep his nose from freezing over. he let himself into ramshackle dorm with a customary knock. the warm crackle of the fireplace greeted him, chasing away the clod draft he'd brought in as he left the entryway.

"i got some extra thaumarks from leona today." he announced upon spotting you in the common room.

"and i got my paycheck from the mostro lounge!"

your smile was infectious. an involuntary shyeheehee left his lips as you scrambled up to your feet, throwing your arms around him in greeting as he teased you for your eagerness.

getting paid was the excuse you had for making dinner together biweekly. when the strain of bills felt less heavy and spirits were lifted, you'd venture out to sam's shop and pick up something to make together. it was a night of luxury, of indulgence, the two of you feeling spoiled to have a meal your classmates would more than likely scoff at.

you were not the rich suitor of ruggie's dreams. magicless and lost in a new world, you'd managed to scrape by doing odd jobs and living in the rickety shack known as ramshackle dorm, all without complaint. he saw himself in you. scrappy. clever. there was an optimism in you that enticed ruggie to stay, even if it meant scraping by for the foreseeable future. "date for money, not love" was a proverb lost to the wind the moment you held a spoon up to his lips and urged him to try whatever you'd been mixing in that pot across the kitchen.

... well, not all advice is good advice. ruggie would rather spend the rest of his life shoving thaumarks into mason jars with you than in some spoiled rich person's mansion, anyways.

a/n: ruggie bucchi, contender for Most Boyfriend twst character of all time

[holllandtrash]

fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information. 

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt. 

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try. 

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You. 

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was. 

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did. 

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better. 

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point. 

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues. 

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated. 

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word. 

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco. 

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend. 

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you. 

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you. 

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there. 

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you. 

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager. 

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever. 

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen. 

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers. 

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck. 

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about. 

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could. 

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?” 

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained. 

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time. 

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.  

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time. 

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked. 

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes. 

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you. 

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking? 

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic. 

At least, you thought you didn’t. 

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.” 

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing. 

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.” 

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.” 

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while. 

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment. 

He wasn’t going to let it escape him. 

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you. 

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere. 

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend. 

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could. 

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips. 

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words. 

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth. 

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him. 

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications. 

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before. 

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain. 

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear. 

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat. 

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night. 

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team. 

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time. 

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful. 

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed. 

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too. 

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between. 

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride. 

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car. 

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you. 

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage. 

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you. 

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story. 

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday. 

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. 

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered. 

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out. 

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner. 

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point  and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts. 

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea. 

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel. 

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry. 

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on? 

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1. 

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different. 

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race. 

And somehow, you won. 

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe. 

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red. 

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you. 

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team. 

He was so proud of you. 

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else. 

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching. 

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that. 

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining. 

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name. 

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love. 

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it. 

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love. 

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence. 

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions. 

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?” 

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face. 

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently. 

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation. 

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season. 

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it. 

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren. 

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel. 

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023. 

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early. 

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked. 

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders. 

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different. 

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break. 

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily. 

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours. 

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news. 

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

Your heart sank. 

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked. 

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?” 

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response. 

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done. 

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work. 

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life. 

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other. 

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you. 

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three. 

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career. 

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel. 

part 2 haunted

[lowkeyerror]

Hand in Hand

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: Requested, little short, a lot of fluff

Summary: Agatha drags you out of the house on a beautiful day for a walk.

An: Anon sorry if it's short, but I hope you like it. I think it's pretty cute.

Masterlist

You had gone through many years of life thinking that you had felt every emotion that was humanly possible. You had happy days, sad days, and those that just didn’t quite fit in. Disappointment, pride, anguish, optimism, and many more throughout the spectrum, you had felt it all. At least that’s what you assumed.

That was until you met Agatha.

From that day on, you realized any emotion that you had experienced had been minimal. Your highs weren’t the highest and your lows never quite hit as low as you previously thought. When Agatha walked into your life it was if your world had transformed from black and white to color.

Everything felt stronger. You felt stronger. The woman had a way of pulling on your heartstrings as if you were a marionette and she was a puppeteer.

Being with her opened your eyes to things that you never thought possible. It wasn’t an easy feat to gain commitment from the woman, but once you did there was little you could do to lose it.

She’s the love of your life. Her checkered past and less than gold star present didn’t deter you at all. Agatha has done nothing but prove her love and devotion to you every time it came into question

In the beginning you questioned it a lot. Did she really want you, was she using you, would she actively decide to choose you every day? The answer to all of the questions was yes.

Agatha couldn’t deny that she was weary of you at the start of your relationship. Her track record with romance was devastation after devastation after devastation. She wasn’t eager to explore her developing feelings for you. Yet she seemed to have no choice as you carved out a spot in her heart.

She loved you. It surprised her as much as it surprised you when she said it on a mundane day while the two you were in the kitchen. She was honestly taken aback by how strongly she felt for you. Nothing, not even power could compare to the way you made her feel inside.

You held this softness for Agatha that she hadn’t been shown in a long time. Something you’d give her and ask for nothing in return. It was something that she felt completely undeserving of, but you’d never stop affording it to her.

“Love?” she calls for you as she enters your home.

“Kitchen,” you respond, scrolling on your phone.

She walks into the kitchen, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before sitting in the barstool next to you.

“What kind of mischief were you up to today?”

She shrugs, “Nothing out of the normal. I grabbed a coffee, went to see Billy, practiced some spells, went to the library, and now I’m here with you.”

You smile, “My, my is the Agatha Harkness settling into a mundane life?”

She sends you a playful glare, “Under some unfortunate soul’s dead body. What have you done today?"

“Not much, just a bit of what the kids like to call ‘rotting'.”

Agatha frowns, getting to her feet, “It’s nice out today.”

You hum in response. Agatha snatches your phone out of your hand, getting your full attention on her.

“I hear you, it’s nice out. I’m glad you enjoyed your day dear.”

Agatha shakes her head, “Nope, come on. We’re getting you out of the house.”

You pout, “But it’s nice inside too.”

She rolls her eyes, “And it’ll still be nice when we come back. Now stop being dramatic and put some shoes on.”

“Telling me to stop being dramatic, like she’s not always throwing around her jackets like capes. Not everything needs to flow effortlessly behind you,” you mumble under breath slipping on your shoes.

“What was that?”

You stand up quickly, “Nothing dearest, just thinking about how much I love you.”

“Uh huh, I love you to. Now let’s go enjoy the outdoors,” she opens the front door.

You walk out first, and she closes the door behind you.

You head to the car, but she stops you with a call, “We’re walking.”

You hide your audible groan with cough as Agatha sharpens her gaze.

“Can I have my phone back at least?”

“No,” she slips it into her coat pocket.

The two of you walk side by side in silence. Agatha won’t admit it, but she has no destination in mind. You’re reluctant to admit that it truly is a nice day out. The sun is shining, there’s a light breeze to counteract the heat, something about the day just feels relaxing.

As you feel unknown tension fall off of your shoulder, your attitude changes to. You attempt to steal a glance at the woman you love. There’s a sigh that leaves your mouth as you do. Her beauty truly felt everlasting.

Her blue eyes always soft when they were pointed at you. The curls of her hair falling perfectly against her face. You’d remembered the first time she let you tame her curls. The shape of her lips, how they were never chapped, always smooth against your skin.

“I love you.”

Her lips turn up in a smile, “Is that what that lovesick stare is about?”

Your features stay soft, “I’m serious Agatha, I don’t really think I could find the words or execute any action proportional to my love for you.”

“I need to bring you outside more often,” she chuckles. When her laughter dies down, she walks a little closer to you. “I love you too, Y/n.”

The two of you had wandered into town. There were plenty of other people out enjoying the day. It brought a smile on your face to see your community together.

“You don’t mind the happy people everywhere, grouchy?”

She lets out of a huff of irritation, “They make you happy, don’t they?”

You nod.

“Then they don’t bother me too much,” she admits.

She can feel you staring at her again. The weight of your gaze familiar to her. You kiss her cheek and the irritation leaves her face.

The two of you walk a little more before your features light up.

“Ags look, can we get some?” You try to point at your local ice cream shop that has a sign in the window indicating a sale.

It’s when you go to point that you realize Agatha’s hand is yours. It seems the witch hadn't been privy to it either. Both of you have light blushes, covering your features.

You try to point again, but Agatha keeps your hand in her’s. She raises the hands a places a kiss on the back of yours.

“Let’s go get some ice cream,” she speaks nonchalantly.

You can’t help yourself as you pull her into a kiss. It catches her off guard, but she is quick to respond.

“Thanks for pulling me out of the house,” you breath out against her lips, before pecking them once more.

She throws her arm around your waist, pulling you closer into her side, “Anytime doll.”

The two of you got your ice cream and ate it at the shop. Once you were done, you walked back home, with soft smiles playing on your lips, hand in hand.

[fumifooms]

Marcille and Chilchuck’s interwoven character arcs: the fantasy of prince charming, idealization vs pessimism and loss

I’ve alluded to Marcille and Chilchuck being central to each other’s arcs so many times but the proper full analysis has been long overdue. I’ve made a post going into their differences and similarities and the many ways they’re foils for each other, but this is going to give more focus to a narrative rather than character angle this time around. We talk a lot about the importance of Marcille in Chilchuck’s arc, it's more obvious overall, but less so about Chilchuck’s importance in her own, so this is going to emphase on the latter. When talking about fantasy vs reality, usually optimism is associated with fantasy and pessimism with reality, but that's not the full picture either. Both situations and relationships can be layered and subtext can imply quite a lot, the reality of things can be more complex than we'd like or hard to reconcile, and that's exactly what we're talking about today and how that is a lesson both Marcille and Chilchuck needed to learn. Give this a shot and look at the manga pages alongside my reading and decide for yourself whether I’ve got a point or I’m going overboard~!

So, Marcille and Chilchuck are character foils in many many ways, and I think a particularly brilliant part of their arc is how they balanced each other out on idealization. On one hand, idealizing things means only seeing what you want to see through rose-colored glasses, on the other, being completely opposed to it usually means denouncing any optimism at all, refusing to hold any good faith or hope. These stances reflect both their backgrounds, as Chilchuck has lived through being discriminated against and taken advantage of consistently, betrayed by employers and eventually the person supposed to be closest to him, his wife, meanwhile Marcille grew up more sheltered and lonely, and books were a big way through which she experienced social situations & the ways of the world in her rural home before going to the magic academy as a researcher and getting more actual life experience herself.

I think it’s especially interesting to analyze the trope of— the idealization of— the perfect chivalrous prince on a white horse who is pure hearted and will make you swoon, in the context of their relationship and their arcs! It’s a recurring motif- you’ll just have to trust me and read further~ Obviously this contains spoilers for the whole manga, so beware! It's very long because I'm trying to cover the topic fully from the ground up, my apologies.

Table of contents:

How they start out

The Daltian Clan and its importance

Prince Charming vs Chilchuck Tims

Ideals vs desires vs wants

Deconstructing realistic romance & compromising between romanticism and reality

Princess imagery in Marcille

Conclusion

Let’s start with the beginning:

How the characters start off:

Their relationship is both familiar and strained (extra reading: analysis of their relationship pre-canon and early canon), they bounce off each other with the ease of coworkers who’ve been working together for two years and who share similar common sense. Because yes they’re both generally grounded and rational, and generally they respect each other’s input and perspective, but, they both have blind spots…

The biggest hurdle is the way Chilchuck refuses to open up. Marcille has made efforts to befriend him, and though he was open to developing a better workplace dynamic and, say, helping her out with shopping for a pouch outside of work, even if it ended up being counterproductive he’d refuse to even just say his age, let alone share anything about his family situation. Knowing he had kids and a wife would have pretty efficiently fully shut down that he was a kid, and yet he valued being closed off more. Chilchuck is often shown being pessimistic, assuming the worst intentions out of people and being wary of anything good happening, being the last person to trust something or someone, etc. (Quick summary analysis of him I made if you want here, beyond the character foil analysis I linked at the beginning.) He prefers assuming that opening up will only bring him problems to assuming that it'd bring about positive things.

Meanwhile Marcille is very… Honestly she’s hard to classify strongly. Because I could say she’s very open to people, but honestly it’s conditional? She emotes intensely but she’s not quite a befriending machine either, especially when we recall the magic academy days as well, she’s not unused to keeping people at some level of distance, herself keeping a lot of secrets too. She was very wary of Laios at first because she had misconceptions, she holds grudges and isn’t personable with everyone like Namari or Toshiro, when she’s introduced to the party she seems serious and doesn’t smile. While I don’t fully agree, there’s a good analysis not by me here showcasing what I’m talking about. Marcille’s more serious academic side often gets undermined and I think it’s an important part of her, but then the difference between her and Chilchuck comes down to theory vs practice: knowledge vs experience. I think something more fitting to say would be that she’s idealistic and easily swayed, for example the way she lights up whenever she can put a story-like twist on things, her mood can go from dread to hype and reverse in one second, like with riding a kelpie or with the conflict between Chilchuck and his wife, or again with Namari, where it becomes a sort of hero vs antagonist dynamic for her where justice and righteous thoughts should override everything else like needing money to live. She's very stubborn, like he is, but it's easier for her to come around in dramatic ways, on things big and small, mentioning for another example thinking better of orcs suddenly because they can cook well.

So sure on first meeting she isn’t exactly eager, but then we do see her enthusiastically trying to befriend everyone! Becoming very friendly once she’s done assessing them. She is social, and fittingly she’s very curious about people. And that said, aesthetics do matter a lot to her, and I mean this beyond just enjoying vibes, for example- and follow along the lingo I'm setting up here- if something ‘breaks’ an aesthetic like Chilchuck or Falin not being a child she’ll willfully dismiss and ignore it, if she can spin something into a story like Chilchuck’s breakup she’ll get carried away, she can get the wrong impression, be gullible for the sake of believing a narrative, such and such. I’d say she’s guarded around people at first, but then with time becomes an open book emotions wise, how she’s always loudly and unapologetically talking about her feelings and emoting. She’s not reckless, rather she’s bold and often has to make decisions quickly, like when the plan unexpectedly changed during the red dragon fight, but things like using dark magic can feel like thoughtless decisions looking from the outside, like to Chilchuck, who as per his pessimism dictates he sees all of this in a negative light, assumes the worst: that she’s just ignorant, naive and reckless. She’s easily worried and discouraged but still always perseveres.

He's biased against mages and elves because of past experiences and he projects that onto Marcille. And it makes sense because good faith is dangerous to Chilchuck- for his feelings in relationships yes, but more concretely and important for his life at work, the way an old party of his was going to sacrifice him to succubi for easy money. Like the way he constantly puts his non-work values down to the group so they don’t have high expectations of him, having high expectations for someone else is vulnerability he doesn’t want to or cannot afford. The result however is that he, too, put people into boxes to avoid having his preconceived notions challenged. He's very judgemental, which we see with Laios as well, and even with Izutsumi in the ice golem chapter, but by then he's learned to self-reflect more and be honest with his feelings due to Leed, meaning his social conflicts get resolved more often and more quickly, again like with Izutsumi in the ice golem chapter.

So in the end, there are things that stand in the way of them having true, equal respect for one another. She sees him as a kid despite everything else (being capable and mature, etc etc), and he sees her as a ticking bomb of a naive elf mage who’s gonna get herself into legal trouble if she doesn’t get them killed first.

And it takes an arc spanning the whole manga for them to get there, to truly see each other on equal footing, culminating with the bicorn chapter.

I'm going to be mentioning them a lot so in my mind, the most important Marcille & Chilchuck arc defining scenes happen in: mandrake chapter, mimic chapter, shapeshifter chapter, hypogriff soup chapter, changelings, bicorn, succubus, and Marcille dungeon lord. We're talking mostly about Marcille's discrimination and their narrative about loss here, but on the end of Chilchuck's discrimination the dark magic plot is very central so honorable mention to the red dragon chapters, the harpies chapter and the cockatrice chapter, the latter where Chilchuck airs out his beef particularly directly.

Interestingly enough, the mandrake chapter which is in VERY early manga, where characters and dynamics are still being set up, Marcille gets Chilchuck to say that she isn't a burden and that he's glad they have her and her skillset with them, so the question of "does he respect her at all" was answered before the audience could even think to ask it, and Marcille also makes statements shortly after showing she respects him in turn- more on that later. This has for a result that we do know there's a foundation of respect here, even when as said it's not complete... yet.

So let’s get into it! Early on we already get a lot instances hinting at their opposed core values of optimism vs pessimism. It’s perfectly summarized in the two panel excerpts opening this post: "Sounds romantic!" "Sounds fishy.", hope vs wariness. "Meeting you was fate!" "… Which means it’s fate for you to eat these monsters, too!", if good things happening to you is fate then you must accept that all the bad things that happen to you are fate as well. It’s "Things will work out!" vs "Things will not work out".

The issue here seems rather evident, it’s a balancing game. Compromising, adapting your judgement to the situation. Yes Marcille romanticizes things too much and it can cause her trouble, and yes Chilchuck being so closed off on himself gets him into trouble as well.

(Not telling there was a mimic nearby being maybe the most straightforward example.)

His refusal to hope for anything good happening to him ever is at the core of him not having even tried reconciling with his wife (more on that later with the bicorn chapter). Through the manga, Chilchuck influences her to be more savvy and to respect boundaries more (with himself and Namari for example), while she influences him to become more open and give things a go. It’s no coincidence that it’s Marcille that pushes him to try reconciling with his wife and gives him hope that it just might work out- that that chance even on its own means it's worth giving it a shot.

The Daltian Clan & its importance

The importance of fiction in some people's lives and their specific psychological relationship to it is a very complex human brain topic with many many studies and an infinite amount of subtleties, I can't possibly do justice to this section at its full potential but I'll go over my major points. But the complex and layered nature of this relationship is why, for example, the interpretation that Marcille is a lesbian despite her likely attraction/love for male fictional characters (if not even just simping or stanning separate from those), has legs to stand on and is a compelling angle!

The Daltian Clan, often shortened as Dalclan, is Marcille's favorite book series and is very very personally important to her. In an extra we learn that part of it is that seeing a half-elf character personally reached out to her and meant a lot. She feels seen through it. Even if it's notable that the half-elf haracter isn't her favorite, general Hagreus, but the one with black hair. It's a Cinderella type of romance & convoluted political intrigue series full with a lot of drama, reminiscent of stuff like Romeo & Juliette or Richard III.

I believe that books were developmentally very important for her, similarly as to how cartoons are important to the education and development of toddlers and kids nowadays, or how oral stories like fairytales have always been important to teach lessons. Fiction engages readers and provides emotional stimulation, which can often be a flawed substitute for actual human contact- but nonetheless a big factor in socialization. For Marcille who lived in a rather rural region surrounded by books and chickens, who couldn't fit in with kids of any age around, books were a major part of teaching her how to socialize, how people and social groups worked. This is also part of why the autistic Marcille angle can be very compelling and plausible, though personally I don't see it that way.

So yes I think that sort of upbringing shaped her a lot, and I think it's part of why Marcille has trouble not putting people into boxes... Why even though Falin assured her it wasn't like that, Marcille had made this whole narrative in her mind painting Laios as a villain that stole Falin away against her will/for nefarious purposes. Why she has trouble not thinking of/treating Falin as a kid, unwilling to process how she has grown up. Why Chilchuck has to be very young in her mind, and it was very very hard for her to reconcile the fact that he wasn't. (It's actually interesting to note that Marcille treats Falin and Chilchuck similarly in a lot of ways, overstepping boundaries, being dimissive and touchy- There's a lot to say about how the party dynamic changed a lot with during canon it becoming just Laios, Marcille and Chilchuck at first and Laios' monster interest reveal, notably that in Falin's absence that she may have latched onto Chilchuck and treats him similarly to Falin may be her finding it omforting to fall into habits or filling a hole.) I think complexity in fictional characters gets her gears turning, but there's always a film of impersonality to it right, where it's not real, there's a safe distance, if you want to form romantic narratives about how things went down and a character's angst, you can, but someone who’s real… Things are often uglier or harder to grapple with. And she doesn’t want Falin to have grown up, for her to so quickly have aged. I think applying this sort of storybook veneer onto her real life connections, pushing people into boxes, is a way for her to make social relationships more digestible. And she's a big gossip enjoyer too! Engaging in shallow retellings of people's interpersonal drama, eating it up with enthusiasm and curiosity. Part of it, like with novels, is vicariously living through others I think, experiencing making connections where she hasn't or couldn't, the way her relationship with the other girls at the academy besides Falin stayed distant and shallow despite being friendly. Gossip, like stories, are safe, distant from your own life, they're easy to judge, not unlike the irl popular interest in following others’ online drama. You’re not involved yourself, so you don’t have as much chance of getting hurt. So yes, easier to digest. Less complex, less unpleasant things and less contradictions that are hard to process. Sort of like a defense mechanism to not have your worldview challenged, dodging having to recognize these things by assigning them tropes. And I think part of it too like I implied is: she can’t experience actual loss through books and gossip. They give her emotional social stimulation she doesn’t fully allow herself to have with actual humans for fear of getting invested in a way that’s very raw and personal. Again, like how she pushes Falin away to ignore the more nuanced facets to their relationship! The intensity of what I’m speculating on here in her character is debatable but I do think it’s present at least in some amount.

In a similar way to dogs being important to Laios’ social life (I made something of an analysis on that if you're interested, but this one's not relevant to what I'm talking about in this post) books are her comfort zone. If she can compare a real situation to a story it brightens everything and, well, it does make her assume things wrongly often but it also makes her able to analyze people deeply, like the roleplay-theory-speculation about Chilchuck's wife and the way she hit bullseye on how Chilchuck felt in the aftermath. But like how Marcille only agreed to wear the frog suit when the party told her it'd look cute on her, or how thinking about riding on kelpies made her excited for what previously she saw as a tedious and dreadful journey. Special interest power blast.

And this is where comes in her coworker, a disillusioned embittered man.

A guy who knows all about how messed up the world & people can be and isn't afraid to say it how it is, who in every sphere of life has field experience rather than fictional one- with romance, work, and having dreams & ambitions. Someone flawed and real, someone who won't let her interpret him however she wants without confronting her about it & challenging her to change her perspective.

It took a looot for Marcille to fully stop seeing him as a kid, and in a way I think it was necessary for the dissonance to be both this hard to reconcile and this impossible to ignore: that he truly is a middle-aged man down to his demeanor and family background but that he looks like a teen at most to her. That she literally has to look beyond aesthetics to be able to first fathom then accept and internalize that he's an adult despite his looks. That it was so ingrained and took so long, so much that even while she recognized and said "He's usually the most mature one of us", so much that even as it's implied that she knew logically he's an adult before the changelings, as pictured earlier she still couldn't conceive it. It's like with her calling Laios and Falin's parents kids in a post-canon extra, it's not that she doesn't know it's that it's hard to wrap her head around. Necessary and important because, if Chilchuck was any less loud about being a man she could have gone on unchallenged in her assumptions. If it was an easier to dismantle misconception, something easier to digest, then her arc of coming to see him as he is would have had less impact on her character, afterwards she could continue to run with her own interpretations of people like Falin and Namari without her confidence in being able to pin down people into simple roles being so fundamentally shaken. And it's notable too, that Namari's choice to leave the party to look out for herself situation was decidedly unheroic, but it was Chilchuck who spoke to Marcille about why her decision was both reasonable and had a lot of thought behind it, making her accept that it doesn't make Namari a bad person or even a bad coworker or friend.

Chilchuck is someone who knows that sometimes, bad things happen for no reason, and it's not meaningful or part of a grand narrative, it just sucks and you have to deal with it.

As the foil to her very emotional black and white interpretations of things, Chilchuck represents nuance, and he's impossible for her to ignore.

Prince Charming vs Chilchuck Tims

Chilchuck is so obviously not a prince charming. He doesn't have the looks, the attitude nor the lifestyle. Does he have the virtues for it? Well, no... But also, yes. More on that in a bit. It's also interesting to think of the status aspect to it, because being from an impoverished oppressed class/community is so central to Chilchuck's character, something usually far removed from prince charmings and white knights, and not only status wise but on the topic of virtues... It’s an interesting thread to explore, the way one may have the means to remain chivalrous rather than becoming distrustful and embittered: sometimes optimism is a sign of privilege, being able to be or remain optimistic through life. I'm sure Marcille would be the first to jump onto the aesthetic and narrative allure of a pauper in love with a princess, of a hero of the people à la Robin Hood, but it's still interesting to think of that as another facet of the contrast Chilchuck makes. Alright, tangent done.

But obviously, despite this all they have a great work dynamic and respect for each other's capabilities. It's not like Marcille is mean to people who don't fit these fairytale high standards, no that’s only when she feels wronged or if there's injustice, rather she becomes dismissive of people’s complexity, wether they become an angel like Falin or Marcille’s shapeshifter of Chilchuck or a villain like Namari and Toshiro or Laios when they met. But my point, my point: she actually thinks very highly of him!

"He’s usually the most mature one of us" "He’s dependable, we’re counting on him" "No, chilchuck is definitely virtuous."

And I think the ways in which that shows are very interesting.

^ Ok so this happens, in the Namari chapter I keep talking about. Look at his expression in this last panel. He's always teasing her, but doesn't this here feels a bit... Suggestive? Like he's implying things, not just talking about it in a work setting but also giving her general life advice. Maybe even making an innuendo for womanizers, gentlemen who flirt without meaning a thing and have some hidden agenda. Warning her about smooth talkers that seem too good to be true. It’s honestly a very easy to overlook but defining interaction for them. It’s a quote that’s on his Adventurer’s Bible plus his anime quote keychain merch!

I love his implication that "I say what I’m about straight up, money, so you can trust me"- and isn’t that just the exact thing… Because that is what this is, he’s pitting himself against these people who help without asking for anything and he's saying he’s more trustworthy and reliable than them, driving a wedge between him and those people to prop himself up by comparison. His words tie a lot here into his general worldview too, of course here he's ✨Imparting His Wisdom✨, but it also ties into his self-image issues I'd say, where he’s hard on himself and calls himself a coward etc: if no one has positive expectations for you on an interpersonal level, then you can’t disappoint them. It only goes up from here if you start at rock bottom, can't have unpleasant surprises.

But the meaningfulness of this moment doesn't start and end there: That moment happened in chapter 20, but then this happens in chapters 36-37...

I was always puzzled by the split second interaction between Marcille and Kabru. Marcille blushing is the point, it’s in the anime too and it’s the focus of the panel. That moment of hesitation before she goes back into business mode where she looks at him back, and blushes. And idk I always felt like it was weird timing, like it was a weird beat Kui chose to put emphasis on, why the story even had them make eye contact in the first place, what point it could be making besides "Kabru is handsome and charismatic" which was already made with Hien and Benichidori below, otherwise it's not even like Marcille and Kabru ever interact. Like, maybe it's for it to be a callback when she glances at him while the canaries interrogate her at Thistle's house? Regardless, she blushes, but her expression is more akin to a "Uuhh he smiled at me why’d he smile at me like that. Oh he’s kinda pretty. Well anyways-" rather than swooning or truly checking him out. She’s frowning, even. And like I said, being very naturally charming was a point already made previously.

But then… This repeated reminder that Kabru is a lady killer IS the point, Marcille reacting to him in that way IS the point. Kabru is the epitome of ‘will say they help you but has hidden motives and might betray your trust if it serves their interest’ (not a diss on him tbf he has understandable goals), he is the epitome of looking noble, welcoming and chivalrous but actually being dishonest and manipulative, and what’s important here is… Marcille turns away and sticks by Chilchuck. Of course this is logical, no one would expect her to go running to Kabru lol, but I implore you to think of the thematics of it all, a princely guy, the closest character of the cast in the flesh embodying the prince charming persona, is giving her some positive attention, and it does affect her a bit but nonetheless she turns away, and strategizes with Chilchuck instead of trusting or giving good faith or getting carried away. She chooses Chilchuck. Unlike so often, she doesn’t let aesthetics sway her here, get in the way of her better judgement, distract her from the point. She chooses not to give good faith, even if he seems charming and friendly and smiles. Marcille is serious when the situation requires it that's now new, but this is in line with the lesson he instilled earlier above. And if nothing else, Marcille has a good memory, exhibit B to come later. Here we see part of why Chilchuck was afraid of Laios or Senshi but not Marcille blurting out the wrong things with Toshiro and is party, when push comes to shove they're often on the same wavelength. Marcille and Chikchuck do strategize with specifically each other regularly, they do tend to pair up a lot after all, so this isn’t especially new, but it’s the first time there’s this sense of us vs them imo. Like how earlier Chilchuck was saying that he’s better than the smooth talker type, here we see Marcille implicitly agree.

She just has a passing glance & thought for Kabru but she knows her true allies and true values, and she wants to strategize with Chilchuck. What I am saying is that if she was given the choice to think through going with a guy that seems perfect and chivalrous like her succubus, if she was logical about it she’d pick Chilchuck over that guy actually, yeah. At the end of the day, no matter the pretty smiles, she knows who her actual friends are. Whiiich on that topic, next section!

Ideals vs desires vs wants

It's succubus analysis time

Her succubus is quite direcly a prince figure, a knight on a white horse who's come to whisk her away. He calls her princess, even! She's taken the role of Daltian Clan's protagonist, essentially. He kisses her hand, nothing short of the most classic courtly romance tropes. He's even drawn in a noticeably more shoujo style, not unlike the characters' faces in the aftermath of getting their energy sucked by succubi.

I made a whole analysis on specifically Laios’ succubus but it covers some stuff that could be interesting for this analysis as well, I’ll repeat the essential stuff tho: Their succubus all show what type of social connection they desire. Izutsumi’s is familial, Marcille wants someone she can emotionally connect with, seemingly romantic, Chilchuck wants something physical and sexual so he doesn’t have to think and worry about anything deeper (betrayal, insecurities, etc, the difficulting that come with a committed romantic relationship- also likely related to his senses & stress), and Laios wants people and friends who’ll accept him and his monster interest- platonic.

But more interesting for this analysis is how succubi work. The goal isn’t to beckon, but to incapacitate. The succubus doesn't work on the basis of rationality, it’s not a factor they go for and it’s not one they need to appeal to either, as we see. (Laios is a special case -gestures to the linked analysis- but the succubus doesn’t appeal to his rationality as much as it soothes his worries, his friends judging him etc etc, and the reason Izutsumi could remain unaffected is that there is always a half of her not enthralled by the succubus because she essentially has two souls.) Neither Marcille, Chilchuck or Izutsumi could realistically expect any of the people they saw to be real and not fake succubis. They KNOW that, they were actively preparing for the succubi to jump on them and fight back, rationally they know they're monsters! But how this monster works is that it targets deep desires within you that when face to face with it'll make you hesitate, make something in you unable to fight or flight and instead do the third instinctive option: freeze. Or especially in Laios’ case, the form gives the victim just enough confliction on the matter for them to want to believe it’s real. All they have to do is just not move, stay passive and accept the attention, so it’s not an issue of wether they reciprocate an action or run away. It's so that it shortcircuits you and leaves you open to pick like a fruit.

If this wasn’t the "reads your heart so deeply that it freezes you to the spot" monster, Chilchuck WOULDN’T be doing anything with these women. He’s been devoted to his wife even 4 years after separation on bad terms, you think he’d ever cheat on her? If this was a decision he were to make, instead of just freezing, he would reject it. In that similar way, Marcille’s succubus might not be what she’d rationally go for. You think if this was what Marcille had to choose, the person she wants most to see and at her side, her most alluring form wouldn't be Falin, alive and well? You think that wouldn't be the thing Laios truly wants most as well? And before people say that canon proved that the latter wasn't with the curse the winged lion put on him, THAT'S THE POINT!!!! You can irrationally desire things, you can desire things to degrees so deep you can’t change it even if you wish you could, but if it was truly a choice up to you, you'd choose otherwise. Laios decided to become king, even if that's a lifestyle so far from what he truly wanted, even if it is duty more than fun for him. Like how Chilchuck would choose faithfulness despite for sure having come into contact with many beauties through his four years of separation.

Ideals vs reality are a big Dunmeshi theme in general, same as wants vs needs, and you can see Marcille’s daydreams and novel themes make it an especially relevant throughline and theme for her. Not unlike how in my opinion General Hareus and Mithrun intentionally look very alike to contrast reality vs fantasy!

Marcille never reacts any particular way to Mithrun’s appearance despite the blatant resemblance, so that makes me think the point/joke is meta rather than character focused. The romanticization of elves and their societal drama in their fiction contrasting heavily with a very real and imperfect product of their military system. The canaries certainly aren’t glamorous next to whatever military Hareus is the general of. There’s even the fun little details like Hagreus’ lips being drawn with extra details because they’re full and pretty while Mithrun’s lips are drawn with extra details because they’re chapped and dehydrated. Hence the fantasy vs reality theme, both in that fantasies can be very disappointing when realized and in that they may not be what you actually want past your mind palace. Marcille doesn't even react to him- which we could almost directly parallel to how pretty young blondes is Chilchuck's type but he never seems to make a big deal of Marcille- he still wants his wife.

So yes, themes of what you actually want vs irrational cravings. Base desires vs actual wants. Needs are also separate, but not relevant for this discussion. To get to the specific definitions I’m using for the words in this section’s header, ideals vs wants vs desires: ideals are your ideal of something, the best degree to which a thing could be tailored to you, and it can be derived from both wants and desires, usually a mix of the two, but for example: I’d say the succubus is a type of ideal (the platonic ideal of allure to the victim) derived solely from desires, because a want is active rather than passive, acted upon rather than suffered, because a want unlike a desire involves thinking things through. So a want: something you want, you take actions towards getting or achieving it, it can be a very strong feeling but it’s something you pursue or wish to pursue. Finding a cure to death is a want, not wanting to be alone is a desire, see, I’m assigning desire this more primal or unchanging subconscious nature to it. On the flipside with Chilchuck, sex without ties, easy pleasure, is a desire, but the want is not having to think about his marriage situation because it’s painful, not wanting an emorional connection because it’s all the easier to be hurt with, just wanting to take his mind off of everything for a while.

Thus the succubus targets Marcille’s wish for a perfect knight who could cherish her forevermore, someone safe and known and fantastical, just hers in a way, free to see and construct however she wants because he’s a character to interpret, and it targets Chilchuck’s wish for pleasure that’ll whisk him away from the stress and pressure and reality of his life, something that’ll make him feel both good and desirable and emotionally uncompromised, not unlike what alcohol does, as he says he likes having his fine senses dulled in the changeling chapter. Idealization is twisting the image of something in your mind to be closer to what you want, but usually mostly desire on a more subconscious level, to be true, almost a wish, sometimes but not always hand in hand with idolization which is to put something on a pedestral. Idealizing things that are easier to reconcile with mostly, in Marcille’s case: it’s easier to believe that Chilchuck is very young and it’s easier to stomach that Falin hasn’t aged much, it's easier to believe Falin is an angel who can do no wrong and if she left with Laios it's not that she chose to leave Marcille, and it's easier to believe Chilchuck is just a moody closed off youngster than an embittered old man. It can be done to people as much as concepts, like the idea/plan to give everyone a 1000 years lifespan, surely that'd do really well and everyone would love it. Wants and desires are both very often about changing reality after all, wether it be your situation or an event in your past or a law of the world like death, but wants are mostly through actions and since desires are more subconscious it can lead to self-delusion easily. Like with succubi, wants engage with your rationality so they target desires instead. The demon's strategy isn't too far off, either, feeding into both and using underlying desires to manipulate its victims. Dungeon Meshi is in part yes about resisting desires, the irrational cravings, mostly through the character of the demon. I mentioned needs earlier, and to ideals vs wants we also add vs needs, both emotional and physical, and needs alongside wants are what Dungeon Meshi wishes to promote for a healthier person, Dungeon Meshi which illustrates very well with the dungeon lords that you can be a slave to your desires.

The parallel between succubi and demons is intentional. The demon is in fact the origin of the succubus myth in-world. No wonder they operate similarly in many ways- the succubi are in a way a more simple straightforward version of the demon, with less convoluted strategies and less intricate manipulation.

Of course the succubus each character sees does say something about their characters, but what I’m saying is we shouldn’t assign choice or morality to it as if it wasn’t an ethereal monster whose whole biology is focused on being able to freeze people through appealing to desires, much like how we can’t fault people for falling for demons’ manipulations. Like that’s their WHOLE thing and they use mind control through enticement shenanigans. I know people sometimes fault Chil for his succubi and if you want here’s my stance.

Point of this whole thing is, people can rationally choose things that are different from their deeper desires, like in truth Falin’s safety being more important to Laios than becoming a monster. Like how Marcille stayed with Chilchuck to strategize instead of wanting to give good faith to Kabru. Yes, this is the main point I'm coming at with this section lol. Marcille idealizes and idolizes the figure of a perfect prince charming, undoubtedly! But when it comes to what she actually wants, not in some ideal fantay world but in reality, she knows Chilchuck and her imperfect friends are some of the best she could ask for. She's content with them as they are. She would choose a flawed reality over a perfect fantasy.

That's a big part of what her dungeon lord arc is about too, all her tendencies to ignore what others want for what she thinks is best for them or thinks is a perfect course of action: accepting that people are complex with different wants, and that something that's a no-brainer to her like wanting to live for a long long time is a solid no for many. And Laios and the party confront her about it, and Marcille, even under the influence of a demon, chooses to accept reality. Chooses to accept that there are some things that, even were she to be able to, she shouldn’t change after all (even for stuff that’s not forcing everyone to live for a millenium, like bringing Falin back from the dead is something that the party and Marcille had to come to terms with maybe not working and the way they went about it was self-centered). She chooses to come back to herself and the party, to accept the world as it is even if flawed and sometimes hurtful.

And hm, I wonder if Chilchuck had any role in the lead up to that particular decision... I wonder if Chilchuck was a major influence in teaching Marcille that the world isn't perfect and her internalizing things that were outside of her bubble!! I wonder if Chilchuck was directly what made Macille turn towards her party and thus start thinking of giving up on being dungeon lord!! Joking, joking, of course it does. To be continued, see you in the princess imagery section at the end of this essay.

Essentially, this section is to show that: 1) despite what her succubus may suggest, she has indeed grown by that point in the manga compared to pre-canon and her overly idealistic simple black and white vision of things, and it doesn't prove the ‘choosing her friends over a prince thing’ wrong, and 2) despite how deeply ingrained romanticism is in her and how it calls out to her, she still has chosen and continues to choose reality and her friends over it. How fantasy is important to her and how much she loves it, and her having the will not to mindlessly succumb to it coexist and it's that resistance against fantastical ideals that speaks of her as a character so much.

And what does that mean, for Chilchuck? For him and Marcille?

Deconstructing realistic romance AKA compromising between romanticism and reality AKA Chilchuck Tims vs Prince Charming part 2

So what we’ve covered so far is that 1: idealization is something that Marcille does a lot, including concerning Chilchuck, 2: the prince/knight figure is meaningful & important to her, 3: Marcille isn’t a lost cause on it, and for instance, much like how she stops harping on Namari after Chilchuck explains to her how professional reputations and networking work, he can change her mind on things.

Let’s get back to their prejudices of each other for a bit. You might have to zoom in for this one.

Her shapeshifters of both Chil and Laios are influenced a lot by looks and impressions. She’s very adamant about Laios and Falin not looking alike at all, for one. Marcille’s view of Chilchuck’s lockpicks are surprisingly accurate. Meanwhile, despite their first big relationship moment during canon being about how he’s glad to have her and her skills for the dungeon dive, he still ridiculizes her magic somewhat with the crude spellbook. She’s still silly and tease-worthy to him, even while he praises her like in the good medicine chapter with Leed he says it himself in the same breath. Silly, or "ridiculous" depending on the translation, is somewhat ambiguous, but I assign it the meaning of 'thoughtlessly reckless', like how again in the good medicine chapter when he's saying this he's referring to Marcille's future job prospects, because law and career are important to conform to for him. Despite this, their shapeshifters’ behaviors are accurate, although Marcille’s Chilchuck is nicer and less bitterly reclusive. Note how it's Marcille's chilchuck that makes it furthest and how why she thinks hers is the true one is that her Chilchuck "looks less mean"- this is what I mean when I say she idealizes him and sees him as a little angel, along with his fluffier hair it gives us the perspective of why she'd find him so hair-ruffable and why she likes sticking to him so much, I suppose.

Marcille's arc of not seeing Chilchuck for what he is has steps, it's not like Senshi who does an 180 seeing his changeling. There are a couple of important moments for it that tell us her progress and changes her perspective: Him telling his age -> the shapeshifters (our best look into an objective assessment of her perspective) -> reveal that he has a wife and kid(s) (fully shattering her denial) -> seeing him as a changeling (true reckoning. Putting the nail in the coffin of what reality is) -> bicorn chapter (acceptance. Internalization)

You might notice that the explanation for Marcille’s Chilchuck is "Even though she’s been told he’s an adult, deep in her heart she still doesn’t get it", and a fantranslation translates it as "Understands he’s supposed to be an adult, but hasn’t quite come to grips with the fact internally". This definitely implies her arc of growing to see him as an adult had already started by then. Especially if we compare it to Senshi’s more intense babyfied Chilchuck. This goes back to what I was saying about Marcille watering down people for the sake of aesthetics, some rational part of her knows he’s an adult, but it’s emotionally that she struggles to reconcile the fact with her perspective. It’s actually pretty ambiguous when she first starts considering he might be an adult. If by this point she was already digesting it, then I think it must’ve been when he told the party his age. It’s not unsimilar to rationally knowing Falin is an adult at 23 even if it doesn’t feel like it to her, or post-canon calling the Touden parents kids even though obviously she’d know they aren’t actually, it’s classic longlived race patronization. He’s older than Falin, by 6 whole years, and even Marcille isn’t that blind to what that'd mean. Wouldn't marcille also have a problem with child labor otherwise? There's also how Marcille pre-canon shortly speculated Chilchuck was in love with Namari in her Adventurer's Bible extra. She for sure has witnessed a lot of half-foots walking around, probably even drinking at taverns. She knows, on some level. Chilchuck even does a whole rant after they react going on "this is why long lived races are condescending assholes". So that’s my bet, "Is he an adult?" "Well yes but actually no" (Chilchuck), "I’m an adult now I’ve grown" "Awww you’ll always be like a kid to me!" (Falin) Depending on the dub and interpretation, I know for example that when I made my family watch the anime they thought Marcille "See? You're just a kid!" after he said he was 29 they saw it as teasing and playful, unserious, or even disappointed, implying she'd have thought he was older than 29. It's actually ironic how someone as developmentally atypical as Marcille, whose physical and mental growth was unpredictable, unsynchronized and messy, would judge others by appearance and age so much. But well imo appearances are important to her so in that way, she especially judges those because she had to live through being judged by those standards as well. She puts elven standards on everyone the same way she does with beauty standards, so age is included in that.

Marcille here is struggling with dissonance, it's why she "hasn't come to grips with the fact internally". And this all makes sense for the arc that sharing things about himself is what opened the gates of being understood better. Point is, her vision is influenced by her own feelings of how things should be like, veiling herself to the reality of things.

And notice the point that the problem her lack of rationale when it comes people- Chilchuck regularly makes her prioritize rationality over feelings, and well that’s somewhat his whole schtick when it comes to debating philosophy. With Namari and how her leaving the party and not returning is reasonable even if it feels wrong, just like the "don’t trust someone just because they seem well-meaning and generous, strategize instead of swooning", and ironically also the "it's important to take in mind how things like touch when healing can affect parties and create love triangles" lol, "don't be emotional, and also remember people being emotional will stirr up shit". Since she’s someone pretty swayed by feelings, it balances her out. Ultimately, if we consider the Dungeon Lord arc her culmination, it’s Chilchuck who ends her arc by meeting her halfway through appealing out to her feelings, but that’s the flipside of the coin of their arc, and it’s her willpower to face reality that saves them so I don’t think that contradicts that Marcille had to do her half of the journey & comprise.

I would argue there are many hints of Marcille knowing on some level he's an adult throughout early canon. Not just seriously calling him the most mature of the group, but her behavior at the Golden Kingdom's too for example. Would you act all shy asking a kid to sleep in his bed, especially one she's always felt so comfortable trampling the boundaries of and touching casually? Idk that's weird. She's asking to sleep in his bed because by her own admition it'd make her feel more comfortable. Chilchuck is safe to her and she feels shy implying it and asking for a favor like that. Shy that he'd find her silly for it, and/or shy that this might be inappropriate according to etiquette and in other contexts. To me this feels much closer to two peers, like how in the mandrake chapter she wanted validation from him too, and yes she still infantilizes him and emasculates him into someone who's harmless in her mind- not just someone who wouldn't hurt or take advantage of her, because she knows that, because Chilchuck does protect her (more on that later!!).

He's not heroic, but he's brave, when it matters. He's mean and rude, but also caring. He's responsible, even when it means going the unpleasant route. The aesthetic doesn’t fit the role, but the actions do.

He keeps claiming he’s a selfish coward who’ll be the first to dip in a fight, and yet he’s always, consistently pulling her out of danger, or specifically calling out to Marcille when danger strikes. And I think it’s because of the nugget of info we get in the adventurer’s bible that her stamina and athletics are bad, in canon he does call her clumsyhead like once but it never felt enough for me to deduce that on its own personally. So then the reason why he’s always targeting her, beyond the reasoning that she’s the healer thus the most important to keep alive (which he brings up in the rabbits chapter), he takes it upon himself to help her, save her and pull her away from danger because she’s clumsy. She’s not defenseless, she’s known to use explosions, and still he feels the need to save her and through the manga he’s even died trying to pull her to safety one and a half times: dungeon rabbits + the drowning- they didn’t die in the latter though it’d have gone that way if it weren’t for the water bursting out just after, and that situation was especially hopeless regarding Chikchuck being able to do anything to save her at all, yet he still tried.

A little knight in shining armor, a little noble hero, a little prince charming innit?

Chilchuck IS all show and no talk- and she knows the value of that!!! It's why despite all his sour demeanor she respects him both professionally and as a smart guy she can trust, why she feels safe with him and wants him by her side when strategizing or even sleeping. The aesthetic doesn’t fit the role, but the actions do. Fantasy vs reality!!! He teaches her how to face reality both with his words and actions, through the contradictions of him, his caring behavior and bitter words, his old manners and young looks!

And actually let's TALK about that drowning scene hello. There, in the collage above, in the bottom left. The context of that is: This is after the demon leaves when the dungeon collapses, the dungeon gets flooded by water and they go under, with no sense of where or how there could be an exit to this. 1: Since the dungeon is collapsing and reviving someone only works in dungeons, there is no guarantee that Marcille or anyone would be able to revive someone during or after this, NONE. 2: He is risking his life for her, he is STRAIGHT UP playing his life on this choice, action hits and shit gets more serious than it ever has, and he yet does it anyways. Perhaps it's the gravity of it that pushes him to make this choice, that this time if someone dies it's for real and he can't accept that, but either way his choice is made in a split second, he prefers dying trying to save her than living without saving her. He is fighting for scraps of hope, seconds more of holding onto life. Which, 3: This situation is HOPELESS. In the end yes they end up being spat out by some exit out the dungeon with the strenght of the flood, but there was no way to know this would happen, and like we see in the third panel Chilchuck and the others actually lose consciousness. That's for "a way out of this", but even moreso, what is he hoping to accomplish? He's small and weak like he always reminded the party in fights, he CANNOT PULL HER UP TO SAFETY, HE CANNOT PULL HER AT ALL, WE SEE HIM STRUGGLE TO AND FAIL. HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING BUT HE STILL TRIES DESPITE THE RISK. You might also say- haha!! You might also say that this is a show of optimism from him!! You could say that after Marcille changed him, pushed him to have more hope in him, he now has the strenght and will to hope that this might do anything, that this might save her! A little similar to the situation with his wife actually, the point is that the chance is worth taking even if it might not turn out like hoped for- the point is that it's always worth trying and keeping hope to fight on, there is risk in being vulnerable and reaching out to his wife yes, there is risk, as with jobs, as with finances, as with anything- It's not that you'll never fail, but you have to not give up when you do- there's a risk but you can't just shut yourself off to the world and to relationships, you can't suddenly care about nothing! That's Chilchuck's arc! And maybe it's because his arc of becoming more hopeful and open yourself to caring centers her that it's her he latches onto here and not Senshi and Izutsumi who are equally in trouble here, maybe it's because he knew her longest or because he still feels this sense he has to look out for her like always, or because he trusts her to breathe underwater least, I don't know, but it's what happens! And listen, by all intent and purposes it was a hopeless situation, they were on the verge of drowning but he still fights to save her, and everything looks lost for a sec, but then the water current miracurously spits them out of the crumbling dungeon. He gets up and he runs to marcille fearing she's hurt but no, they're saved, she's fine, they're all alive and out of danger. It worked out. Having hope was right.

They make me ill I tell you. Like what the HELL, am I supposed to NOT go crazy when this happens??! What if they were the meaning of life what if their arc was about cracking the balance of living and loving healthily and cracking the code of life. Okay. Okay okay okay so anyways so

He can be quite self-sacrificial and noble! Always looking out for others, and giving Marcille particular attention in that regard, likely in part due to her being clumsy in his eyes and her being the healer aka their token of safety.

Sit your ass back DOWN you are in no state sir. Despite her biases Marcille is still observant, she still loves dissecting people like in that pre-canon party relationships chart in her extra, she's still the one to say "Chilchuck is the most mature here". Marcille still notices things! She has an interest in people and Chilchuck is someone she especially likes to "study". She read him like a book in the bicorn chapter, and if she was able to it’s that she looked, she remembered, she saw. The way he doesn’t like waiting on people, that he’s very reserved with feelings, the way he often doesn't pick up on others' and even his own- It all comes through in her quote unquote analysis of him, what married life with him would be like and how he reacted to his wife leaving.

Point is, Chilchuck is very harsh on himself, but there are gems inside of him, there is gold hidden away if you dig at his heart. And point is, Marcille is good at highlighting those. And besides, isn’t humility a mark of heroes?

Okay. Sooo there's not that much to say about the changeling scene actually, for both Senshi and Marcille, the chapter just previous where Chilchuck reveals he has a wife and kid is what fully reckons them with how Chilchuck is a fully fledged adult, and for both of them seeing Chilchuck as a tallman is the final nail in the coffin. With Senshi it's a rather fast 180, and he mourns the sweet kid image he had of him where he poked his cheek and ruffled his hair, but for Marcille it's just an extra "he's really really REALLY really not a kid. Really". It has a bit of a reversal of Marcille and Chilchuck's dynamic, since now he can manhandle her instead of her manhandling him. This is a rather pleasant experience for him from what we can tell, whereas Marcille is struggling to keep the party's walking pace and complains about the heat implying half-foots are more sensitive to temperatures, Chilchuck finds having his senses dulled relaxing, has no problem of the sort Marcille is having AND! And! He can pull her around. The fight with gargoyles happen and he's pulling her arms, picking her up, he even throws her both before it and during the fight, he has the physical power to push her away if he wants to and also to pull her out of danger- the way he later tries to in the rabbit chapters and with drowning, but also when the Faligon reveal happens. He still doesn't look like a knight in shining armor, and he still doesn't have the demeanor of one, but he has the most power to protect her than he ever has. Anyways so yes, further "oh Chilchuck is an adult. And he's kinda knightly and can protect me wow. And also ugly not at all like elven beauty ewwwwww. I won't be able to unsee it now if I try to ruffle his hair after this".

It’s always a question of seeing more facets to someone and slowly digesting them and internalizing them, like Kui puts it herself in the shapeshifter explanation for Marcille's Chilchuck. And this illustrates a bit what I was saying in the section about Dalclan and tropes and people being "digestible" to her. She has to get used to the idea first and it's a slow process.

And during the succubus chapter as well, right after the bicorn chapter where she fully accepted Chilchuck as an adult, Marcille doesn’t falter when she’s confronted with seeing Chilchuck as, for a lack of a better term, a sexual being. She even cracks a (albeit sfw) playful quip about it, about them being all blondes. I suppose with the crass jokes he made like during the frog comic that might have prepped her for it lol.

And on that topic... We're here guys. The holy grail of Marcille and Chilchuck.

🔥The bicorn chapter🔥

The chapter finishes both Marcille and Chilchuck's arcs about harmful idealization vs not being a doomer, so to speak. It's the culmination, the ultimate balance found, the moment where the lesson gets fully internalized on both sides at the same time. It is a MASTERCLASS in how to do relationships arcs and character studies.

Chilchuck starts the chapter being dismissive of Marcille and her interests again, it opens with a narrated bit about his bad experiences with romance in past parties and he admits he has contempt for people who find the topic of love fun. He sees her still a bit as both a fly circling around him and a venus fly trap waiting for the opportunity to pounce on him and not let go until he spills everything. He ends it though, willingly giving up information on him in conversation with her, opening up, and appreciating her perspective on his romantic troubles.

Marcille starts the chapter having mostly processed that he's an adult, asking him about his wife, but she's still Weird about him and his personal life- and okay, that doesn't quite change, but something does change- everything changes for a moment, in fact.

And what's the catalyst? The cataclysm, even? Chilchuck lies and says he cheated on his wife.

[Okay guys I am officially out of pic space, sorry but I'll have to start recurringly linking to images instead: page]

We get to see live Marcille's esteem for Chilchuck plummet and freefall to the ground. And Chilchuck often acts like hassling and teasing between them is onesided, that she's always the one harassing him, but since early manga Chilchuck has always liked to tease her every opportunity he gets, often initiating interaction just for it... During half of this chapter Marcille is giving him the cold shoulder and we get to see that he misses her, we get to see her fully shut down the (racist) joke he throws at her and see him be SHAKEN over it. He wasn't expecting his lie to tank his reputation and relationship with the party members this much, maybe because before whenever he called himself selfish and cowardly no one seemed to think less of him for it, and he's at a loss for what to do like we see here. He misses their friendship. He's always said he didn't care for having a friendship with them all and whatnot, but here we see him grapple of the aftermath, of knowing what it would be like without them as friends, without them at all.

[page 1, page 2.]

And like with his wife, he has a choice to make. Be passive and spiteful and do nothing, or be vulnerable and communicate to win them back over. And this time, after a manga's length of learning little by little to be more open (and literal coercive torture) he chooses to do it, to try and clear up the misunderstanding.

And listen, on Marcille's end this was NEEDED. He DROPS in her eyes to deserving no respect- but even in these times we see her be jealous of Chilchuck opening up to Senshi, implicitly still caring about what he thinks of her, and most importantly that she does still care about him himself when the bicorn breaks his arm and she runs to his side to heal him, worried. Why was this needed? Because Marcille was forced to have her full, complete vision of Chilchuck shattered. Not only is Chilchuck not little in her eyes anymore, but he's also no angel. He can MASSIVELY- borderline unforgivably- mess up. He is an adult who can royally fuck up, even be immoral. She calls him a depraved adult man.

It sounds negative, but what this does is actually strip him from any idealization and infantilization in her eyes. Is there something more adult than adultery? Is there something less honorable, less wholesome? In this chapter Marcille is forced to reconcile the Chilchuck she knows with this man who did something vile to his wife, even the mother of his child.

And then Chilchuck clears things up, he takes the risk of an argument and actual rejection and sacrifices the secrecy around his family situation to make up with her. And it works. Instantly.

And so he goes "Okay so one day she left me and I have no idea why, probably for no reason. The end. What a petty thing to do am I right. We'll probably never talk again." and she's like "Bet? Actually I have several ideas as to what could have happened and you WILL listen."

(For a Chil & Chilwife analysis go over here instead btw.)

She was always perceptive, but she always had a bias that made her vision of others flawed. Her lens of novel worlds and narratives. Remove, or at least shift that bias in a productive direction, and you get a strength rather than an hindrance. The skill of self-inserting (literally. The half-foot depicted as his wife is even literally Marcille a a half-foot, and his child looks just like him, to show just how good her imagination is lmaoo) Marcille is such the "If I wanna hit the ball… I must become the ball" type. As proven by how she controlled her familiars in the hypogriff chapter. "If I were your wife I’d be overjoyed to go out with you and would get myself prettied up while you complain about me taking a long time, your friends would tell me that I’m cute and nice and that’d make me happy, but I’d also be sad because you wouldn’t tell me that you love me enough. Then I'd leave to test your love, and you're failing that test rn but if you came back to me even after a long time I'd take you back for sure." And see these! See Chilchuck frowning there in how she thinks of him, how he gets peeved when she takes time to get ready.

No because, this means everything. Marcille started out the manga thinking he was just a kid with a party pooper attitude and even in the shapeshifter chapter where she’s more coming to terms with her having been wrong about him, her shapeshifter of him is sweet and cute and nicer like "No the REAL Chilchuck is much less nasty! ☺️". But in the bicorn chapter it all comes to a head!! Learning that "Chilchuck cheated on his wife" made her esteem of him tank to rock bottom almost, finally acknowledging that Chilchuck can both make adult mistakes and be significantly flawed. But then! The chapter ends by him opening up which in turn make her esteem of him comes back up, but things have changed, still. What she does with her "virtuous husband" bit might seem like idealization again, and she is being optimistic about the wife'smotives, but she’s not making him into something he’s not! She recognizes his flaws (embraces them even.) Like how as the wife she thinks of an angry/frowning chilchuck, how he complains about waiting on her, which he's also done to Marcille before...

Even the way she says "he wouldn't say that he loves me enough" IS DIRECTLY SOMETHING FROM HER OWN EXPERIENCE FROM THE MANDRAKE CHAPTER. Because then she wanted to hear from his mouth with his words that he does value her, that he does appreciate her, that she's not a burden to them! She knows how it can feel like he doesn't appreciate you even when he does, and how insecure it can make someone! Now when she flavors things, she takes the embellishments from her own experiences instead of from novels! Reality, too, can be romanticized without becoming pure fantasy. Fantasy doesn't have to be dry and bitter, it can be beautiful and fun, too. Her "if I was your wife, life would be something like this and I'd feel like this" is truly based on her own perspective and feelings- her empathy and interest in others is not a weakness like Chilchuck thought, it's borderline a superpower.

She doesn't just keep his flaws in mind, she also hypes up his qualities!! He is virtuous, bicorn approved, devoted even after separation!! And that hyping up, and optimism that things wouldn’t necessarily go bad if he tried to mend things with his wife, really gave him hope, and also finished up his arc about optimism not always being bad, sometimes even being necessary.

She inspires him to think that things can work out, that he can still be pleasantly surprised even with all his bitterness. After all, he opened up to Marcille and they talked just now, and she forgave him and they made up, didn't they?

And he must have never quite let go of all hope, must stil lhave some left in him hidden somewhere, because in all those four years of separation never has he stopped calling her his wife in present tense, because even after all of them he has stayed faithful and never moved on.

And all of this with the chapter ending with Chilchuck eating a sweet and savory sandwich, which he thought would be bad and inspired disgust in him at first, and being like "Huh, the sweetness actually complements the bitterness pretty well."

THE SANDWICH IS THEM. "Syrup in a sandwich? Sweetness has nothing to do in a meal." IT'S OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM COEXISTING. IT'S SWEETNESS AND BITTERNESS BOTH HAVING THEIR PLACE IN A DISH. IT'S MARCILLE AND CHILCHUCK COMING TOGETHER TO HAVE THE RIGHT BALANCE FOR HIM TO BE ABLE TO SAY "It might not go well like in stories, but I'll still try".

Remember what i said about compromises earlier, balance of optimism and pessimism? He tries it, and it works out despite having no faith that it’ll be good, and he’s pleasantly surprised. SURPRISES CAN BE PLEASANT! They're not just life-shattering, not just dangerous, it is possible to be pleasantly surprised! And this is why Kui is a goddess of telling stories through food.

He’s opening up to her, as he takes that last bite of the sandwich, he willingly and easily gives up an information about his family for the first time <3

And this isn't only chilchuck adopting her perspective either, it's him completing it. Marcille still simplified the conflict between him and his wife, still couldn't have the whole picture, still put a positive and hopeful and romantic twist on it all, but she did have a point. Chilchuck reaches her halfway, is inspired by her, but he also complements her, says okay, but also this, also it might not go as well as that, not going against it but building on top of it, not trying to replace it but instead this optimism and cynicism coexisting, joining together. Marcille brings him back to the reality that he doesn't suck as much as he thinks and things aren't doomed, but he also brings her back to the reality that that may not be enough, and in that uncertainty called life they're learning to be okay with it, to smile about it, to want to be part of it, hearts open.

Notice how she defends his virtues directly taking from Daltian Clan for her reasoning, as well! Comparing chilchuck to her novel characters to explain him, rather than overwrite him.

She’s such a wingwoman. Such a cheerleader. Couple therapist. Emotional support friend. 10/10.

Marcille: "he has a shitty personality sometimes but if he was my husband I’d still cherish him" Chilchuck: "damn I needed that" /hj

So this neatly ties the last bits of Chilchuck's reluctance to care about others and being cared about in turn, yes yes Marcille reads him like a book so well that he's left shaking, and this is it, really, their arc is about the balance in loving too much and loving too little, in stifling others with that love and care and interest the way Marcille does vs showing it so little that others don't even know if he cares at all, à la “if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

Marcille has a whole theme with the prince charming trope, with her idealization and storybook motif and this is sort of the "Well someone perfect like that isn’t very realistic and romance is usually more complex- and that’s ok and good, and flawed people can still be ✨virtuous✨" conclusion. Again, fantasy doesn't have to be perfect to be worth it, to be valuable and lovable and great and precious.

He’s the devoted virtuous man that she wants not the storybook prince that’s unrealistic and could crumble like a script at any time. He’s the perfect example of a flawed realistic but virtuous and devoted and loving family man. Far, far from a prince charming, but not fully detached from it either. Something worth fighting for despite the flawed cracks.

Marcille has this grand fantasy, this ideal of prince charming, a chivalrous gentleman knight, but through canon especially with Chilchuck she learns to not idealize people so much. That acts are more important than aesthetics. The bicorn chapter is all about Chilchuck’s romance being realistic: flawed. And it’s no coincidence that this is what ties their interwoven arc closed, because they learn to compromise, his pessimism and her optimism. Marcille sees and recognizes a romance that is both flawed and beautiful and is able to balance the two decently, meanwhile she convinces Chilchuck that yes it is worth fighting for and having hope for. Repeating myself but it’s easy to think she’s still idealizing Chilchuck during the bicorn chapter, BUT it’s important to notice the differences with the shapeshifter chapter, where her shapeshifter of him was "cute/sweet" "not nasty", an angel who could do no wrong. In the bicorn chapter, not only does he fall from her esteem a lot because she believes he cheated for a good part of it, thus acknowledging that he can be flawed and adult enough to commit adultery, but also! When she roleplays as his wife, she doesn’t erase his flaws!! She knows he has a short fuse and isn’t always pleasant, but believes that he’s worth loving anyways… 

And see this is the point!! She romanticizes his life, not idealizes it. The difference may be subtle, but it's there. In romanticization there's how Ghibli depicts mundane scenes of daily life, portrays doing chores like cleaning clothes as something that feels good, something worth doing that doesn't have to be miserable. In Chilchuck's life, in his flawed relationship with his wife, she sees the beauty and light and love to highlight so even if the lifestyle is humble and even if the relationship is tense it seems nice, it seems worth fighting for. She's using aesthetics again, but to inspire instead of stifle, the way she uses them to hype herself up sometimes too.

This is it this is the thing! Her worshipping and idealizing the image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance becomes her romanticizing a realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage, that he still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending!!

Marcille has a very hard time conceptualizing a point where love can’t conquer all, right. She’s optimistic and if there’s a will there’s a way etc etc etc. Notably when Marcille speculated about Chil’s wife, she centered around the theory that his wife wanted to "test" him by leaving, that she didn’t feel loved and left to see if he’d chase after her. She believes that his wife would be ecstatic to see him again and reaching out would make them reconcile and happily get back together, no problem. Chilchuck and his wife have been separated for 4 years. When Falin left the academy she and Marcille were separated for 4 years. Marcille has to believe Chil’s wife is waiting for him, that she hasn’t moved on, that she wants to be found. There's a different perspective on time, but there's also... Just parallels. Parallels everywhere. Miss coping, meet coping in an opposite way! And so she teaches Chilchuck to not assume everything is lost before having even tried, and so he teaches Marcille to let go when it's needed.

And please notice how she doesn't even really think his wife may have just wanted to leave him, no the goal was for them to be reunited with their love strenghtened- Combined with her glazing Chilchuck, the underlying energy is that to her someone not wanting to be with Chilchuck, wanting to break off things with him and leave, is unthinkable. For sure she'll be overjoyed to see you, for sure she's just waiting for you to come back to her! Is there a sign of higher faith in him, of higher fondness? There's respect and like and loyalty there. She truly values Chilchuck, always has but it keeps only getting more and more cemented, more and more real the more he opens up and she gets to know him. It's embarrassing for people to know your wife left you? Think again! You've just gained 50 friendship points with your trendiest friend and she has categorized you as a catch!

She specifically loves characters who think they can’t be loved and pessimistic and dramatic… And story-fying him is literally what she does when she engages with the story of his breakup with his wife like it’s a story to decode, reinforcing the whole narrative about tropes and princes and how he comes to shape her view on them.

Even if the context here is explicitly that she relates! Which, she finds being able to relate to them comforting and a positive point so it being a "type" thing isn’t fully off- but this is what I mean when I say she always keeps a film of emotional distance from people, she wants to love and be loved and know people on the deepest level possible so bad but it’s something that scares her too so she prefers to chase after the safe: the unreachable- the fictional. Like Chilchuck. Bit of tangential speculation, but she wants to crack his shell and make him open up- but it’s also easier because he pulls away instead of pulling in/closer so the relationship is fully in her control in that way, if it weren’t for the teasing… Making her into someone silly in his mind is how he keeps himself from putting weight into her words, how he gets himself to automatically dismiss the wise lessons she tries to instill to him, nope sir he doesn't have anything left to learn, he's an old crouton who understands everything there is to know about this cruel cruel life yes sir. Because trying and being rejected hurts! Because if it wasn't fated to turn out wrong, then it means there was luck or choice, and that makes failures almost more painful! But people leave!! People leave and people come back and new meetings happen and choices are good, choices shouldn't be taken away! Not like how Marcille tries to forcefeed immortality to humanity, as a dungeon lord...

The chapter ends with a panel of Marcille and Chilchuck bantering again, with everyone else going about their business seeming nonplussed while the two are being very loud as if to say, ah, classic them. Return to normalcy, return to their usual closeness and shenanigans. All is well.

The Princess imagery

And now we’re falling into the rabbithole. Imagery doesn’t have to be anything more than imagery, but I discuss romantic connotations in this section (amongst the platonic reality of things ofc), you can skip to the conclusion if you’d rather but you will miss important analysis of the dungeon lord balcony scene, a big piece of the puzzle in wrapping it all up. I found the meaning of life & the world in marchil but it’s ok I get it if you wouldn’t... We're all built different ig. The character with princely chilvalrous knight parallels in the manga is moreso Laios, but Laios too breaks the trope a lot. Chilchuck gets prince and knight parallels but by contrast instead, in subtext more than any explicitly drawn. There's a lot to Marcille's princess imagery and though I've never fully covered it I try to somewhat tackle it here.

For as much as the bicorn chapter is what ends their arc about balancing pessimism and optimism and finding healthy compromises, the arc of their RELATIONSHIP is in the dungeon lord chapter where he fully opens up to her, inviting her to meet his family and all. AND MY GOD, the princess imagery!!

Listen I am trying so hard to keep this unromantic, and to be clear subtext is subtext for a reason, it doesn’t have to be concreticized or "acted upon" perse, but… I think it’s there in this scene, at least a bit. I’ve spent a long time trying to pin down what was so charged in it, besides both of them blushing, despite him offering for her to meet his family, despite it calling out to a genuine deep instilled desire in her heart enough for it to work- for it to make her turn towards them, despite the first thing she does after is shower him in romantic gifts, and it eventually struck me… It’s the parallels with other media, with tropes!! This is HIGHKEY Romeo and Juliet type shit!!! The stuff you see in every couple new kinda trashy romance kids movies! A lady, stashed away in a high tower by her lonesome, waiting for someone to call out to her from below… Romeo courting type shit with a heartfelt spiel implicit confession from underneath her balcony, offering him flowers because he succeeded in calling out to her heart…….. And they have to CLIMB to her.

Remember her succubus' words? "Oh, princess... I can't believe you slipped away from the castle yet again... Honestly, what in the world shall we do with you...? Come, let us return." Again like with her succubus, she’s living through a storybook trope but with Chilchuck’s twist, more nuanced and realistic yet just as meaningful, even if it isn’t strictly OR at all romantic and if it’s more complicated and less glamorous. She’d have to peel the layers to get to the vulnerable truth of it, like anything else. I'm just gonna drop this here...

Doesn’t it sound like a proposal. One that’s both so storybook-like, and contrasted with such real yet unromantic and grounded words, all about the implications rather than in your face grand gestures "Don’t you want to meet my family?". They literally have an arc about the topic of romance and this is the climax/pinnacle of it like god?? I’m not saying this was all intentionally crafted to be romantic but it nonetheless exists in the subtext, ripe for analysis. Of course they talk about planning together his reconciliation wit hhis wife, but the same thing happens regardless, he fully lets her into his life.

And again there’s something to be said about how that is what makes her finally turn around! This is extremely meaningful not only to Chil but to Marcille, the enticing thing that finally hooks her, gets her to finally look down at them. An offer to meet a flawed man’s flawed family, to help him mend it and its issues. It isn’t through the filter of a book, or mere gossip to her, she knows this man and she wants to be involved in his life, to know him and his family herself, ready to meet them and form connections. The clumsy, imperfect reality of a friend telling her he’ll let her into the other spheres of his life even if that means she witnesses the embarrassing and the ugly. It’s vulnerability on both their ends, offered and received, a gambit that was worth taking, both in the moment to talk Marcille out of being dunlord and long term of letting her in to see the deeper sides of him, there are take backsies once someone knows something about you after all. SHE STOPS BEING A DUNGEON LORD IN GOOD PART BECAUSE HE TOLD HER HE'D LET HER INTO HIS LIFE. SAY IT WITH ME, A FLAWED REALITY IS WORTH IT MORE THAN STAYING IN FANTASY!!!! In denial of reality, both that Falin hasn't grown older, that everything can turn out perfectly, and that everything is lost and there's nothing Chilchuck can do to make his wife love him again or even make his party listen to him.

Chilchuck says this after he sees her materialize her parents as doppelgangers. And so he goes on to say- hey your family will never go back to how it was when you were young, my family will never be what it once was either, but we can both move on and make the best of what we have anyways, isn’t that what you taught me, there are more out there! I’m opening up myself to new relationships and friendships because of your pushes, and now I want you to do the same! Life goes on and there’s always more joy and connections to be had! Stop isolating yourself, dammit!

And the thing too with Marcille’s arc is that she can’t get what she wants. She can’t. She can’t get everyone to live forever if she doesn’t take others’ free will away, if she doesn’t make the world stop for her as she plays god with the laws of nature and the cycle of life. And everyone’s important to that arc obviously, Falin during the story is the main object of that fear, and it’s moreso her death that pushes her arc along but it’s still extremely influential, Laios is the main one who sees her insecurities and talks her down, Senshi’s always harping on ecosystems and laws of nature and how resurrections aren’t natural and is there to offer comfort and support, Izutsumi’s someone new Marcille gets to take care of and her farewell talk with her reveals a lot about how she’s grown, but seeing this it’s easy to see why Chilchuck is paired off so much with her on their respective arcs, right? The one who tells it harshly how it is even when the reality is unpleasant, who gives up quickly when it's about things turning good for him but who always pushes and fights on when it matters with the party, who challenges a rose tinted glasses perspective head on.

He looks nothing like a knight but he still acts like one. He’s nothing like a prince or a dashing romantic courting lover but still he gives her a novel worthy balcony heart to heart scene. He’s painfully real and raw but she does bring that twinkle of hope and romantization that makes the world feel more wonderful to him, but like she tells him, he’s virtuous and he should give things a shot because people see good in him too and not only the bad he always shittalks himself for, she’s not making it up, he always had that sparkle of knight and prince in him.

Like, giving someone a handkerchief is literally a romance trope associated with nobles and princes. And Chilchuck has offered Marcille his handkerchief at least twice! The second time in the cockatrice chapter as a bandage. He keeps it in his pouch, with his tools, like the most must-have to offer it Marcille at any moment, ha /j. Prince behavior <3 The neckband like a knight’s favour, a token from a loved one he cherishes above all and keeps on himself at all times... Which I'll remind in her Chilwife roleplay she directly theorizes she was the one to knit it for him! Beautiful story tropes shit.

He IS a prince figure instead that now it’s not about idealizing the grand and overt it’s about romanticizing the small things in real life!! About finding joy and beauty in things that seem normal or mundane and uplifting them to make the world feel kinder!!!!

And man this whole angle makes the "Don’t you want to meet my family?" "-gasp- I really do want to! -turns away from eldritch power and living in her demon-made dreamscape that can allow her to live in fantasy to instead go back to flawed reality with her friends-" all that more meaningful and striking. A fitting end to her arc, a fitting hook to get her to turn back towards her and tempt her to give up on being dungeon lord. It’s always been just asking things and anecdotes about him and his family, never talking about meeting them, but by having someone so "fated with doomed love" open up and reach out to her "fated to never love", she opens up too, is willing to take the risk that any relationship entails, the same one that he took by offering it, the same risk they’re both averse to and scared of, loss and rejection. By actually meeting his family she involves herself in the stories she creates. It makes them real. She’s finally involving herself intimately with others, despite the real threat of loss that she will have to experience, wether through time and death or rejection.

Marcille and Chil’s arc, man…….. See, this is why I’ve been tilling the fields of that analysis for months this is why I’m insane about them, not only is there so much to say but her relationship with Chil straight up deconstructs her perspective on the world as idealized and influenced by fiction and fantasy and optimism. Like, he’s at the core of that part of her arc and man!! Man.

And the way that this is the culmination of their arc together… Like the ‘Chil calling out to dunlord Marcille on the balcony has Romeo and Juliette romance novels imagery’ take is one thing but the ‘their arc is about growing to see beauty even in the non-idealized, in the flawed and in the real’... It makes it so so perfect if she were to lower her ideal from a perfect elven prince to a virtuous halfling man (which she does romanticize).

So she doesn’t want a prince, she doesn’t want a general, she just wants this guy she knows, this friend she trusts as reliable, who has good intentions even if wrapped in unpleasant demeanor, that’s all she needs to be content and well and feel safe. By the end, he might even have become something of a prince charming to her, won over with heroic acts and virtues.

After all- Remember when I said she wouldn't be able to be as touchy so lightheartedly as before with him? Well wrong, apparently! This parallel from chapter 23 just before the red dragon fight vs chapter 96 at the final feast confirms that her like of him and behavior with him was unconditional of him being a kid or an adult. Marcille is just Like That and that she just likes him. A good part of what reads as infantilization truly is just how she cares for people in general.

Conclusion

She’s afraid of change, so it's only fair that he would be perfect to teach her a thing or two. She had fantasies but he had experiences, both had bias. Their arc is about how bitterness isn't an efficient solution to hardships, about how assuming the worst from everything is a trap that doesn't reflect reality either, a trap people fall into just as much as rose tinted glasses.

Their arc is about how relationships need work and how it's worth the effort! You can overwater a plant but you can also neglect it, to find a balance between each's needs can be hard but is always important. Friendships just like romances shouldn't be taken for granted, and doing the extra steps of deepening your understanding of others and opening to them is rewarding.

Their arc says that love is a beautiful thing regardless of loss. Something both of them needed to remember. Life isn't like a novel. Sometimes an ending ISN'T satisfying, you don't get closure and it might not even be happy, but that doesn't mean nothing can end well, doesn't mean every farewell is bitter. Peace is worth both fighting for and making for yourself. You can't shut yourself off from the world because things sometimes hurt, there's more of life to live- won't you come meet my family? Won't you meet new people, won't I try to mend relationships that are dear to me? My family is flawed, but it's still worth meeting, still worth loving, still worth fighting for and keeping even with all its flaws, no? Elven storybooks don't feature half-foots, but they're worth spinning grand poetic and romantic tales for all the same. Life is bittersweet, and that's an acquired taste to have, but one good to be able to stomach as a whole.

There’s a lot of reasons why someone would love fictional characters but be afraid of love in reality, not unlike with Laios' and Chilchuck's own experiences love has a layer of danger and fear because it can hurt to love and it can hurt to be loved. People can leave you, and in Marcille that fear's mainly through death but for Chilchuck that’s through just… Leaving. Through giving Chilchuck optimism and hope, drive to keep going despite these realities, she’s also growing to be more comfortable with the thought of relationships ending and moving forward regardless. And I do think that was part of her arc of growing to accept that Falin might be dead dead, I think Chilchuck was a big part in that. Falin is the passive object of the arc but Chilchuck is the active actor pushing it along, in a way.

Because people can always leave, Falin will leave to travel the world, but she might come back- and that's okay. And that’s exactly the thing that the story wants Marcille to make peace with! Falin wants and needs to leave and Marcille needs to be content just taking what she can get, wether it be time with people or the boundaries they set with her. THE BOUNDARIES! THE BALANCING OF OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM! IT'S CHILCHUCK'S DOING!! "The world isn’t all good, but you should be able to see the bright side of what you do get" is what she and Chilchuck learn. To learn that she can still enjoy when she is there, and still reach out to her and keep in touch through letters- to do what you can and to get what you can and to accept that as enough, for it to bring you the joy and peace it can. Don't push your expectations onto others, wether that's being overly intimate or overly judgemental, don't be too pushy but also don't be too afraid and not do anything at all.

In many ways even before, even on the regular Marcille was his gateway into being more lighthearted, always exchanging playful jabs, laughing at her. Teasing her because she teases him, lowering himself to her level until he looks back and realizes he’s having fun with it instead of just throwing jabs bc he’s the master of sarcasm TM.

Chilchuck smiling casually and softly, genuinely, when saying that things don’t work out sometimes, is just so powerful. From the man who always assumed the worst of everything, who always spoke of life and the world bitterly... By the end, while saying these things he’s smiling openly rather than smirking smugly. Carrying on with his go getter attitude with a touch more optimism in his heart. Now he's made his peace with life and sees the good in it, still.

It's all about... How flawed relationships with flawed people can still be made into somehing good and healthy that make the world brighter… How flawed relationships are still worth remembering and cherishing. Except the winged lion, there to represent abusive relationships you need to fucking DITCH.

Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc is about how in life sometimes books do close and end, but other ones can open and start, and to never give up on that. People’s lives, relationships, these things are temporary and inevitably end, but there’s meaning and joy in having been there for them, and focusing on the end and the pain and being pessimistic in it doesn’t keep anyone safe, not meaningfully. "It’s not all nice like in the stories. Sometimes, a book just ends." "And another opens."

Dungeon meshi promotes the important of balance for both a healthy body and a healthy mind, and optimism vs pessimism is one such case <3

MAYBE IT'S ALL COMPROMISES MAYBE IT'S ALL SWEET INBETWEENS. Maybe we'll take our vision of what we thought we could be and make something new together! DRINK IN MODERATION!!!!!! SEE LIFE LIKE FAIRYTALES IN MODERATION!!!!!!! THE RIGHT ATTITUDE LIES BETWEEN IDEALIZATION AND PESSIMISM

Disclaimer:

This was pretty messy but thank you so much for reading!!

Thank you to @/lyril for making the more complex collages!! Check out her blog!

To be clear! Does this arc exist in the text, the whole tropes and idealism vs pessimism thing, do they have tangible impact on each other as both characters and narrative devices? Yes. Is Marcille and Chilchuck the central piece of the story? No. Is Dungeon Meshi about this and how it all culminated into a cool Romeo and Juliette scene? Lol no. Chilchuck isn't the most important person to Marcille and her story nor is Marcille the one most important to Chilchuck. Just like the other major characters in the story, their dynamic and progressing relationship is a plotline/subplot amongst others, and the level of layers and subtext it possibly has doesn't erase any other part or subtext of the story. Arcs can coexist. Multi-layered relationships can coexist. Just a reminder that this is my own analysis and interpretation of canon.

Dungeon Meshi is about food and how it ties us to a life that’s worth living, about unity and trying to understand that which you do not, to not demonize that which is different or unknown, to connect with others even if it’s hard, even if it’s in unusual or undescribable unlabelable ways, and Marcille and Chilchuck’s relationship is certainly a pawn in these themes like every other relationship.

I’m having fun, but I don’t want anyone getting lost in the sauce. It's unfortunate that to many, acknowledging there's any merit to analyzing this subtext is equal to supporting a ship they dislike, but this isn't ship propaganda, this is analysis of canon text where I happen to see a more niche angle. You can disagree with an interpretation without saying that it's nonsensical.

Like I don’t wanna say I’m a marchil truther but if you define it as believing canon does have genuine and credible basis for it then yeah I guess I am. I feel insane everyone acts like they have no chemistry and no material and??? We exist on different planets I think Like I know I implied some romantic undertone but in canon it totally can start and end at two coworkers bonding and getting to know each other better and see each other’s perspective and it influencing them both for the better. No buts, you can totally do that. Although this plus the crumbs it drives me up a wall when people say they have no chemistry or ‘how come people see anything in this pairing?’ They’re literally a comedic duo? A comedic duo that interacts so so much that gets paired off in scenes, a thematic duo which is even acknowledged and reflected in the anime’s opening. He teases her 24/7 canonically because he finds her reactions fun/cute, the only person he teases on the regular, and she’s obsessed with knowing more about him and loves being touchy on top of it, plus reads him like a book because she files away every little thing about him in her memory, like if that isn’t a strong basis for a ship I think the bar has gone too high. I’m derailing but yeah just. Do you see all of this? They drive me insane, I feel like I’m reading the necronomicon when analyzing them, picking up on subliminal messages, I keep always seeing new threads. And it’s been my otp for like 2 years now, idk when they’ll stop having a grip on me but????? There’s just so much to dig into with them. There will never be another pair like them. Do you hear me there’ll never be another duo that hits all of these like this, do you see this insanity? They are my lifeblood and if i’m eating up anything them-related it’s because they’ve earned it so hard tbh. So yeah if I’m ever dramatic about marchil it’s because I have this 100k words novel narrative in my head and marchil is the meaning of life to me hope this clears it up

Which on that note idk what or when my next Marcille & Chilchuck analysis will be. I might very well make a bite sized, summarized version of this analysis because asking people to read all of this is kind of insane of me... And full disclosure I’m also very likely to edit points in or tweak bits every so often in this analysis because idk if I’ll ever stop thinking about it, and phrasing can improved. This has been in my drafts and outlined more than a year and I’m literally still adding extra points save me. I might also do a different angle on their arc because here yeah I mostly just dug at the prince trope angle, at ONE of many angles... Like one interesting thread in the manga is Marcille emotionally maturing and becoming more like her mother, on top of her regularly being a mom type friend the way she looks after Izutsumi and Falin, which could be interesting to pair with the fatherhood of Chil. Hmm. Anyways

And obviously do whatever you want, but this analysis and all is why I personally can’t stand the fanon that Chilchuck and Marcille have a father-daughter undertone. It goes against their arc together, which is explicitly, literally about her acknowledging him as a man, an adult, about coming to see each other truly as peers and her coming to validate him as an adult, then a father and husband from an outside perspective and a friend, and inversely him coming to not belittle her profession and philosophy. Their whole arc is about learning to see each other as an equal and equally value each other’s perspective and opinion. You could argue it’s also the arc that happens with Izutsumi, but honestly with her it’s a lot about Izutsumi learning to compromise and others instilling lessons to her onesidedly while learning to respect her perspective and boundaries, it’s not nearly as much of a reciprocal thing. Izutsumi needs to be heard, but she also needs people teaching her and guiding her. Imo it cheapens the arc, the whole point is that they’re just two people who grow to see each other as equals, that the Laios party is coworkers turned friends. Marcille doesn't need a new parental figure, she needs friends who'll keep her in check the same way she does them.

I do love the way that the manga avoids romance. For every romantic undertone there’s a platonic explanation that is just as compelling and especially to this degree it’s both rare and wonderful. I think that a lot of people need to learn that sometimes ambiguity is the point instead of something that needs to have a specific objective answer. Sometimes the intent is for something to be able to be read in different ways in itself, or that the complexity of the relationship is canonically something that cannot be put into a neat box. Which! Next analysis I'm very intent on making is gonna be about unlabeled relationships in Dunmeshi and queerness, see you there!

Fast and dirty TLDR

Marcille’s personality is very serious and direct. Due to this, she frequently gets into arguments with the master of sarcasm, Chilchuck. Chilchuck views Marcille as “the friend who cannot shut up”. He is often the practical foil to her more imaginative or idealistic views.

She actually thinks very highly of him! "He’s usually the most mature one of us" "he’s dependable, we’re counting on him" "No chilchuck is definitely virtuous", and at first it’s also through this twisted lense that he’s a kid, like she has to put people into boxes so they’re more digestible, tropes, in line with aesthetic, and at this stage it’s hard for her to see Chilchuck as being even able of wrongdoing really. And gradually that gets challenged when she sees that yeah, he’s an adult, and then BAM bicorn chapter- Because by then ok fine he’s an adult, but it hasn’t quite fully settled yet as we see in the shapeshifter chapter and she still has a warped view of him a bit, she has an accurate grasp on his behavior yet still sees him as a little angel. And then she "learns" he committed adultery. Her esteem for him hits rock bottom and she spends the chapter cold to him, she still cares and comes running when he’s hurt, but she’s set on mean mugging him, until it’s revealed that- He didn’t actually. Oh, actually he just has family angst. And she starts roleplaying and having her novel vision again BUT THIS TIME HER MIND VISION OF CHILCHUCK IS OVERTLY FLAWED. He’s angry and his wife left him, he’s *flawed*, but he’s still worth hyping up, still worth having his own romance story, still has a shot of winning back his beloved. She sees him for what he is, human and real and not a carefully scripted character that fits an aesthetic, and she thinks it’s still worthy of love and admiration, worth fighting for.

The prince charming figure has importance in Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc, where she romanticizes things to a sometimes worrying degree or idealize people into something more poetic, easy and digestible (like Chil being a kid, and then him being a virtuous ✨✨✨husband), and where she needs to learn to value aesthetics less and actual acts and facts more, be more grounded (like seeing people for what they are flaws and all, but seeing their virtues too, like accepting that people need money and not pulling through on principles of honor or unity shouldn’t get Namari shamed) and a part of that is accepting that Chilchuck is BOTH flawed and virtuous, a loving husband that still has shitty moods and fumbled his marriage so bad etc etc. So it’s like, her image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance -> realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage but who still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending.

Their arc together is literally learning to 1) see each other for how they are and not undermining their qualities and capacities etc etc while still not leaving flaws unchecked either and 2) opening up to people. Marcille LITERALLY makes Chil open his heart up to hope like idk man. What do you want from me. He’s literally the guy helping her through deconstructing novels and fantasy and rose tinted glasses and like. Deconstructing the prince charming figure into something more real but still a virtuous husband like KUI KUI STOOOOP STOP I’M ALREADY HOOKED I’M ALREADY-

[aylacavebear]

An Arranged Marriage

Your parents told you when you were twelve. You’d seen lots of Disney and kid movies up until this point, so you thought you had a good idea of what being married to someone meant and how it was supposed to go. On top of that, you were taught how to be a hunter and use your unique set of abilities. 

The way they had explained why you, it had to do with Bastet and her desire to bridge the world of hunters and monsters. Not all monsters were evil or killed people. Some hunters saw this and acted accordingly, letting those monsters live. However, it was less than a handful, and Bastet was hoping for a better way to bridge the gap.

Paring: Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 12,828

Warning: Angst-LOTS, longing, Fluff, Dean being an ass, Car accident, Dean almost dies, Reader being utterly selfless, Sam being a sweetheart.

A/N: Found an interesting writing prompt - An Arranged Marriage, so, I ran with it. Sorry for the length, it literally kept going. I might write the other version that played out in my head and post it too.

----------------------------------------- For a while, you daydreamed about some handsome prince and a fairy tale life. You’d write out things in your personal journal, dreams of a child. When you’d watch movies with a romantic couple, you daydreamed it was Dean, even though you had no idea what he looked like or what kind of personality he had. You were a kid and so very naive. 

After graduating high school, you began going on hunts alone, having honed your abilities over the years. There was a freedom in it, without the politics of niceties during interactions. With other people, it was like a dance of words, testing to see what was okay to talk about and what not to talk about so you didn’t set someone off. Monsters were easy to deal with. Monsters were either good or bad. They didn’t have that gray area like humans did.

It was six months after your eighteenth birthday that you were supposed to meet this Dean Winchester, your soon-to-be husband. You couldn’t help but be excited and had spent nearly an hour in your room attempting to figure out what to wear. Clothes were strewn everywhere, several pieces laid out over different surfaces. You finally went with a pair of jeans and a comfy shirt and pulled a red flannel over that, leaving it unbuttoned. As the time neared, you felt butterflies in your stomach and anticipation coursing through you. It was the phone call ten minutes before the time that made you frown. Then, your mother was apologizing to you, saying something had come up on their end. You brushed this one aside. They were hunters too. It was a viable reason, this time.

When it happened two more times, your fairy tale world shattered. This one, you heard him in the background of the call as you sat near your mother on the couch. “I’m not marrying a monster!” Those had been his yelled words laced with anger, venom, and disdain.

Even being eighteen and technically an adult, you still had that child-like wonder, hope, and optimism. You dreamed of the kind of love they wrote about in stories. You had run to your room before the call had even ended, the tears already falling, then slammed your door. Monster, he’d called you. Technically, you were. You weren’t human, so you fell into that category. As you sat on your bed, trying to wipe away the tears as they fell, you thought back to the movies you watched growing up. The monster was always killed. The monster didn’t get a happy ending. The monster wasn’t loved. 

With that realization, you began packing a bag, your hunting bag. It was at that moment that you started constructing walls around yourself. You knew you couldn’t get out of this marriage and that at twenty-five, it would happen by Bastet’s hand if it hadn’t been done before. 

Seven years. I have seven years to postpone this.

You kept yourself busy with hunts, being home less and less. The next meeting that had been set up, you sat on your bed, dressed in what you called your hunting clothes, far too lost in thought. So far, the Winchesters hadn’t canceled. Your bag sat packed behind you. The sound of an engine pulled your attention from your thoughts as your heart hammered. Then your expression hardened. Fuck this asshole. With the anger welling up again, you grabbed your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and slipped out of your bedroom window. Cats really do always land on their feet.

Moving quickly, you went for the nearest tree, extended your claws, and climbed it till you were hidden by the foliage. With quick thinking, you pulled out your phone and put it on silent, then slipped it back into your pocket. 

Part of you wanted to see your future husband, the curious, hopeful part. So, you had lingered in that tree, but you never did get a clear view of him before the four Winchesters had reached the front door. Only a minute later, your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You knew your parents were pissed, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt Dean like he had hurt you.

Yelling had begun coming from your house as you slipped from the tree and walked away, head held high and feeling justified, at least a little. Why? You’d heard Dean yelling and could hear the anger in his tone, as a smirk had found the corners of your lips.

When your parents informed you of a meeting, you would slip out of the house without their knowledge. You had even managed to elude going home for nearly a year once, which your parents weren’t happy about. Were you being childish? Probably, but to you, you saw no point in meeting a man who saw you as only a monster. I’ll deal with meeting him on my wedding day, you’d tell yourself.

Near your twenty-third birthday, you found a note stuffed into your hunting bag, pulling your lips into a frown. It was in Egyptian hieroglyphics, a language you had been required to learn in case Bastet ever interacted with you. Plopping back down on your bed, you instantly felt bad for your behavior as you read her note. She was asking you to let go of your anger. A Goddess was asking nicely. Bastet was one of the good ones, even if you had never gotten to meet her. Your parents had told you what she’d promised your family: good health and long lives if they had agreed to this marriage of their only daughter, and that had been before you’d even been conceived. 

With a heavy heart, you tucked the note into your private journal, one you hadn’t written in in years, nor had you wanted to. Sometimes, you would go back and read things from when you were younger, then scoff at your childish dreams. 

Your parents had already gotten the dress for the wedding. It was a simple yet elegant traditional Egyptian wedding dress. You just hadn’t wanted to wear all those colorful things, so they compromised with a decorative veil to match the dress. It would hide your face completely, but you would be able to see through it.

That was when your phone vibrated with a text from your mother. Your parents and apparently Dean’s parents had been talking, a lot. They had agreed upon a date for the wedding, whether the two of you met or not. It was in three days' time. Plus, apparently, they’d gotten help from an angel if either of you attempted to get out of this and not show up. This angel would ‘retrieve’ you.

This sucks. 

The first two days went by in a blur with all the preparations. Most of them had been done over the last year by both families. The four parents had taken things into their own hands since neither the bride nor the groom wanted to be any help. 

The day of, you were in a daze, mostly just going through the motions until you were in that room at the church, staring at yourself in the full-body mirror. You looked beautiful. The dress was elegant but traditional. Your hair had been done so that it was partially up but the other half down and partially curled, so it had a wavy look to it. One of your mother’s friends had done your makeup, simple and only enough to bring out your natural features.

But, as you looked in that mirror, his words from that phone call with your parents began ringing in your mind: I’m not marrying a monster. Your expression fell even more before you just sat down in the chair near the vanity. The door opening didn’t even pull your attention.

“It’s time, sweetie,” your father announced softly, doing his best to hide his worry.

Letting your gaze fall to the mirror, you carefully pulled the veil over your face, then took a slow, deep breath. You’d put on that front, just like you did when you were hunting and had to talk to people. You stood with confidence, holding your head high as you joined your father. As the music began, you followed his lead. The church was silent until you entered. Murmurs whispered among those gathered of your beauty. You didn’t care. Looks faded with time. They weren’t what made someone who they were. 

He was standing up at the altar with a man near him. You figured it was his brother, as both men were fairly tall. Dean looked rigid as he stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression completely unreadable.

Of course, he’d be wearing his hunter’s mask. I don’t know why I hoped for anything else. It was in that moment that you realized you were still hoping, like your child-self all those years ago, that he had changed his thoughts. That perhaps, he wouldn’t look at you like a monster. When you reached the altar, you turned toward your father. He reached out with slightly trembling hands as he gently lifted your veil. You could see the dampness near the corners of his eyes, which softened that hard exterior of your expression. 

Just as you gave him a small, reassuring smile, he handed you off to Dean, and for the first time, you looked upon the man who was to be your husband. He looked strong, not just physically, though. He had to be physically strong, he was a hunter. To you, he seemed to have a different type of strength, and it made you a little curious about him.

As the pastor spoke, you continued looking at him, studying him. His green eyes that swam with emotions behind his mask, just as yours did. The way freckles danced across his chiseled face like stars. The occasional twitch of his clenched jaw. When he repeated the words of the pastor, his voice was deep, a little gravely, but also like there were things weighing on him that he was fighting against. Then, he was slipping the ring on your finger. It was then your turn to repeat the words as the pastor spoke them, and you did so, your head still held high.

After you slipped the ring on his finger, the pastor added a line you were not prepared for. “As you hold the ability of his life in your hands,” he paused as the best man pulled a gun from a holster on his hip. You hadn’t even noticed it before. “He shall hold the ability of your life in his.” Dean took the gun and holstered it on his hip as your hunter’s mask wavered for a brief moment. The Colt. The one weapon that could truly kill you. Your eyes only looked at it for a split second, but the movement of your eyes was not lost on Dean.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

He leaned down, then pressed his lips to yours for as briefly as he could to finish the ceremony, and the entire church erupted in cheers. You realized all these people knew each other. They’d spent time talking, due to this very moment, trying to bring the families and friends closer together. You were the one who only knew those on your side, and there weren’t many there. Dean had far more family and friends than you did.

You felt him take your hand as he walked you out of the church, both of you putting on that mask for everyone there, and for each other. He opened the door of the limo parked outside and even held your hand to help you as you got inside. You, of course, gave him that thankful smile, even if it was mostly forced. 

Once he was inside with the door closed, the driver began driving as the silence stretched and the tension built. You’d never spoken directly to Dean, and now, he was your husband. You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly think about the reality of your life. Even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

The reception was loud, at least for you. You managed, though, mingling with people like you were enjoying yourself. Just get through this. It was your mantra as you pretended to smile at people, including your family. There were speeches made, but you didn’t really pay attention to them. You didn’t want to hear words from people who weren’t in your shoes. None of them truly knew what you were going through.

I’m not marrying a monster. His words kept echoing in your head as the evening progressed. Dean was only near you when he had to be, and he barely said anything to you unless it was required. You noticed how his smile was forced when it came time for the stupid dance, but you gave him a fake smile as well.

It was like the entire event had been nothing more than a dance around each other, avoidance being the lead. You had caught him drinking several shots of whiskey, but then again, you had done the same when you thought no one was looking. By the end of the evening, all you wanted to do was get out of the get-up and into something comfortable. The limo ride to your and Dean’s new home was silent, a gift from Bastet to show her gratitude. You took note of how Dean kept space between the two of you. So much so that he wasn’t even touching any part of your dress, and there was seat space available for another person to fill. 

To keep up the act, you noticed how he went around to your side of the limo after it had pulled up to the house, opened your door, and held out his hand for you. You took it, playing along, and walked with him toward the front porch. However, the moment the limo was out of sight, he let go of your hand and walked ahead of you.

Again, your heart clenched with an ache you wished would just go away. Stupid hope and childish dreams. His strides had lengthened, so he had entered the house first. With a sigh, you went inside and closed the door, locking it out of habit. Dean was already moving toward the bedroom, pulling off his tie.

You followed, but only so you could change. He was near the bed, removing articles of his tux, so you slipped into the walk-in closet to find something comfortable as your mind began filling with questions.

Finally locating some sleep shorts and a slightly baggy Led Zepplin shirt that belonged to you, you began slipping out of the dress, which had felt like a burden more than anything else over the last several hours. Your focus was on your task, not on Dean. So, you missed how he watched you from the corner of his eye as he changed, just out of your view unless you turned to actually look at him. Before you had put on your comfortable pajamas, you hung the dress in the back of the closet, not wanting to be able to see it when you had to go in there. Then, you slipped into your comfortable clothes and went into the master bathroom.

There, you meticulously removed the little bit of makeup and took your hair down, brushing it out even if the waviness had stayed and would until you showered. When you came out of the bathroom, Dean was nowhere to be seen, but his tux had been thrown to one corner of the room, and the Colt was gone as well. 

You heard his footsteps near the kitchen, but you sat down on the edge of the bed as it all sank in. He was your husband. You were his wife. Would he expect you to be a proper wife? Did he want anything to do with you? Would he insist on consummating the marriage even though he seemed to hate you?  Those and more plagued your mind as you laid back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.

Now what? It was the one question that wouldn’t go away. With a mild grumble, you sat up and headed down to the foot of the stairs, glancing toward the living room. Not seeing him there, you knew he was in the kitchen, drinking. As you entered the kitchen, he stared at you with a mask of indifference from the kitchen table.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anything, including whatever might come out of his mouth. So, you grabbed another bottle of whiskey and, without even looking over at him, went into the living room, giving him the space of the kitchen. That first drink burned on the way down, but it was a welcome feeling after the day you’d had. 

Curling up on the far side of the couch, clutching the neck of the bottle almost like a lifeline, you tried not to think. Your thoughts were already swimming with questions, and to top it off, you felt his eyes on you. The tension in the house was thick, stifling, pushing down on your body like an invisible weight. Briefly, you wondered if he felt it too, but refused to open your mouth to say a word.

In your mind, he was the one who viewed you as a monster. The logical answer had been just to stay away from him, the best you could in your shared home. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms—another logical answer. Plus, you knew he had the Colt on him. At least in the guest room, you wouldn’t have to worry about him shooting you in your sleep.

The longer he sat there silently watching you and sipping his whiskey, the more uncomfortable you felt. Typically, you were the predator when you were on hunts. Right now, you felt like the prey, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You almost felt like a cornered cat and began noting all the quick escape routes of the house.

The legs of the chair scraping across the kitchen floor made you jump, but you still didn’t look over at him. You didn’t have to. With your hearing, you could tell exactly where he was in relation to you, even with him being barefoot. It wasn’t long before you heard the door of the master bedroom close and a click afterward.

He locked me out. The thought was more depressing than you wanted to admit, as your expression fell further and your shoulders slumped. You bit back tears of childhood dreams as you cleaned up his glass and the two bottles of whiskey, almost hating your entire existence. Then, you quietly retired to the guest room on the bottom floor, giving him as much space as possible. Out of fear, you locked the door but stood there, just staring at it.

With a defeated sigh, you unlocked it. Dean was a hunter. If he really wanted in that room, he could easily just pick the lock. So, what was the point of locking it? You went to bed with a heavier heart than you were willing to admit, even to yourself, with how things were going. 

As morning approached, bringing the first glimpses of light to the day, you slipped out of bed and quietly made your way to the kitchen. You were typically an early riser, enjoying this time of morning when the world wasn’t quite awake yet. First, you got coffee brewing, then you started on breakfast.

You weren’t a bitch, and something in you wanted to prove not only that but also that you weren’t like the monsters the two of you hunted. You didn’t know much about Dean, only what you had heard from those at the reception when they spoke of him. For a few moments, you stared at what was available in the fridge, then sighed. There wasn’t much, just basic things.

I’ll need to go shopping later.

Instead of making breakfast, you pulled out the pie and then set it aside while you grabbed the eggs and bacon. At least there was also a loaf of bread. The pie went into the oven while you sipped coffee and made breakfast, humming quietly to yourself in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You didn’t hear him wake up, dress, or descend the stairs in his boots, far too caught up in the tasks you were doing. Nearly a minute later, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, like you were being watched. You turned slowly and nearly jumped when you saw him leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, mask up, watching you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, as the sizzle of bacon was the only sound in the room. “There’s coffee,” you offered, but your voice was quiet, nervous, and almost shy.

He didn’t move, nor did he answer you. He just watched you with that expressionless gaze. Feeling completely out of your element, you turned from him and went back to cooking, finishing up breakfast. There was no calming your nerves as your hands trembled slightly while you set the table with two plates of food. As the timer dinged on the oven, you carefully pulled out the pie and set it on the top of the stove to cool. But all he did was watch you.

When you sat down to eat, he pushed off the doorframe and grabbed his jacket, then he left, nearly slamming the door behind him and making you jump at the sound. Your entire body fell in defeat. You had tried, but he had walked away without a word.

You saved what you could, which was just the bacon, having barely touched your own plate that morning. Dean had stayed gone nearly the whole day. You had eaten the pie on and off all day while on your laptop, looking for a case, literally, any case, so you could escape your new reality. 

He came back after sundown but went straight to the master bedroom and locked the door behind him, as your eyes followed his movements from the kitchen table. My life sucks. With a defeated sigh, you took your laptop to your room and quietly closed the door.

That was how the entire next week went. He was gone all day and then would lock himself in his room overnight. You had tried cooking for him when you made yourself breakfast, but he never ate anything, nor did he ever have any of the coffee you made. There were even two dinners you had managed to finish just as he had walked back in the door, but he had gone straight to the bedroom like all the other nights. It was getting disheartening. Couldn’t he see that you were trying?

You had moved some of your clothes from the master bedroom to the guest room you had chosen downstairs. That way, you wouldn’t need to go into that space at all. Your toiletries, which were very minimal, were now in the downstairs bathroom, including your towel and washcloth for showering. You had begun feeling like a guest in his home.

Another week passed before you finally managed to find a case. It was a long shot and might be nothing, but it was something, and you desperately needed something else to do. The morning you were planning to head out, you were in the kitchen, already dressed with your bag set on the kitchen table, packed. You were sipping a cup of coffee while eating a couple slices of bacon when he descended the stairs, but stopped dead in his tracks seeing your bag. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled, moving toward the table.

You looked up, blinking blankly at him, not understanding his reaction. He hadn’t spoken to you since the wedding, and now this? “A case,” you replied, dumbfounded.

“What case?” he growled again as he crossed his arms.

So, you told him about the possible ghost two towns over and the details you had gathered online as well as from the phone calls you had made. The line of his jaw ticked as he stood there, just staring at you with that same mask. “No. You’re staying here. I’ll deal with it,” he stated firmly before grabbing his jacket and leaving, again.

For a few moments, all you could do was sit there as you attempted to process what had just happened. He’d told you no. By the time it hit you, he was already pulling out of the drive, and all you could do was watch from the front door.

Anger hit you first, feeling like you were being treated like some child, as you went back inside and slammed the front door. Then, you grabbed your bag and threw it in your room, well, the guest room that had become yours, and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

Why doesn’t he want me hunting? Why won’t he speak to me unless it’s to tell me what I am and am not allowed to do? Why does he seem to hate me?

When a tear slipped down your cheek, your shoulders fell in defeat. He sees me as a monster. Why would any hunter want a monster near people? It was all you could come up with, even though you had never done anything toward him in a threatening way. You wanted to pull out your phone and text your mom, but decided against it. How could she help you? Seriously, how could your mom help you with this mess that was your life? What advice could she give? Just keep trying and hope he came around? With a depressed scoff, you tossed your phone onto the bed beside you. 

The sound of the doorbell pulled your attention and your curiosity. Who would be coming here? You wondered as you made your way to the front door. Surprise crossed your features as you pulled the door open when you saw Dean’s younger brother there.

“Umm… he left a little bit ago,” you admitted, quieter than you had wanted to be.

Sam furrowed his brow at the news. “Left where?” he asked, now confused.

“I had found a case and was going to go, but he left to take care of it instead,” you replied, moving a little so he could come in if he wanted to.

A frown found his lips as he looked down at you, but he did step inside, so you closed the door behind him. “There’s coffee, if you’d like,” you offered, leading him to the kitchen and getting him a cup.

“Thanks,” he replied with a friendly smile, taking the cup after you filled it. “Uh, how are things, between the two of you?” 

Sam took in your demure demeanor as you sat down at the kitchen table, the defeat in your shoulders. It was a far cry from the confident mask you’d worn during your wedding and reception. With you now being his sister-in-law, he figured he’d given you and Dean enough alone time and wanted to get to know you.

At first, you didn’t answer Sam. What could you say? You no longer had the energy to keep up your hunter's mask in your own home, which didn’t even feel like one. “Probably better than it could have gone,” you murmured, staring more at the coffee in your cup than anywhere else.

Again, he furrowed his brows as he sat across from you. Far too many questions slowly formulated in his mind. “Could you share a little more detail?” he asked inquisitively.

Your lips were curved down, along with your gaze, not even sure where to begin. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. He leaves in the morning and locks himself in his room when he comes back after dark,” you admitted quietly. “Today is the first day he’s spoken to me since the wedding, and he told me I couldn’t go on a hunt I found, like I was a child or something.”

Now Sam was utterly confused, more at his brother than you. He knew how his brother felt about the whole situation, but he hadn’t thought he’d act like this. 

Over the next few hours, he asked you questions, and you freely answered him. It was the first real conversation you had had with anyone in a long while. Being able to tell someone what you were struggling with felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Plus, Sam seemed genuinely interested. He even stayed late enough to have dinner with you.

For Sam, he had been curious about you, the Touched destined to marry his brother. From the moment he’d found out, he did all the research he could to learn about you specifically. However, the topic of Touched spanned every pantheon available. When he got older and began hunting with his brother, the two had come across a couple different Touched who’d gone bad. One of which attempted to light Sam on fire before Dean had shot it.

But today, sitting for hours and just talking to you, he began seeing you as more human than monster. You had feelings, likes and dislikes, favorite things, and a yearning to fit in, just like any other human. What he couldn’t figure out was why his brother was being the way he was. To top it off, you were an amazing cook, for also being a hunter.

Sam bid you goodnight somewhere after six, and when you closed the door, you were smiling a little. There was a lightness to you now where heaviness had once been. As you did the dishes, you hummed to yourself again, like you had that first morning when you had cooked. It allowed you to relax further, at least until your mind did what it always did and began wandering.

The longer it wandered, the more your smile fell, and your humming eventually ceased. Why did Sam seem to care more than your husband did? It was circling your thoughts and bringing back the weight that you thought was gone. You didn’t even bother waiting up till Dean got back before you retired to your room, one of the guest rooms, and closed the door, your heart heavy once again. What was the point in waiting up? He hasn’t wanted to see me anyway.

—---------------------------

When Dean’s phone vibrated on the seat next to him, he sighed before picking it up. Great, now what does he want? “What?” Dean grumbled, looking out the windshield at a bar, just watching people as they went in and out.

“How are things with Y/N?” Sam asked casually as he drove back to his place. 

Dean clenched his jaw. It was a reflexive habit at the sound of your name. “Fine.” 

The one-word answer had Sam rolling his eyes. He could hear how his brother was trying to end the conversation before it ever got started. “Then how come you aren’t at home?” Sam mused knowingly, calling his brother out deliberately.

Dean straightened up in his seat, gripping the steering wheel to keep his anger under control. “What does it matter to you where I am? Besides, how the hell do you know I’m not home?” 

Sam chuckled at that, almost grateful he wasn’t having this conversation in person. “It doesn’t, not to me. She’s your wife. I had stopped by cause I wanted to visit with you, but she said you had gone out on a case,” he explained casually like it was a normal thing. “She’s nice, even made dinner for me.”

Again, he clenched his jaw, his grip tightening so much on the steering wheel that his knuckles went white. “You could have called,” he barely got out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll call next time,” Sam began, but his tone got serious. “She’s nice, Dean. Maybe if you took some time to get to know her, you’d see that. She’s not the monster you’ve made her in your head.”

He really didn’t know how to respond to that. You were a monster by the sheer definition of not human. He was a hunter. He was supposed to kill things like you. He had killed things like you. It was why he stayed away from you, why he never ate anything you cooked or drank anything you made, and why he locked himself in that room with the Colt while he only half slept at night.

“She’s not human, Sam,” Dean tried to argue, as that had been all he’d been able to hold onto.

But Sam cut him off before he could continue. “She’s more human than you realize.”

The softness in Sam’s voice hit Dean like a Mack truck. He’d only spent the day with you. Then, Dean’s hard shell came back up. “She probably just enchanted you or something,” he grumbled under his breath, trying not to think about you at all.

“Dean, I swear to God,” Sam growled, taking him by surprise. “She doesn’t have those sorts of abilities. If you picked up a damn book, you’d know that.” His tone was harsh, but at the moment, Dean needed a wake-up call. Before Dean could argue, Sam continued. “Stop being an ass and talk to your wife!” Then, Sam hung up the phone.

Dean slumped back in his seat. He didn’t want to go back to that house, not with you there, but he started the Impala’s engine anyway. Sam’s words echoed in his head as he began the drive back from the ghost hunt. The whole drive, he replayed things in his head that he had tried desperately not to think about, but his thoughts always ended up back there, to that day.

When you stepped out of the room, your father by your side, he stopped breathing for a moment, even though he couldn’t see your face. Your steps were confident, as was how you stood. His eyes followed every step as the rest of the room slowly faded into the background. Then, your father lifted your veil, and he swore he’d died and gone to heaven, and you were the angel waiting to greet him. It took every ounce of resolve he had not to let it show, figuring you cast some sort of spell on him. The way you looked at him, holding the same mask he was, but the emotions behind it had his heart pounding.  He had tried to pay attention to the pastor as he spoke, taking in the delicate details of your face and those eyes. God, your eyes held something that begged for him to get lost in. Then, you spoke. There was no other sound in that room but your voice, and he wanted to hear it for the rest of his days. But it was that last thing the pastor said that snapped him back to reality, to the fact that you weren’t human, when the Colt was placed in his hands. He shoved everything down, just like he always did before, he barely let his lips touch yours to end the ceremony.

Dean glanced down at his phone and then back at the road, pushing thoughts away that he didn’t want to have. He couldn’t think like that, not in his mind. The consistent thought was that you weren’t human, and that was the only thing that kept him from getting close to you. What the hell had happened that Sam saw you as more human? Did you know witchcraft? 

He scoffed as he drove. Probably. It was the other thing he had clung to, even if he had never found a single shred of evidence to prove it. He had chalked it up to you just being that smart to hide it.

Every time he looked at you, you took his breath away. He saw the emotions you were dealing with, but he had refused to believe it was nothing more than some act just to get close to him. Monsters don’t have feelings. They’re monsters. That was always his reasoning. But now, his brother’s words began circling with his carefully constructed view of you, and it was starting to piss him off.

He wasn’t paying attention, not like he should have, and he barely had enough time to look up at the bright headlights before metal twisted, sound disappeared, and everything went black.

—-----------------------

It was near ten when your phone went off again before you finally sat up and answered it. “What?” you grumbled out, having no clue who would be calling so late.

“Dean’s been in an accident,” Sam told you, and you heard the waver in his voice.

In an instant, you were out of bed, your phone pressed to your ear as you began moving. “Where?”

“They can’t get him out of the car. We’re a mile down the road,” he sighed, and you finally heard the sounds in the background.

“I’m on my way,” you told him; all traces of sleep were gone.

Shoes on, wallet and phone in hand with your keys, and you were out the door. You didn’t even care what the speed limit was. The flashing lights made it clear where it had happened, just before the turn into the small neighborhood where the two of you had been given that home. Carefully, you maneuvered your car through the crowd to a place off the side of the road as Sam ran over to you.

“They had to get the jaws of life. He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up,” Sam tried to make light of the horrible reality you were almost terrified to look at.

The short walk over, you could barely breathe. You didn’t love him, but you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him either, and this was bad. His beautiful Impala was nearly totaled, having been hit almost head-on by a semi. Sam explained that the driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel and veered into Dean’s lane before he could make the turn.

Words failed you when you saw his battered body still behind the wheel, his head to the side, unconscious. There was glass everywhere, and you noticed a few tiny shards sticking out of his face, along with blood from at least one head wound. You took several tentative steps closer, still trying to stay out of the way of the crew trying to get him out of the car with the jaws of life.

You could hear his heartbeat. He was still alive, but it was fading. Without waiting, you went to the other side, past everyone, and managed to slip into the car. You couldn’t wait and didn’t care who saw at this point. You weren’t going to let him die, not like this. He was a hunter, he deserved better, even if he hated you.

Several of the rescue team were yelling at you, but all you did was glare at them while Sam tried to explain that you were his wife. Discretely, you found a shard of glass and cut your hand, then found the open wounds you could while they pried the door open. You rubbed your blood into his wounds, knowing it was literally the only thing that would save his life with his fading heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as they pulled him from the car and onto a stretcher. You weren’t sure why you were apologizing to him, but somehow, it felt like it was your fault. If you had been the one to have taken this case, this never would have happened to him. Perhaps it was a form of guilt.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, finally getting your attention. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

All you could do was nod, far too many thoughts and emotions coursing through you to think straight. The drive was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. “It’s my fault,” you whispered, your gaze on the night beyond the window.

“It’s not your-” Sam tried to reassure you, but you cut him off.

“If I had taken that case, left before he had woken up…” you trailed off, your voice small again as your guilt ate at you.

Sam sighed quietly, setting his hand on your shoulder and giving you a comforting squeeze. It was the first real physical contact you had had since the wedding, and it almost hurt. You let Sam deal with the people at the hospital while you looked around. It was nearly silent there at this hour, only a few nurses and staff moving about. “He’s in room 206, but he’s stable,” you heard the nurse say, and you finally felt like you could relax.

The hospital felt eerie this time of night as Sam led you down several different hallways before pushing open the door of Dean’s room. When your eyes found him, your hand covered your mouth. He looked bad off, but you knew it could have been far worse. At least he’d heal now, and he wouldn’t die from the trauma his body had suffered.

Sam tried to guide you to Dean’s bed, but you refused to move as another horrible thought entered your mind. “Y/N, you okay?” Sam asked, puzzled at the shift in your demeanor.

“He’ll hate me even more now,” you told Sam quietly as defeat took hold. “I healed him, with my blood, so he didn’t die back there.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as the realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks. “His heartbeat, it was so faint and getting worse. I couldn’t…” you sniffled as tears pricked at your eyes before a few slipped down your cheeks.

Perhaps it was the first time Sam truly saw you. Even after spending the day with you and learning more about you, it hadn’t prepared him for this. Before he could truly process the fact that he had almost lost his brother and that you, a monster, had saved his life, Mary and John were pushing past both of you into Dean’s room.

“Bastet promised,” John growled under his breath as he reached his son’s bed.

“He’s not dead. She kept her word,” Mary told him, but there was a cold edge to her tone that had you fleeing from the room before anyone noticed your disappearance.

You ran, it was all you could do. Your mind piecing things together on its own, the way it always had. Bastet must have promised that the Winchesters would live a decently long life if they agreed to bind their firstborn to you. That was what your mind came up with, and you weren’t far from the truth. 

By the time you got back to your car, it was sometime after midnight, but you drove yourself home. Home. The thought was depressing. Your movements were mechanical, mindless as you drove, parked, went inside, and crawled into bed. 

He’ll only ever see me as a monster. It was the last thought as you drifted off to a fitful sleep.

—---------------------

Dean woke up the following morning, his entire body sore. It took him several moments to even remember what the hell had happened, let alone figure out where the hell he was. It wasn’t bright, but he could tell the lighting was fluorescent bulbs. Then, there was the beeping of monitors to his left. 

A hospital? 

Then it hit him. The accident. He strained, pained groans coming out as he forced himself to sit up, when Sam was immediately at his side, helping him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean was more confused than angry, no matter how gruff his voice was.

He chuckled a little as he took a seat next to the bed. “I’ve been here all night. Someone had to watch over you. I sent Mom and Dad home and told them to get some sleep. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Dean groaned, his muscles aching, but not nearly as much as he figured they should. The truck had hit him dead on. He should be dead, and he knew it.

This time, Sam laughed a little. “Technically, you did get hit by a truck.” He noticed how Dean’s eyes scanned the room. “She’s at home, if you’re looking for Y/N.”

Dean’s walls instantly went right back up. “I wasn’t,” he snapped sharply in that gruff way when he was hiding the truth. “So, how come Cas only partially healed me?” he asked, changing the topic.

For a long few moments, Sam didn’t answer him, not entirely sure what to tell his brother, let alone how he was going to take it. “Dean, Cas didn’t heal you at all,” he began cautiously, and instantly regretted it when Dean looked at him, pissed. 

Before Dean could growl something else, a doctor came into the room with a chart in his hands, reading parts of it. “You’re making a rapid recovery, Mr. Winchester. We’ll have your discharge papers shortly,” he stated before looking up at the brothers. “Given the reports from the scene, you’re lucky to be alive. Looks like you’ve got a guardian angel looking over you.” And with that, he was gone again.

Dean was in a state of shock, even if it wasn’t apparent outwardly. Had Bastet stepped in to keep her word? It was the only thing he could figure as he stared at the open door of his room. 

“Y/N saved you,” Sam told him quietly, a frown finding his features from his worry of how Dean would react.

Instead of Dean going off or reacting how Sam figured he would, he just became completely confused. “How? She’s not an angel.” 

For a few moments, Sam just looked at him, far too many questions now rattling around in his head. “What do you know about her abilities?” he asked, almost cautiously, as that seemed the most logical place to start.

Dean’s expression went to an instant deadpan mixed with his bitch face. “She’s like a cat, and she heals,” he answered, not amused.

Sam chuckled, he couldn’t help it. “She doesn’t heal. Her blood does,” he clarified, waiting for Dean to put the pieces together on his own.

Slowly, the realization came into Dean’s features. “You mean I have monster blood in me now?” he asked as his tone went from confused to almost angry.

Sam frowned as a sigh slipped out. “She saved your life. The least you could do is be grateful.” He was about to tell him how you had just gone to save him without even caring about being seen doing it, but a nurse walked in with all his paperwork, so he could finally leave. “Want me to drive you home?” he asked as Dean signed the paperwork.

“Where’s my car?” was all Dean asked in that tone that meant he didn’t want to talk about anything that involved you or what you had done.

The drive to Bobby’s was silent. Sam had done the courtesy of texting you so you knew what was going on with Dean. He just wasn’t sure how to reach his brother or get him to see reason. Now, he was hoping Bobby might help. Bobby always had a way of saying things to Dean to where he had no choice but to think about it, even better than either of their parents could.

“Don’t bother picking me up later. I’ll stay at Bobby’s till I’m done fixing Baby,” Dean stated firmly before walking away from Sam’s car. His mind was racing like it always did when it came to you, and now, his carefully constructed image of you was changing, and he really didn’t like it.

—--------------------

Nightmares of Dean hunting you with the Colt had flooded your mind, waking you in a cold sweat sometime after dawn. Your chest was heaving, your hand over your heart as your eyes slowly adjusted to the room. Images flashed behind your eyes, the hatred in those green orbs, the sound of the gunshot.

A chill ran down your spine before you forced yourself to get up, the house feeling too small and too large simultaneously. He hates me. It was the thought that wouldn’t go away, your shaky legs taking you to the kitchen.

Trembling hands made coffee, and after pouring yourself a cup, the warmth of it offered nothing to your frayed senses. You’d read the message from Sam, even thanked him, but you were slowly retreating back into yourself. It was safe there, the walls high, but you could only hide there when Dean was gone.

For a long while, you just sat there at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around the mug as the heat slowly drained into your skin. Even in marriage, you were alone. No one wants me. Another thought set on repeat, circling around with the others.

The day was long, as you distracted your mind with anything and everything you could find. Sadly, it only partially worked and then completely failed with the knock on the front door, pulling you from the laundry pile on the couch. There was a frown on your lips when you pulled the door open, seeing Sam there.

“Come in,” you sighed, stepping back and closing it behind him.

You took your seat on the couch, going back to your task as Sam sat in the recliner. “He’s not coming back, is he?” you asked quietly.

Sam watched you, like he had when he came over last time, his heart breaking for you. “Not til he fixes his car. He asked me to pick some of his stuff up.” The compassion in his tone hurt more than comforted, but you tried not to show it.

“His stuff is in the master bedroom,” you murmured, letting your fingers move along the piece of fabric in your hands as you carefully folded it, then added it to the stack on the coffee table.

“Y/N, I can-” he began, but you cut him off with just a look.

“Sam, I appreciate that you’re nice to me. You’re not the one who had to marry me. Don’t. Please,” you told him, but your voice shook just enough for the resolve to solidify in his chest.

“I’ll stop in and check on you,” he offered before going to Dean’s room, leaving you to your task.

It was what he said on his way out that gave you pause. “Maybe you’ll bake for me. You’re an artist in the kitchen.” Then, he was gone, leaving you with a puzzled expression, staring at the front door he had closed behind him.

Why couldn’t Bastet have chosen him? 

With a sigh, you went back to trying to figure out your life, questions, and emotions twisting into things you didn’t want to face. Nothing could take your mind from them. When the house was clean, you tried to distract yourself by looking for another case. Those typically helped, and this time, Dean wouldn’t be there to take this from you.

—----------------------

Sam split up his time between work, school, getting on his brother’s nerves and visiting you. You had baked for him. Although, you wanted to question his tastes, as they were exactly like Dean's, at least from what you’d learned from Sam. 

He’d hang out with you for a bit, take the tasty treats you’d made, then go visit his brother. Dean would do his best to just focus on Baby, but those damn baked goods he kept bringing around would instantly distract him. 

Bobby would watch from the house as Sam played keep away for a while before sharing them with his brother. He knew what Sam was up to. Hell, he’d tried to get through Dean’s thick skull, Sam having shared quite a bit with him. 

Neither could figure out what Dean was hung up on, and it wasn’t like Dean was talking to either of them. 

It was the day Sam showed up with an apple pie, freshly baked, now three weeks after the accident. “You don’t even like pie. What are you up to?” Dean asked, only glancing at him before sliding back under Baby.

“What? I’m not allowed to bring my brother his favorite pie now?” he mused, standing next to Baby’s hood.

“You’re up to something,” Dean grumbled, his voice muffled as he tightened another bolt. But the alluring scent of apples and cinnamon had wafted under the car, cutting through the smell of oil and metal. “Jerk.”

Sam chuckled as Dean straightened up, wiping his hands off on a rag. And, without warning, he snatched the pie from his brother’s hands, but Sam had a plan in mind. He leaned against the side of Baby, arms crossed, just watching as Dean dug in, moaning in delight as the flavors melted in his mouth.

“Where’d you get this? I need to know so I can pick up another one,” he mumbled, mouth full of pie.

“Your house,” Sam answered plainly, and Dean froze, his eyes wide as he stared at the pie. “Same as all the other ones I’ve been bringing.”

Dean’s hand clenched around the box, but he swallowed the bite in his mouth, his mind racing. Then, his entire body slumped in complete defeat. Sam tilted his head, just a smidge, watching as Dean closed his eyes, head dropping.

“Dean?” he asked, concern etched in his features.

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. Everything he’d been fighting was about to tumble from his lips. “She’s a monster, but she’s so… human.”

With a sigh, he set the pie down on the hood, grabbed his beer, and leaned against the driver’s side, taking a long swig. “Maybe start with that?” Sam suggested, gesturing to the pie. “She’s sweet.”

Dean couldn’t help the amused smirk that tugged at his lips from Sam’s pun, shaking his head slightly. “And I’ve been nothing but bitter toward her.” “So, pick up some dinner. She likes burgers the same way you do,” Sam shrugged, trying to nudge his brother gently, knowing just how quickly he could clam right back up.

“Will you tell me about her?” Dean asked, his voice still quiet, a far-off look in his eyes as he stared across Bobby’s yard. 

So, for the next two hours, while they leaned against Baby, sipping beers, Sam talked about you, sharing what he’d learned since he had started visiting you. Dean listened with unwavering attention, making mental notes. Sam noticed the range of emotions as they went across Dean’s face or in his eyes, even the tiny clench of his jaw when Sam spoke of the night of the accident.

“She thinks you hate her,” Sam finally mumbled before finishing his beer.

Dean sighed, unable to blame you for that assessment. It wasn’t like he had treated you in any other way. Hell, he had wanted to keep hating you, but he couldn’t. “That’s the problem. I don’t hate her,” he admitted, glancing over at the now half-eaten pie. “I fell in love with her on our wedding day.”

Sam nearly choked on a breath, never expecting those words to leave his lips. Before he could utter a word, Dean’s gaze was back on him, “I have to fix this.”

And in an instant, he was gone, pie in hand, and inside Bobby’s. Sam let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head. 

—---------------------

In that three-week time frame, you’d only found one case, and it had only taken three days to take care of it—a single werewolf. You had enjoyed the days when Sam would stop by, even getting texts the night before so you could figure out what to make the following day when he’d come over. His company began filling a void inside you, but the moment he was gone, you always felt worse than before he’d come by.

Today had been the same, only you’d made apple pie. The other sat on the table as you nibbled on it throughout the day. It’d been more conversation, laughter, and silly or weird stories. You glanced up, watching the setting sun through the far kitchen window. The wedding had been a month and a half ago, but it felt like so much longer, while also feeling as though it had never happened at all.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the car pull up or the front door unlock, open, and then close. You were sipping a glass of whiskey, taking small bites of the pie. Spending most of the day doing nothing important, you were still in your pajamas, a pair of soft shorts, and an old AC/DC shirt from when you were a teenager. And your hair? Not even brushed that day. Depression does that sort of thing.

Dean paused in the doorway, still not sure what to say. So, he just walked over to the counter, setting everything down. That was when you noticed him, but it was due to his scent as it moved through the kitchen, tugging at your senses. This was the closest he’d gotten to you since the day of his accident.

He pulled two plates out of the cabinet and began pulling the food out of the bags. You noticed the pie Sam had taken that morning, sitting on the counter, mostly eaten now. Your brow furrowed, and for a brief moment, your lips parted before you quickly shut them and looked away from him.

The only sound in the room was from him unwrapping the burgers and then dumping the fries on the plates. He took a shaky breath, picked up both plates, and turned, finally looking at you. It wasn’t just that you looked like you just rolled out of bed. It was the bags under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders, the distant look in your gaze that got to him.

God, I’ve been an ass.

He cleared his throat as he set a plate down in front of you, then slipped into the seat across from you with his. The guilt churned in his stomach when he finally met your gaze. “Sam said you liked burgers too,” he finally offered, trying to keep his nervousness from slipping out.

You didn’t know what to think; far too many things racing through your mind. Had Sam only come over to get information about you to feed to Dean? Why was Dean even talking to you, let alone initiating a meal with you? Dean saw the confusion in your eyes, a reluctant sigh slipping past his lips as his gaze dropped to his plate. Where the hell do I even start? Everything he’d felt toward you since he’d found out about having to marry a monster, crumbled in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’ve been an ass toward you.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment, before letting your own gaze fall away from him. “Why do you hate me?” the words slipping out before you could stop them. Even though you had already come up with your own reasons, you wanted to hear it from him.

He swallowed hard, his throat going dry, but he couldn’t meet your gaze. “I don’t,” his voice barely above a whisper. “I used to. Eat. We can talk after.” It wasn’t just to make sure you ate something decent, it was to bide him some time to find the right words.

Dean had lots of things go through his head since he’d walked away from Sam earlier. Half of it sounded great, in his head. The other half? None of it sounded right. Then there was how whenever he was around you, he couldn’t think straight.

You watched as he focused on his food, taking a bite of his burger, not looking at you. Lots ran through your head, all questions you didn’t have answers for. With a quiet sigh, you focused on your own burger, even though you really weren’t hungry.

You didn’t love him, not like regular people who married for love. You’d avoided him up until your wedding day due to those words you’d heard him say when you were eighteen. Although, you couldn’t hate him either. Not since you had set your eyes on him on your wedding day.

Trying to figure out in your head what had changed, why he’d gone from hating you to not hating you was impossible in the silence. You wanted to open your mouth, ask him what felt like a million questions. What had Sam said to him? Why doesn’t he hate me anymore? What changed?

With a quiet sigh, you nibbled on another french fry, mostly picking at your food. Dean noticed but didn’t say anything. You were picking at your food, only having eaten half the burger and barely any fries. The tension in the room sat heavy on his shoulders, the distance between you further than just the physical table where you sat. He’d always pictured you a specific way, like a monster. It had twisted in his head over the years, even after he’d seen pictures of you in your home, the few times he’d been there.

The pictures of you in a Disney dress, you were eight, trying to mimic one of your favorite characters at the time. You, high up in a tree, a proud smile on your face because you’d learned how to use your claws. Then there was the last one, you in your graduation gown, diploma in hand. 

Nothing around your home portrayed you in the way his mind had. He’d pictured you with the claws, blood dripping off them, an almost sadistic gleam in your eyes as you stood over a freshly killed monster. Then, in his head, you’d turn and look at him, making his blood run cold.

Dean shook his head, then looked up at you. Your head was dipped slightly, your eyes half-lidded, gaze on your plate. You looked so small, like you were trying to curl in on yourself, away from him. Or like you were waiting for him to lash out, like he had the day he took that hunt from you. I’m the monster. Not her.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, popping the last fry into his mouth. The silence was deafening, but he pushed past it, the clinking of his plate, the scuff of his boots, the movement of his chair, each one making you flinch, ever so slightly.

You didn’t look up. Since your wedding day, anytime you’d met his gaze, he always walked away or looked at you with disdain and hatred. But you heard everything. Every little sound he made as he moved.

Dean opened the fridge, glancing at the beer, then changed his mind. He needed something stronger. Instead, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass for himself, and then grabbed the bottle of whiskey. With the items in hand, he turned, pausing for a beat, still having no clue what to say. He’d never been good with words.

A heavy sigh left his lips before he finally sat back down, taking note of how you still hadn’t looked back up at him. Carefully, he poured each of you a hefty amount, then slid your glass across the table to you, near the top of your plate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his gaze still on you before he took a long swallow from his glass.

Gingerly, your eyes found the glass, then him. He saw all the emotions that swam in the depths, emotions that had clearly been eating at you for a while. You wanted to reach for the glass. Wanted to down it in one go. But his words, his apology, had surprised you too profoundly to move.

For a long moment, the silence stretched, neither of you knowing what to say. A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I never got a chance to thank you, for saving my life.” The sincerity in his words nearly broke the walls you’d been trying so desperately to keep up.

You finally picked up your glass, downing it in two long swallows. The burn as it slid down your throat, reminding you this was real, that you weren’t dreaming. Dean raised a brow. He’d never seen you drink before, not like that, but he was impressed at your ability to handle your whiskey.

The emotions that coiled into a thump in your throat were far harder to swallow than the whiskey. So, you poured yourself another. “I couldn’t let you die,” you whispered, gaze on the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass in your hands.

It wasn’t what he’d thought you’d say, at least not in the way you said it. Like it had nothing to do with Bastet’s promise. “Why did you?” Dean asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

You swallowed hard, still unsure how to explain it to him, just as you hadn’t been able to explain it to Sam when he asked. Another sip of whiskey, your mind racing, trying to find an answer he’d understand. “I just couldn’t, even though I knew you hated me,” you mumbled. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Dean watched you, wishing you’d look at him, but he knew he had no right to even ask that of you. “I’m glad you did,” he murmured, pushing past his own self-deprication. “It gives me a chance to fix this.”

With that, you did look up, more puzzled than emotional. Why? “I still don’t understand. Why don’t you hate me anymore?” The words came out quiet, nervous, but also curious. It was something you still couldn’t understand, couldn’t figure out. He’d treated you like he had truly and completely hated you. “You said you didn’t want to marry a monster.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Words he’d spoken so long ago. Words you’d never been able to forget. Words he now regretted. He downed his drink, pouring himself another, contemplating how to explain.

His gaze lingered on the amber liquid. “I was young,” he began quietly. “Honestly, I was scared. I knew not all mon-” he quickly cut himself off, sighing heavily and looking back up at you. “I didn’t know anything about you. I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tear that slipped down your cheek, quickly looking away from him and wiping it away. Something in his chest tightened. He always saw you as strong, resilient, hard. But right now? You looked vulnerable, human.

Dean moved on instinct, his hand reaching across the table before quickly pulling it back, feeling he had no right to touch you. “Can we start over?” His quiet, hesitant request broke every wall you had. All you could manage was a slight nod as the tears fell. Dean’s jaw clenched, an internal battle raging at seeing you like this. With a shake of his head, he chose not to think. Instead, he stood, the chair scraping across the floor, before he pulled you up and into his arms.

It startled you, but you didn’t pull away. You buried your face against his chest, hands fisted in his shirt. Your body shook with sobs, unable to put any of it into words, and he didn’t force you to. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and the comfort of his arms around you didn’t feel empty.  

Dean just held you. Words were never his strong suit unless he was pushing people away, and he refused to do that to you again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, unable to express it any other way.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that before your body finally stopped trembling, before the tears finally began to subside, before you could manage to utter a word. 

“I just wanted someone to want me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the words nearly broke him as guilt churned in his stomach. He tightened his arms around you, the breath taken from his lungs, his vision blurring from tears he wouldn’t let fall. Apologizing again wouldn’t help. He knew that. So he just held you, hoping you could feel what he couldn’t say.

When he did finally pull back, it was only enough so he could look down at you. You looked so human. A small, tender smile tugged at his lips as his hand cupped your cheek, wiping away another tear. Slowly, he tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

You saw it in his eyes, emotions he couldn’t name, things he didn’t know how to say. It brought a matching smile to your lips. He saw you. Not the monster. Not the hunter. Just you. The you that you had hidden from the world. The you that Sam had gotten to know. 

“What do you say to a few drinks and some conversation?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“That’d be nice,” you murmured, unable to push the hope back into the dark corner where you typically kept it. Not with the way he was looking at you now. 

That night, everything changed. The two of you settled onto the couch, both sitting so that you were facing each other. The drinks flowed. But the conversation flowed easier than either of you had expected. Dean found himself captivated with your laughter. You found yourself lost in his eyes. The green shifting slightly depending on his emotions.

The two of you talked long into the night, neither caring about the hours as they passed. In the early morning, only two hours before sunrise, he debated a question that had been circling his mind for the last hour. You tilted your head, just a bit, reminding him of a curious cat. Dean chuckled in amusement, perhaps even adoration, as he held your gaze. “Will you share our bed tonight?” he asked, his voice laced with nervousness. He wasn’t asking anything more than to have you close, and he wouldn’t blame you if you turned him down.

You nibbled your bottom lip, only partially from nerves. Hope. Anticipation. “I’d like that.” Our bed. Those words had sent your heart racing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, noting the flush of your cheeks. She’s cute when she blushes. “Come on. We can clean up later.” Dean stood, holding his hand out for you to take. Your breath hitched, but you took it, letting him help you stand. His hand found purchase on your lower back, keeping you by his side as he led you to the master bedroom. The room he’d locked you out of for the last almost two months.

You were surprised to see how tidy he’d kept it. There were no dirty clothes on the floor. The bed was made neatly. It looked like he had even kept the bathroom clean—nothing like how you had expected to find the space.

“Did you want to change into something else first?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes.

Glancing down at yourself, you furrowed your brow, then looked back up at him, puzzled. “But, I’m in pajamas.” Sleep shorts and a slightly baggy shirt.

The confusion in your tone had him smiling again. God, she’s fucking adorable. “Just wanted to ask,” he chuckled, setting his shoes to the side of the bed before slipping off his shirt.

You quickly turned away, warmth finding your cheeks, figuring you would wait till he had slid under the covers before you even turned back around. One topic the two of you hadn’t covered, anything intimate.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Never seen a guy without a shirt before?” he teased playfully, but that only made you blush deeper.

Seeing it on TV in shows or movies was different. There had been guys in public without shirts on, yeah. But this? This just felt different. “Not like this,” you mumbled, still refusing to turn around.

Dean had stood, already halfway through removing his jeans, when your words stopped him. For a long few moments, he stood there, frozen as his mind worked in overdrive, piecing it all together. Fuck. I’m an idiot. He let out a sigh through his nose and finally slipped out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.

“I can sleep in sweats and a shirt, if you’d be more comfortable,” he offered, taking a tentative step toward you.

You shook your head, not wanting him to be uncomfortable on your account. “It’s okay. I’ll wait till you get under the covers,” you quickly mumbled, now fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He wanted so badly to hold you, help you relax, but thought better of it. “Alright.” Dean turned off all but the lamp on one of the nightstands, then slipped under the covers, still mostly sitting up. You still didn’t turn around, moving to the other side of the bed. He watched in curiosity as you managed to get into bed without ever looking at him. He exhaled through his nose, flipped off the lamp, and got comfortable on his side, watching you in the dark. Questions danced through his mind, and before he knew it, one slipped out. “You’ve never been with anyone, have you?” he asked quietly.

You curled a little in on yourself, almost ashamed of it, and your reasoning behind it. “No,” you admitted in a nearly inaudible whisper.

He let the silence stretch, chewing on his next question. “Can I hold you?”

Your heart rate spiked as your breathing shallowed. Stupid nerves. 

As if he could sense it, he reached out, resting his hand tenderly on your shoulder. “I promise. I just want to hold you. Nothing more.” The sincerity in his voice almost brought another wave of tears. Briefly, you wondered if you’d ever be able to explain to him the things you kept buried, and how he was slowly healing parts of you that had been wounded for years. He felt the shaky breath that left your lips slowly, then your body inching back, toward him. Dean slid his hand down your arm, finding purchase at your hip, coaxing you closer. 

At first, you weren’t sure what to feel, other than the physical sensations. The warmth of his body against yours, his hand resting loosely on your hip, his warm breath in your hair. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hand, didn’t cage you in. He just held you.

Slowly, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out, your heart steadying. He felt it, smiling a little. A small win.

It was when you started purring that he froze. Not out of fear, out of surprise. Then you were moving away from him before he could process it.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized, almost out of his reach now.

“No. Wait,” he blurted out, his fingers tightening on your hip before he let go completely and sighed. “Please don’t run,” he whispered. “It just surprised me. That’s all.”

Your hand fisted in the sheet momentarily before you let out a shaky breath, managing to relax. Your heart was pounding again, but his plea gripped at your chest. “I’ve never purred around anyone before,” you confessed quietly, slowly moving back against him, getting comfortable.

Dean’s hand soothed down your arm, something about it was far more comforting than you realized. Again, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out. It wasn’t long before the soft vibrations rippled gently through his muscles as you began purring again. This time, he didn’t freeze. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel it. A soft hum left his lips as he pulled you just a little closer. “It’s nice. Relaxing. Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair, wondering why the hell he’d let his fears cloud his mind for so long.

You let out an almost contented breath, letting your eyes drift shut. Perhaps things could be different now. Perhaps… he does want me. It was the last thought that wandered through your conscious mind before sleep claimed you, finally relaxing after almost two months of emotional turmoil.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would hold a new future. One you had only dreamt about as a child. One you had written about as a young teenager in your journal. Life with Dean would be imperfectly perfect, in a way you never thought possible.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

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[mxliv-oftheendless]

Lord of the Rings Characters as Studio Ghibli Characters

Because my mom and I just watched all the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies and I am also obsessed with Studio Ghibli, I thought this would be fun! So here we go!

Frodo – Nausicäa (Nausicäa of the Valley of the Wind

Both simply want to protect and save their homes (Frodo with the Shire and Nausicäa with the Valley), and although they can fight, they consistently choose not to, and choose to be kind instead.

Sam – Pazu (Castle in the Sky)

Both have similar arcs! They have a friend they are ride or die for, but when the friend sends them away, they have to make a choice to go home or go back for their friend anyway—and they choose to have courage and go back.

Merry – Kiki (Kiki’s Delivery Service)

(Merry was kinda hard ngl) I think he and Kiki have growing up in common. They learn the hard way that life isn’t how they thought it was or would be, whether by being thrust into a dangerous quest or going off to grow up alone; and although this sobers them up a bit, they never lose their optimism and instead figure out what they can do to keep their heads up.

Pippin – Chihiro (Spirited Away)

Like Merry, Pippin was thrust into the whole Quest unexpectedly, as was Chihiro (and yes I’m aware Pippin knew a little bit in the books but bear with me). But both have a common goal of helping others (for Pippin it’s Frodo, and for Chihiro it’s her parents), and maybe they don’t know exactly what they’re doing, but they survived their journeys.

Gandalf – Zeniba (Spirited Away)

Zeniba is just as powerful as her twin Yubaba, but rather than use her power for greedy purposes, Zeniba chose to live a quiet, simple life in the forest. Similarly, Gandalf is one of the Maiar—an all-powerful wizard who consistently implies he could decimate everyone in his way. And yet, he interacts with people, he loves hobbits, he uses his power to entertain and delight people; he consistently chooses a simple life.

Aragorn – Howl (Howl’s Moving Castle)

Both run from something—Howl from any supposed “national responsibility” and Aragorn from his family history. But both come into themselves and both find a reason to fight. Although I think Aragorn is FAR less concerned about his appearance lol

Legolas – Haku (Spirited Away)

Legolas was also hard, but I went based on vibes and Haku fit those vibes. They’re both beings that have a strong connection to nature, Haku being a river spirit and Legolas being a Wood Elf.

Gimli – Dola (Castle in the Sky)

Gimli and Dola both appear gruff and crude at first, insensitive and not caring about anything except their goals. But as time goes on, it is revealed they are very caring people who love their friends and families, and they’re actually pretty soft inside after all. And both have a love for treasure!

Boromir – Ashitaka (Princess Mononoke)

Both Ashitaka and Boromir have a lot going on—Ashitaka obviously has his curse that’s eating away at him and has to spend the entire movie contemplating his own imminent death, and Boromir has the weight of his father’s expectations and the desire to defend Gondor and save his people. But they are both very noble people who try to do the right thing even if they may not know what exactly the right thing is, and at the very end they stick to their morals and end their films with honor.

That’s all for now! I may do a part 2!

[bitchlessdino]

Would you like a receipt? Pt. 2

Part 2 of my Valentines collaboration with @svthub hosted by my wifey @wongyuseokie thank you so much for creating this collab, we love you so much. here is part two in case you missed it pt. 1 Pairing: Childhood bf!junhui x working class afab!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst, slice of life, smut Word count: 4.3k tags: mentions of alcohol, adult activities under the influence, second chances, exes to ???, childhood friend/boyfriend!junhui, teasing, unprotected sex, soft turn needy jun, biting Summary: Coming across a grade school ex-boyfriend while you worked a shitty seasonal job around Valentines was not in your 2024 bingo card. author note: finally to my dear valentine @skyechild. it feels like so long since i wrote a fully fledge smut and i'll be producing more. I hoped you've enjoyed it mio, happy valentines day again 💘

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch

Your relationship with Junhui ended when he abandoned you. 

Of course, you remember him. He is the first guy you’ve ever dated and all of a sudden in the height of your relationship he mysteriously moves away without a trace. You were left in the dust, wondering what it was for him to leave you alone without warning, much less a goodbye. Back then, neither of you had the privilege of owning a cell phone nor any other way to contact each, even so, how would you call god knows who where?

Despite the abrupt and unexplained departure, hope flickers within your tiny eleven-year-old heart; an inkling whispers that you might cross paths again. However, the reality your adult self faces is starkly different from the innocent optimism of your youth. Those hopes of reuniting in fruitful harmony died along with your dreams of living out dreams beyond reality. You know better than that now. However, meeting him again, unexpectedly, reopens old wounds for the same reasons that severed your connection years ago, yet at the same time also opens up new possibilities you have yet to discover about yourself.

“I know you have every right to hate me.”

“What’s there to hate you for? Something came up. That’s fine.”

You busy yourself with your work a day after Valentine's during the lunch hour, which you woefully choose to take. You say woefully once the doors are open and the singular customer you come across is the very man that left you hanging all of last night. His eyes round with guilt, he strides right towards you, and nothing but apologies spill from his lips.

You are usually a person to hold a grudge–with your background of servitude and duty, you have no luxury to–but Jun seems to bring out that side of you. That childish side that you’ve repressed for so long. The kind that hoped their parents would take them to the carnival and pay for overpriced popcorn and cotton candy.

"I understand you might harbor some…resentment towards me, and you have every right to feel that way."

You scoff under your breath. "What's there to hate me for? Things came up, and that's perfectly acceptable."

"It's not fine." Jun trails behind you as you briskly navigate the aisles, replenishing the missing items, all while avoiding his eyes. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the shelves, and his shadow shades over any shelf you stand in front of–constantly in your line of vision. "I should have given you an earlier heads-up. You waited for me."

You meticulously scan the shelves, your fingers deftly selecting items with practiced efficiency, nonchalantly proceeding with work. "And I went back home; it's okay. Have a good day, sir. Remember, only paying customers are allowed in the store."

Immediately, Jun hastily seizes several boxes of candy, the crinkling of plastic punctuating the sudden flurry of movement. His fingers fumble slightly as he attempts to maintain composure, but the visible tension in his posture betrays his true emotions. He carries the candy with him as he trails behind you, a silent acknowledgment of his disrupted intentions. "I'll be buying these, don't worry."

You expel a loud sigh, the weariness evident in your demeanor, before retreating to the counter. There, you rest your arms against it in annoyance, the cool surface providing a brief respite. "Junhui, you're not buying these."

“Yes, I am.”

A challenging exchange unfolds between you, and Jun leans in, determination flickering in his eyes. You cross your arms. "What will get you to leave?"

“I’ll leave…if you tell me you never ever want to see my face again. That you wish me the worst and you truly want me out of your life.”

You fixate your gaze on him, a long moment passing as you process the weight of his terms and conditions.

“I never ever want to see your face again. I wish you the worst, and I truly want you out of my life.”

A moment of silence hangs heavily, and Jun lets linger longer than it should. “...I’ll be honest, I didn't think you’d actually do it.”

You offer a nonchalant shrug, your face maintaining a stoic expression. "Well."

His smile fades, and he retrieves his wallet with a subtle sense of resignation. A handful of bills gracefully leave their sleeves, and he places them gently on the counter before you. "Then, I'll leave. The candy is for you.”

As he takes tentative steps toward the exit, the atmosphere thickens with unrelieved tension. He can't resist the urge to steal glances back at you every few seconds, revealing the inner turmoil that accompanies his departure. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions hangs between you like a translucent veil, urging you to let him go, yet a lingering hesitation looms in the air.

“I can’t eat all this candy,” you mutter from behind the counter, your gaze meeting his with a blend of understanding and resolve. The subdued lighting from the overhead fluorescent lights casts a muted glow on the scene, intensifying the bittersweet nature of the moment. It's as if the very atmosphere is a canvas, painting the emotional undertones of a strained encounter.

He attempts to suppress a grin, the corners of his lips betraying a flicker of amusement. "Keep them, give them away. Whatever you want." You lightly flick at the edge of one of the candy boxes. The faint rustling of plastic emanates from the candy boxes, their contents cascading over each other in an unstable tower reaching the height of your chin, yet somehow its stands tall.

"You should take some, considering you bought it anyway."

He glances back at the candy, hesitating for a moment before responding. "Then I'll get it later." His hands hover over the door handle, caught in the indecision of departure before a ghost fo a smile appears on his lips. “When I come back.”

The ambient sounds of the store, the soft hum of the air conditioning, and the intermittent creaks of the floor fills the deafening silence. The door handle finally yields to his touch, and the door opens with a muted chime. He steps halfway through, still tethered to the threshold. The quiet rustling of the candy boxes accentuates the pause, and he turns back to you, a question lingering in his gaze.  The fluorescent lights overhead continue to cast their gentle glow, creating a subdued ambiance that amplifies unspoken tension that you tried damn hard deescalating.

A beat passes, and you nod towards the candy. "Okay. When you come back." The words hang in the air as a subtle invitation. With a final nod, he steps out, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you in the quiet aftermath with the candy boxes.

Uncertainty takes residence in your thoughts, including the consideration that perhaps you meant to reunite with Junhui. You still have shattered pieces of your youth, reminding you he has the power to hurt like he’s done before. Yet, a weariness settles in—a weariness with the familiar routine, the predictability that has defined your interactions. Throughout your life, your every move has been strategic, a means of survival for yourself and your family, driven by the imperative to secure their well-being. Maybe it's time to defy convention and take it back to your roots, do what present-day you wouldn’t dare do.

You meet as expected, coming out of your work in your casual attire usually hidden behind an obnoxiously loud candy sales apron, muted in colors that paired well with the night. Junhui stands before you, a bundle of roses–bigger than you’ve ever seen–is hold up with endless ribbon and his iron grip. “A cliche, but I figured you were overdue one. This obviously doesn’t make up for anything–”

“I appreciate it,” you interrupt. “It’s the kindest thing someone’s ever done for me to be honest.”

“Well, good,” he grins, “But I have much more planned.”

It’s funny. The last thing you expect on thursday–the day after valentines–is to be on an helicopter several thousand feet in the air overlooking the town and their handful of buildings in every corner. You look as if discovering color for the first time with the bright lights under your feet looking like stars, insignificant yet blinding where you sat. You glance over at Junhui in shock as he smiles at your amazement, finding you the most profound thing he’s seeing tonight.

Dinner is given, considering that was the original plan, but dinner in the nicest restaurant a town over with a private room to yourselves isn’t. Junhui, stylish in a simple navy button-up and lack of blazer left in the aircraft with no remorse, picks through with chopsticks his perfectly cooked wagyu steaming from the scorchingly deliciously broth that coats it before putting it in his mouth. 

You follow after him, not forgetting to dip rich and decadent flavors the sauce he personally curated for you. Having only ever eaten to survive, you’ve never had hot pot before and Junhui looks as if he’s an expert.

“The way I will miss this every day the moment dinner is over,” you pick up sauce from the corner of your lip with your tongue, a film of umami dancing on your tastebuds. 

“I still can’t believe you’ve never had hot pot before,” Junhui expresses in disbelief. “You have not lived until a molten piece of wagyu melts in your mouth.”

“Yeah,” you softly chuckle knowingly. “Out of my price range most days, if I’m being honest.”

“Right. Just kind of the life I always knew, I hope I get to share it with you more.”

Your eyebrow raises by a fraction. “More?”

An airy laugh escapes from Junhui's lungs as he picks up another piece of perfectly cooked Wagyu and places it on your plate. “More.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, following the delicious gift bestowed on your plate before facing him. You don’t know why your hands are clammy, you’re just having dinner in a restaurant you wouldn’t otherwise know about in another town dropped off in a fucking helicopter. “Jun. I didn’t come here to rekindle a relationship from when we were kids.”

His hands falter, dropping strength as he picks up his food. “I know…I was just. I was just happy to see you.”

“Really? Then why did we part like that?”

“Like what?”

“Without a goodbye.”

A look of resolve washes over his flawless complexion, “…I didn’t expect it either. My parents made it their life’s mission to give me the life that they thought I deserved and wanted. To them, that meant a life without, well, anything short of the best. Whatever made our family looked good.”

You fork through your food, a mixture of curiosity and frustration etched across your face. “You could’ve at least told me.”

“I didn’t know we were going until we flew off. I wish I had, I would’ve stopped that plane at all costs. Come back to this town for work, thinking everything’s changed. Then I saw you, I was ecstatic. Like, a piece of me still left behind in this town.”

You laugh in disbelief. “Jun, you’re joking. I’m not anybody.”

“You were the last real friend I had. The last authentic relationship I had with anyone my age. All business, no pleasure. When I left, I was trained day and night, molded into this perfect model exec. Perfect to continue my family’s business. Well, almost perfect.”

Your gaze lingers on him, unraveling the layers of his confession that starkly contrast with his captivating exterior. His chocolate hair is illuminated by the light of the dangling chandelier, his body is hugged by the luxurious cotton as if it were a second skin. Despite the opulent surroundings, the genuine humility he exudes speaks volumes about his character. He is perfect.

"Well, you seem to be pretty damn perfect from where I'm standing."

He shakes his head, putting another piece of meat on your plate, followed by a piece of shrimp. “That’s far from it. It’s funny you’ve gotten to see it all. Me messing up. I try not to let that happen to often.”

“So Valentine’s Day…it was all because of work?”

He nods, a subtle grimace betraying the weight of his responsibilities. “The one and only dreaded mistress.”

Junhui has worked all of his life until this moment, even in his desperate escape from reality. It’s a weight on his shoulders, constantly beckoning at him for his attention, and somehow having their vice grip on his collar. He knows it's unhealthy, but it’s all he’s ever known. All the socialite dinners, the charity events, the several hours long meetings on a daily basis. It’s the life he has always lived. 

Then comes you, someone a sight for sore eyes. Age obviously has had its way with you but it did not rid you of your grace or gentle gaze. You had that look even young. Someone who only spoke of kindness and sincerity, even now with him, who stood you up hardly 24 hours ago. He could at least make up for it. He wasn’t sure if it was to you or himself.

The clinking of silverware against plates punctuates the conversation, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken. The restaurant buzzes from the crack of the door, oblivious to the palpable remorse for a relationship–even friendship–that cease to exist in your private room.

“She isn’t good to you?”

“She’s…demanding. Do you remember when that kid Wonwoo stole your juice box without looking and every day after for the rest of the year?”

You scowl, recalling the glasses-dependent little boy. "What a brat. I couldn't stand him."

Jun laughs, sensing the lightheartedness in your tone. “Kind of like how he stole something you love, your favorite apple juice, that’s what work has done to me: stolen my happiness at the end of the day. It’s…exhausting.”

“I understand that. I’m in a similar situation. Working to live is what all we can do nowadays.”

Junhui holds up his drink for you to clink. “Fuck adulthood, am I right?”

You grin, lifting the glass. “Let’s not talk about work then. To live the night to the fullest.” Your cups clank and you drink your first of many glasses of wine of the night.

You end up relearning about Junhui, hearing about his likes, dislikes, dreams, and what he’d do if he wasn’t him. It’s strange. You don’t go on dates but here you are with Junhui, one of the most interesting men you’ve ever met and you’re enjoying yourself. You’re enjoying his presence.

Perhaps you’re enjoying it too much.

Your work clothes find themselves on the floor, your arms dangling from from his taut body to feel the tension of his muscles gather your flesh in his grasp. 

How did you get in his apartment? You swear up and down that you had just been in the restaurant.

You gasp as his lips find your neck, cascading kisses over your skin and his hands find the fullness of your thighs. Your hands run through his hair with reckless abandon, tugging from the root and breathing against his ear. You feel a shudder run down his spine and he lifts you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist as you’re enveloped in soft giggles.

You utter his name in a heated whisper, feeling the friction of his bulge against the plush of your stomach. You grasp his face, looking into his eyes that were blown out from lust, and trace over his features wordlessly. A hint of a smile creeps against his mouth before reuniting with you in a liplock, softly giggling against your lips.

“You taste like wine,” he presses a tender kiss, “I like it.”

“You’re just a little drunk,” you sweetly respond, squealing as you meet with the cushion of his mattress adorned in the most lush sheets. His playful gaze peers over you in piqued interest, kneading into your flesh as he ravishes your body, eliciting moans that delight him to the point of hardening.

You feel it swelling under your palm and you find yourself smiling, drunk on not substance but fantasy, as in this moment, it feels like you are living in a dream. At this moment, you’re not working multiple part-time jobs to make ends meet and send money to your family. You’re living. There's no pressure, only bliss; and right now, bliss is being in Junhui’s touch.

His clumsy yet gentle hands strip you to your skin, slipping you out of your straps and embracing every inch of your body. You reciprocate, roaming his body in light strokes, taking him by his hips. 

“Are you sure about this? Are you sure about me?” Junhui cautiously asks, fingers threading through your hair.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you respond, voice laced with ease.

You extend your arms, beckoning him to come closer, but you sense the tension in his muscles. Worry graces his eyes as he hesitates, and he voices his uncertainty, saying, "I'm not sure if you are."

“Junhui…” your hands caress his arms, goosebumps pebbling his skin. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” His legs anchor on either of your sides, towering over you. “I don’t think I wanted anything—anyone as badly as I want you.”

His words sober you up, oxygen stolen from your lungs. Your lips parted for nothing to come out, a wordless ponder in what he had meant. You slip off his grasp with his gentle release, his head bowing down in view. “But I shouldn’t do this. Not in your state.”

“But—“

“I shouldn’t have even gotten this far, but I’ll be holding myself back from now on.”

He picks himself up, and the draft immediately hits your flushed skin. He picks up your abandoned clothes and tucks them under his arm before making his way to a wardrobe. He pulls out a set of silk pajamas and sets them at the end of the bed. “I’ll wash your clothes and you can sleep in these. They might be a bit big, but they’ll be comfortable.”

You’re speechless as he walks away, disappearing behind the heavy door of the bedroom you’re left alone in. You weren’t sure how to feel. Unwanted. Betrayed. Disappointment. However, sleep offers no time for deliberation, and the amalgamation of fatigue and alcohol becomes a potent concoction for slumber. Lost in the enveloping darkness, your body succumbs to the overdue rest. Resolving to deal with it in the morning, you surrender to the oblivion of sleep.

It’s a morning unlike any other, starting with the fact you decide not to be at work today like you should’ve been, but you’d soon regret that later. That thought is interrupted by Junhui bringing you breakfast, setting it on the bedside table to take the space by you. “Did you sleep well?”

You slowly nod, emerging from the sheets you’ve found temporary comfort in. 

“I left you some hangover medicine, just in case.”

“Thanks, Jun.”

“And I’m sorry for leaving you here by yourself. I wasn’t sure if I could handle being alone with you in a room.” He shifts in bed, weight dropping deeper into the mattress. “I’m glad I stopped things before we–I did something I’d regret.”

“...I wouldn’t have regretted it.” The bed sheets fall past your thighs to reveal your bare legs, cool air brushing against your warm flesh. You notice how his eyes lower to your exposed skin, his hand visibly tingling with urge. 

Words hitch in Junhui’s throat before he clears it, speaking as he averts his gaze. “Still. That would’ve been a very, very bad idea.”

"That's very considerate of you," you say, inching closer to him. “Wish you were considerate enough to wake me up early enough to go to work, though.”

Guilt sweeps across his features, he releases a soft chuckle of disbelief. “I skipped out on work too. Guess we’ll both be in some load of trouble.”

“Best we make it worth it, right?” 

Food would not saite the hunger in your body. It craves much more than it can offer. Junhui only knows half an idea of what that is.

You quickly pick up where things were left off from last night, finding yourself topping over him with purpose, meeting his lips in a feverish frenzy, and finding that sense of abandonment. Junhui, lost beyond comprehension in your heat, takes only a split second to compose himself and undo his clothes as you undo yours. Warm familiarity swells his chest touching your skin as his fingers dig in your hips. He sighs against your lips and all he can think about is making up for lost time.

“Gosh, you’re so big, Jun.” Your hand runs along his shaft, gliding it against the slit of your heat. Jun inhales, latching around your vicarious wrist, catching the subtle darkness in your eyes that halts the saliva running down his throat. “C-condom?”

“I’m safe. Don't worry,” you let out, a sultry laugh to follow.

“I figured, but the other thing?”

“I’m protected from that too,” you whisper, grinning. “Anything is on the table.”

His face reminds you of strawberries and cream, sweet and red. He lowers his gaze timidly, unable to suppress his smile, almost too precious not to bite into. Almost.

You press his cock between your folds, letting your heat melt around him and you mewl over his size. He softly moans caressing your shape and letting you have control as your teeth nip at his shoulder. The cushion of your thighs crushes around his body in an iron grip, working him between your walls. 

You lift your upper body for display, kneading your breasts that’s used to the constant confinement of a 12-hour work day before guiding Junhui to join you. Eagerly, he follows, feeling your flesh spill through his hands, your nipples growing stiff as he twists them between the pads of his fingers. Stars in his eyes, he instinctively thrusts up you, and stuffs his cock deeper back in you, watching the plushness of your body land safely back into him.

You stumble to maintain your form, utterances of religion on your tongue. You lick your lips and latch to every inch of his throbbing hunger. His name comes out in choked breaths, complimenting him without the prestige vocabulary, and you grind into him until he disappears inside you. Your eyes flutter in contentment, the kindling fire in your abdomen burning a bright glow.

“Shit…”

Junhui a hand claims the back of your neck, pushing your head down until he meets your lips once again. It’s so gentle yet lustful, almost like love, but you know to suspect otherwise.

In an instant, he flips you on the bed, landing you on your side. Your body, experiencing too much ecstasy to protest, allows Junhui to take reign and is pleasantly surprised with his choices.

“I swear I have more self-control,” He defends before his hand gingerly makes its way between your legs, and the pads of his fingers find your clit in a sensual caress. “Just…just not today.”

Your arousal creates a film of sex on his fingers, building pleasure as his cock regains his paces, fucking into your steady, controlled rhythm. It’s delicious, tantalizing, and makes your back arch at every thrust, but you know he’s holding himself back. You know there’s more in him. 

“More, Jun…”

“Too…soon…”

He bites his grunts into your side, sandwiching you between him and the mattress, and he ruts into you only a fraction harder. His patience has you desiring for more, compelled to lure him into a drastic reveal of his inner demons. Your head turns to him, eyes oozing in need and conviction, and you softly jut out your lip to plead. “Please, Jun…”

“I’ll cum…too soon…” he whines.

You force your hand, then your hips, slamming back against him, needy and desperate. It's filthy with the look in your eyes, the bounce against his lap, the blood rushing over Jun’s whole body down to his disciplined cock. His length runs along the slick of the walls, the walls that feel only narrower as he grows bigger. He swears under his breath he can’t take it, fucking you loud and clear until the clash of your skin was comparable to the sound of drums. 

Before Junhui is determined to savor every thrust, now he only wishes to seek a newer form of enlightenment in every inch of your body. Your hands ball into the sheets, gaining a foundation, and your eyes start to roll back into your skull, now you savoring every hasten jerk of his hips. No longer delicate and kind, but relieving yet electrifying. 

You embrace every corner of him until your climax explodes like a bomb, traveling to all parts of your body and you can no longer recall where you are. Your legs spasm, toes curling, hips writing, and it doesn’t stop. Not for a while.

Junhui hardly notices as he’s lost in his own pleasure, your swollen clit between his fingertips. Your voice muffles as it falls against the sheets, although he expects them to be incoherent as he is now with only sex on his mind. 

Eventually, his gut tightens, a surefire sign that it would soon enough come. His arms crush around your body as he lifts you against him. He pounds deep and hard into you, your pleasured sounds of ache growing smaller as his thrust does, and he floods every ounce inside you. He hears your shattered breath against his ears, unearthing his own before his body limps and falls over on the bed.

Both of you needed escape for your own reasons, reasons being much similar than you realize. Now all that left is breakfast, and the ponderance of what’s to become of this after. One suspects more to come, seeing this as only the beginning of something different, maybe even good. The other is ready to face reality, go back to daily routine, and do what’s needed to be done.

Unsurprisingly, you are the latter.

[i-am-the-oyster]

ALBUMS

Where's The Beef?

According to the man himself, Paul can bash out a song in the time it takes Linda to whip up a soyasome supper. But is this necessarily a good thing?

By Chris Ingham. Illustration by Richard Camps.

Paul McCartney

Flaming Pie PARLOPHONE

McCartney sans band again. Self-penned, played and produced, apart from contributions by Jeff Lynne, Ringo Starr, Steve Miller and son James McCartney.

I'VE STOPPED TRYING TO JUSTIFY LOVING solo McCartney. Of course some of the work of the last 27 years has been slack and misjudged. Yes, his trust in stream-of-consciousness and the inspiration of the moment ("If you're working too hard on something, it probably means its not very good") has left a catalogue with at least as much eccentric, cavalier material as substantial. But if you respond to someone, you respond. A lot of minor McCartney means as much to me as the major. The aloof will sigh; we expect more from a pop giant.

But there is more - the gargantuan Liverpool Oratorio has its moments, his minimalist-impressionist chamber piano piece A Leaf is a charmer, the forthcoming Standing Stones symphony is an intriguing prospect - it's just that these days, pop is only part of what he does. In pop, he's changed the world already, he's had his purple patch, and he hasn't had another genius to run his new songs by for quite a while; that can do things to a man's quality control.

However, though less spectacularly ambitious than the serious work, there is much to be enjoyed here. The indisputable melodic flair, the uplifting, doe-eyed optimism, the daft rockers, all here on Flaming Pie, an album in the McCartney tradition of pretty good, nudging upper middle. If you're hip to him, that's all you'll need.

Though not reaching the coherent, miraculous heights of Band On The Run (1973), it's miles better than the interminable live albums or his last, the heart-sinkingly ordinary Off The Ground ('93). Better, too, than the aberration of Give My Regards To Broad Street ('84) and the not-as-bad-as-you've-heard Press To Play ('86). So, it's probably on a par with Flowers In The Dirt ('89) which, though lauded at the time as a major return to form (prompted, no doubt, by the red herrings that were the awkward McCartney-McManus collaborations), now seems no better/no worse than the slick, unfailingly tunesome Tug Of War ('82) or Pipes Of Peace ('83).

What noses Flaming Pie ahead of the pack, however, is a return to the engaging home-made quality of his earliest solo work. Back in do-it-your-self, down-home primitive miniaturist mode, back on deep-groove drums and bluesy guitar, there are echoes of McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971) here, and it all has an authentic ring of auteur about it. It's not that Beatley, but it's very McCartney.

Some of it is positively reckless, there's a determination to follow the mood, have a laugh, see what happens. Three songs here are little more than jams. Flaming Pie was a self-imposed challenge to finish a track with Jeff Lynne in four hours (like you do). Funny, surreal lyrics, a cracking 3 Legs-type vocal, a thunderous Why Don't We Do It In The Road/Don't Bring Me Down groove and some hilarious, cack-handed barrel-house piano; this is the track I'm playing visitors.

Ringo and Paul lock into a super-taut, muscled riff on Really Love You and McCartney makes up the song as he goes (like Mumbo from Wild Life but with words); mad, indulgent, but kind of happening. Only the duet with Steve Miller on a slinky Texas 12-bar palls. Two minutes of this good-vibe, one-take blues would have been a treat, four minutes feels like eight.

Interspersing this japery is good and OK Macca fare made better, perhaps, by co-producer Jeff Lynne's ear for detail on over half the tracks. There are no obvious ELO/Wilbury mannerisms and, oddly, the ones that sound most like Lynne don't involve him (both the strangely sinister If You Wanna and lightweight, damnably catchy Young Boy - the one he completed in a couple of hours while Linda was tinkering in the kitchen - feature orchestras of acoustic guitars), though the dry-as-a-bone sound and upfront vocals elsewhere betray Lynne's welcome presence.

Track Listing

The Song We Were Singing

The World Tonight

Somedays

If You Wanna

Young Boy

Calico Skies Flaming Pie

Heaven On A Sunday

Used To Be Bad Souvenir

Little Willo w

Really Love You Beautiful Night

Great Day

The Song We Were Singing is a vivid evocation of an evening with friends in the '60s; the sweet, hazy vocal, the trippy twang of the guitar, the struggle to make "...discuss the vast intricacies of life" scan, the soaring, singalong chorus all combine to give the track an enchanting, stoned elegance. Heaven On A Sunday is prime, dreamy Macca with gorgeously textured sound. It also features his son's debut as Dad trades his Oo You guitar licks with 20-year-old James McCartney's Dave Gilmour ones. Souvenir is an oddball beauty; a soulful, lazy thing with a surprise guitar-riff-from-hell and a psychedelic fade. This is all very encouraging, Lynne appears to have helped McCartney sound more like himself, somehow. To be continued, hopefully.

There are three finger-pickin' solo numbers. Calico Skies is an earnest little love song which develops into an anti-war prayer. Somedays is a portentous song of doubt, always threatening to mean something, beautifully decorated by George Martin's arrangement. Great Day manages to allude metrically to the Vincent Youmans's 1930 standard of the same title and melodically to McCartney's own Big Barn Bed in a sweet, throwaway piece of unfeasible optimism. They ain't Blackbird, but they're fine.

It must be noted that the man's singing is a marvel. The grey-around-the-edges folk-balladeering of Calico Skies, the falsetto blues-croon of Heaven On A Sunday, the deliriously uninhibited rock-shriek of Really Love You re-confirm that McCartney's vocal-style range is without equal in pop. Sinatra's pipes had virtually cracked at 55. What is this guy on?

"No sleepless nights over this one," he told Steve Miller. What with the serious stuff people keep asking him to write, who can blame him? Making this will have been a holiday by comparison.

The World's Greatest Living Melodist crown must lay heavy; here McCartney is sporting his Eccentric Primitive Miniaturist colours. Flaming Pie is a fine reminder of how much they suit him.

Paul McCartney talks to Chris Ingham live from his car somewhere in the great British countryside.

Flaming Pie. Pleased with it?

Yeah, like it a lot actually. It's always good when you're proud of what you've done, because when you're not you're always moaning at the record company about how they don't put posters up, or how they don t get plays and all that. But I sort of don't care. Even if radio doesn't take to it, posters don't get put up and people don't say the right things, I've got a feeling that because I like it, I don't give a shit. I'm not sure that's 100 per cent true but the feeling's there. It feels good. I'm comfortable; there's a lot to be said for that.

Don't you feel like this after each new record?

No, not really. You always enjoy like having a new baby, as it were, but this one feels a bit special. It's like Anthology, people would ask, "Are you worried? Should you have done it? Is it right to do Free As A Bird?" I would say to them, listen, once The Beatles and George Martin have signed off on it, I always get a great feeling that it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, we're a sufficiently cool enough gang of dudes, it's a question of sod the rest of them. I always used to get that feeling on Beatles albums; hey, it's The Beatles, we all like it, that's a pretty strong opinion.

It's not as easy to get that on my solo records because it's mainly me. I don't have the strength of the Woolwich around me. But on this one, there wasn't much pressure because the record people said, "We don't actually need a record from you for a while, so l started making music just for my own fun.

I think I've given the Anthology a decent interval, my stuff is suddenly ready, asked Linda if she had any photos, she had a great little selection, banged it together and it all suddenly seemed to work and it was, "Oh, there you go.

And I've told the marketing guys, "I don't want any sweat on this record, I don't care if you don't come up with a good idea, we're just gonna have a laugh." It's funny, they don't know where you're coming from, they re so used to that 'gotta get it right, get the right image desperation. Whereas I'm saying it'd be nice, but it's only a record. It really does cool things down.

One big thing with The Beatles, once in the early days we broke down on the motorway going back up to Liverpool in the severe winter, somewhere. One of us said, "Oh, what are we going to do now?" and another said, "Well, something'll happen." And it sounded so naive, we all laughed, "Yeah, something'll happen." Immediately a lorry came up and said, "Wanna lift, lads?" We all piled in. I'm a great believer in that "something'll happen" syndrome. It's like if you allow that space, that bit of peace in your mind, something sort of comes in to fill it. It's all very metaphysical.

You've said, "Songwriting's like the thumb in the mouth." It's interesting that through a worrying time with Linda being ill, you've made an upbeat kind of record. Is there a connection?

Yes, I think there is. When you have a major problem like that, it focuses what's important. I know everyone says that but it really does. For me, my family comes first, and a close second is music and working. I think it stopped me pissing around. I might have made a record and thought, Oh that's OK. But with that and having just done Anthology I thought, No I'm gonna make sure I'm happy with every song on this album. I don't want to waste time. I think that's the main force. If you're just breezing along you can think, Aah I've got forever, it's all great - you can find yourself wasting time. And also having looked at The Beatles albums and running your finger down the tracklist and it's Nowhere Man, Here There And Everywhere, Taxman, bang, bang, bang, every single one is a song you remember. I thought, I'm gonna make an album like that. I sorted a lot of songs and didn't bother with things I was in doubt about. So the whole episode focused me up quite a bit.

You've admitted in the past to feeling daunted by the Beatles' achievements, yet all this full-on Beatlosity of the past 18 months or so seems to have spurred you on.

Yeah well, the sort of plan was to take a holiday. But I'd just be sitting around with my acoustic, writing a song in a power cut in America, played it to a few people and it's "Ooh yeah, that's a good 'un." So I started stockpiling a few with nothing in mind, stuck 'em on a cassette and called them New Songs. Suddenly I had a lot of them. Called Steve Miller, who I'd known and played with once in the '60s after a Beatle session which was aborted because of, ahem, business differences. God, I've just come across a big field full of sheep here. Amazing. But I digress... I'd say to Steve, "look we don't need to get into heavy breathing, let's just knock it off", the way we did that track of his, My Dark Hour. He'd invited me up to his studio in Sun Valley, Idaho, did a track. Returned the hospitality, knocked off a couple more.

You're working with Jeff Lynne again. He'd passed the Free As A Bird test then?

Yeah, that was the audition (laughs). He was sort of George's boyfriend, if you know what I mean, and, you know, you don't want to tread on people's toes. But I'd enjoyed working with him and found him really easy to get on with, we always had a laugh. And I said, "Do you want to come over for a couple of weeks?" He said, "Well, you can't do much in a couple of weeks." I said, "Well, we can do a couple of tracks and mix 'em.."

What was the dynamic between you and Jeff?

I'd show him the song. And then first of all we'd bang it down with a couple of acoustics so we'd have a wash to go against, instead of a click track. It's an old Beatle trick, really. Everything used to have two acoustics, at least. It was mainly me and John showing the guys the song. That's one of Jeff's production tricks, too. I can't think where he got it. A lot of people when I mentioned working with Jeff their eyebrows raised, and I picked up what they meant was he's going to make an ELO of you. I actually had that worry with Free As A Bird. But then I thought, No, we'd worked around it, and even though it was a Jeff Lynne-type production I still thought it sounded very like The Beatles. So I had a chat with him and I said, "I don't want to get into your recognisable sound." He was actually a little bit surprised, I don't think he thinks he has a sound (in surprised Brummie voice), "What do you mean?" He's a very innocent kind of bloke. I said, "If I feel we re getting into a bit of a Jeff Lynne formula, let's find a trick to get round it, subvert it." He was quite into it, actually.

John Lennon said in the late '70s that if The Beatles were still making records, they'd sound like ELO.

Yeah, it was important to Jeff to meet John and have him say, "Oh I love some of those ELO tracks." I liked them, too. It's a bit like Oasis. Anyone who gives such an obvious tribute to you, you either hate it or you love it, and I love it. They're taking our style and proliferating it, if that's the word. ELO were good, you know, pity about the haircut. (Pause) I'm only kidding about the haircut, you'd better put in brackets - he'd kill me. He's still got it.

Given Ringo's and George Martin's cameos, George Harrison remains conspicuous by his continued absence. Is it difficult, given your history and the reported 'artistic tension' on the Free As A Bird/Real Love sessions, to contemplate a Harrison/McCartney collaboration?

I don't know really. To tell you the truth, when I was working with John, it was so, I don't know, so full, you never had a minute, so if working with George never really came up, I got in the habit of not working with him, I never really learned how to do it. When we did Free As A Bird there were one or two little bits of tension, but it was actually cool for the record. For instance, I had a couple of ideas that he didn't like, and he was right. I'm the first one to accept that. So that was OK. We did then say that we might work together but the truth is, after Real Love I think George had some business problems. Er, it didn't do a lot for his moods over the last couple of years. He's been having a bit of a hard time, actually, he's not been that easy to get on with. I've rung him and maybe he hasn't rung back. No big deal. But when I ring Ringo, he rings back immediately, we're quite close that way. You know, I'll write George a letter and he might not reply to it. I don't think he means not to reply to it but it makes me wonder whether he actually wants to do it or not. And if you're not sure, you back off a little. But I love him, he's a lovely guy and I would love to do it. It'd be fun, he's good.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

93 for ❄️:

---

Eddie exhales. “Okay. I, uh… I trust you.”

And he does. For whatever reason. He does. 

ix.

A few days later, Eddie books the weekend of the Cardinals game off from work no issue. Bobby is practically giddy to send him off.

“This will be good for you, Eddie,” he says. “I’m really happy to hear you’re meeting, well, literally half way.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” Eddie says, cheeks a little warm. There’s something about encouragement from Bobby that goes further for him than most people. He sees why Buck is sort of hooked on it. It’s easier to believe in yourself, when Bobby believes in you.

For a second, Eddie has the strange urge to tell Bobby everything. To come out to him. To tell him all about therapy and Charlie and that he really is doing better. He’s being better. He thinks Bobby would be proud of him. 

But he doesn’t say anything. 

His mouth simply doesn’t open when his brain tries to convey the thought. 

▪️▪️▪️

Buck is, of course, ecstatic for him. 

They chat about it while restocking the engine that afternoon. He’s tried texting Charlie about it, too. But he must already be traveling to see his brother, because he hasn’t replied yet. 

“Man, this is great,” Buck grins at him when Eddie explains the situation. “This is going to change things. I can feel it.”

“You can feel it, huh?” Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Buck insists. “He’s going to be surly at first, but then he’ll realizes how much he misses you, and he’ll go back to El Paso, and your mom will annoy him-”

“Wait, what?” Eddie asks. 

“You think you’re the only person on earth who finds her annoying?” Buck asks.

“Should you be insulting my mom?” Eddie asks, genuinely unsure.

“Yes,” Buck replies. “After what I witnessed in May? Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie mutters.

“Anyway, your mom’ll get on his nerves, and he’ll be less angry, and he’ll remember, hey, Dad is never this uptight, and boom, you’ll be booking flights to go get him,” Buck says. 

Eddie smiles softly. “I think it’s a bit more complicated than that. But I appreciate your optimism.”

Buck shrugs. 

“Name one time in my life I’ve ever been wrong about…” Buck trails off, looking at a point beyond Eddie. His expression changes. “Uh, hello? Can we help you?”

Eddie looks over his shoulder to see a tall, familiar looking man walk into the station. He’s dressed in street clothing, bouncing car keys back and forth between his hands. It takes Eddie maybe three seconds to recognize him in person, rather than over Zoom. 

Charlie.

Charlie… 

Why is Charlie here?

“Charlie?” Eddie asks. 

Charlie stops short. “Eddie?” 

Buck looks between them. “You guys know each other?”

“Wh-why are you here?” Eddie asks. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell you where I worked.”

“You work… You work here.” Charlie’s face is pale. “This is… Oh, Jesus.”

“You’re not here for me,” Eddie realizes aloud. “You’re here for…”

His brother.

All at once, the dots connect in Eddie’s brain. Like tiny, individual puncture wounds. The brother who’s an addict. Dead sister-in-law. Dead niece and nephew. Both of them left their home state… Now, all Eddie can see is the identical hazel of their eyes. Oh fuck. 

“Eddie?” Buck asks.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie blurts. “I had no idea. Eddie, I had no idea.”

A fourth voice enters the conversation, a few paces away from Buck and Eddie. 

“Guys, what’s going… Charlie?” 

Bobby. 

---

I can't quite give you 99 for 🪞, because of reasons. Gonna wrap up the first chapter after this snippet. So here's something:

---

Another shrug.

Fair enough. How does a kid know how to screen a potential parent? Again. She’s just six.

“Well, how about this,” he suggests. “I’ll tell you a bit about me, and you can stop me and ask whatever you want? Or tell me anything about you?”

“Okay,” she says, then takes a sip of juice. 

“Alright, so,” Buck says, then trails off a little. This is harder than he thought. “Well, you know I’m a firefighter. And that’s kind of my favorite thing. But… Uh, I also like to cook. And be active.”

Why is he saying this like it’s a dating profile? 

“Uh, okay, and… I have an older sister. Maddie. I have a niece. My best friend, Eddie, he’s also one of the firefighters you met… He lives around the corner. He’s super fun.”

Dove looks a little overwhelmed with all the information. None of this means anything to her. At least not yet. 

Buck takes a deep breath and recalibrates. 

“Have you been to the zoo before, Dove?”

She shakes her head. 

“Well, I really like to go to the zoo. Maybe you and I can go together sometime?”

Dove considers this. 

“Okay,” she nods. “To see reptiles?”

Buck smiles. She really likes those reptiles, huh? 

“Absolutely,” he promises. “There’s a whole big building full of them.”

“Cool,” she says, a coy little smile on her face. Like she’s nervous about finally getting something she wants. 

“What’s your favorite reptile?” Buck asks. “Crocodiles?”

“And turtles,” she says. “And tortoises.”

“Oh, yeah. They’re super cool, too.”

“They take their houses with them,” she announces. 

“They do,” Buck nods. “That’s pretty neat.”

[goldeaglefire1]

So uh. Since I figure "man I need to post about my OCs more often" - the OCs in question!

These seven are part of a hypothetical series I refer to as Cafe Palette, a comedic slice-of-life which can best be summarized as "local cafe owner makes a deal with the devil to make her cafe interdimensional." Not the only hypothetical series I have bouncing around in my head but it's a good place to start!

don't know if I'll end up posting more about it here but I wanted some updated art so while I'm here I might as well also do some quick character summaries!

Clementine Slate - The main character! For years, Clem's been running a struggling cafe, feeling less and less hope as the days go by...and then, one morning, as Clem does her usual morning routine preparing the cafe for opening, she finds herself face to face with a devil demanding that she give him her coffee or suffer the consequences. And faced with this supernatural threat combined with an attitude Clem's all too familiar with, something in her...snaps, and instead of complying, she tells him off for his rude behavior, and manages to shame him to pay for the coffee legitimately. And when he does, he quickly finds the coffee to be GREAT, and is utterly shocked to find out that Clem's doing poorly in terms of business. So, the devil, who Clem nicknames Devi since his real name is unpronouncable in human tongue, offers her a deal: to allow her cafe travel to other dimensions that might actually appreciate her coffee so she can finally live her dream, in exchange for a lifetime supply of her coffee (which she can rescind if she finds that he's being a dick, a term that Devi himself actually insisted on including because deals with a devil are even more rigged in the devil's favor than you'd think). Clem agrees, the deal is made, and so the series begins! Generally very cheery and optimistic, and for the most part this is genuine, but Clem also has a lot of repressed rage and various anxieties that she has bottled up to address never. She is white knuckle gripping her sense of optimism and whimsy because she refuses to let the people who deride her for living out her dream win

Devi - The devil who found himself attracted to the smell of Clem's coffee one fateful morning, and the one who transports the cafe around from world to world in the first place. Older than most can even comprehend, Devi doesn't have a home universe, as he - and all other demons - are born in the fabric between universes, meant to keep the multiverse running and make sure nothing goes wrong. But, the thing is, the amount of devils it takes to do this is...WAY less than you'd think, with a small council of a couple dozen or so electing to take the task on by themselves (with this council being referred to as angels by humanity) and leaving the rest without much purpose. As such, a good amount took to playing with mortals as if they were toys, with Devi being one of the exceptions, being disgusted by that kind of behavior and preferring to see the sights. The only reason Devi even offered Clem a deal is because the Council of Angels tends to intervene when devils use their powers willy-nilly, like he'd be doing without a deal, but aren't really willing to investigate the deals devils make as they're (ostensibly) meant to help people, and they don't have the time to investigate what should be something helpful unless it's wreck-a-universe level bad. Devi likes to think he's the straight man, but he's not nearly as above it all as he might claim, especially when his pride is on the line. Can be a bit disconnected from the others on account of being an immortal being with a lot of power at his fingertips, and has to learn to acknowledge his own bias and work past it

Cordylynd the Corrupt - An inhabitant of the first world Clem visits, Cordylynd the Corrupt is introduced as an egotistical lich working for the dark lord Tyrannak, who tries to antagonize Clem into giving her some of her coffee for free...only for Clem to have none of that, managing to intimidate Cordylynd into actually paying for it. And after she has some, she elects to stay for more, rationalizing that it'll be fine since she can just pass off her duties to her minions...up until her boss shows up. After a string of events lead to Clem accidentally killing Tyrannak with a cup of coffee (she intended to knock him out, but it turns out disagreeing with the devil giving you your power tends to be hazardous to your health), Cordylynd ends up working at Cafe Palette, partially because she doesn't really see any other options, and partially out of gratitude for Clem.

Over her time working at the Cafe Palette, her backstory for why she's like that is gradually revealed: she used to be part of a party of heroes…up until they were all wiped out by the dark lord they were trying to defeat, save for her, thanks to a last-second spell she cast from a dark magic book she'd been secretly studying out of curiosity. Out of sheer desperation, Cordylynd offered to be one of his generals, and Tyrannak agreed, interested in her display of the dark arts - though, of course, not without a ""test"" to see exactly how far her skills with it truly went, burning off a good amount of her flesh and giving her her current appearance. By the time Clem showed up, Cordlynd had long ago elected to embrace her role, fully believing that there truly wasn't any other option for her besides being a monster...at least, up until that fateful day when Cafe Palette showed up. She puts up a vain and abrasive front, but in reality is massively insecure, and tends to butt heads with Devi more often than not out of a desperate need to prove that she's worthy of the second chance Clem has given her

Willow - Short for "The Willow Woman," Willow was a monster haunting a small town. According to the legends, if you wandered into the woods, you might come across a strange woman in a trenchcoat, crying in front of a tree. But as you drew near, you would realize too late that the woman's skin was far too pale to be human...and that her hair wasn't hair at all, but the tongues of a gaping maw, ready to devour you whole. The legends weren't entirely false, but they missed some crucial context: mainly, that the woman didn't actually mean any harm, but was far more just incredibly lonely. Willow doesn't remember HOW she came to be, but she distinctly remembers watching humans come to settle her sleepy little town from the shadows, and becoming interested in meeting and interacting with the only real "people" she'd seen outside of herself. Unfortunately, thanks in part to her inhuman appearance and in part due to her not quite THINKING like a human, the only response she was ever able to get was panicked screaming, and Willow, dejected by how she was unable to connect with the town, elected to hide in the woods and watch from afar. It also didn't help that she DID eat a few people, but in her defense that was more of a reflex than anything. When Clem showed up to her town, she felt sympathy for the monstrous figure, and for the first time in Willow's life, extended a hand in friendship, which Willow accepted. Now she works at Cafe Palette, bringing a rather...unique presence with her eleven foot tall frame, to say the least. A very morose figure, Willow can be a bit shy about interacting with people...but not so much about anything else. While her more inhuman perspective can make it a bit more difficult to understand people, it can also allow her to provide a unique outlook on whatever issues Cafe Palette may be facing, and be surprisingly dependable at times.

Acapella - Acapella (real "name" being serial number 4C4, Primary Loadbearer 4-Tread model) is a robot from a universe flung into the far future, living in a post-human society ruled entirely by machines, with the machines seeking to continue what they saw as humanity's primary goal before they died out - to explore and learn. But, while it's fairly nice to live there, Acapella is deeply unsatisfied with her lot in life. Although her model is meant for heavy labor, carrying large cargo over potentially unsteady terrain, it's not very...fulfilling for her. Not the way it is for other robots of her model. No, what she really wants is to be an idol, her voice out on the airwaves and enjoyed by robots across the stars! This is a rare, but not unknown issue, and there IS a process for transferring the AI of a robot from one model to an entirely different one should the need arise, but the issue is that it's incredibly difficult to actually apply for the process, and in Acapella's society, saying anything that even IMPLIES you're not happy with your current job tends to get you weird looks. Unlike our society, there isn't really any "superior" jobs among the machines, as each role is treated with equal importance - they're all cogs in a greater machine, after all. So as far as they're concerned, as long as you're doing the job you were made to do, you should be happy, and if you're not, that implies there's some sort of issue with you.

Enter Cafe Palette! Although most of the staff don't see a reason to stay there, since the main inhabitants can't even drink, Clem insists that they stay so they can see the sights, and after she gets everyone to agree, heads out of the cafe and meets Acapella, who mistakes her for an entertainer robot, specifically a museum curator, since they're known to take on a human animatronic look for full immersion. They get to talking, with Clem reflecting on how her life has changed so radically recently and Acapella telling Clem about her struggles, and after hearing her plight, Clem makes the decision to tell Acapella about Cafe Palette, offering her a job there so she can see if there's any world out there that will let her achieve her dreams. And with an offer like that...how could Acapella possibly refuse? Cheerful yet headstrong, Acapella has an unwavering confidence in who she is and who she's meant to be, and is determined to get there, no matter what obstacle is in her way. Though she can be somewhat inconsiderate, she generally gets along with the others fairly well, and is particularly interested in Willow, which...you would not expect, given that their first "meeting" was Acapella witnessing Willow tear another robot in half with her tongues, but she's actually incredibly into that.

Inspector Scrap-It - Technically an antagonist but more accurately a secondary protagonist, Inspector Scrap-It (real name being serial number N5PC, Safety Compliance Reassurance For Professional Integrity Tests model, or N5PC-SCR4PIT) does not actually work at Cafe Palette, but rather is dragged into the multiverse after Acapella is hired, generally being the focus of some more comedic B-plots. An inhabitant of the same world Acapella came from, while Clem was busy exploring and then later talking with Acapella, Inspector Scrap-It happened to take notice of Cafe Palette and decided to investigate. As his acronym would imply, Inspector Scrap-It is more along the lines of an OSHA inspector than anything else, but Cordylynd, Devi, and Willow misinterpreted his title as being that of a police inspector, promptly worried that they'd broken a law of some kind, and collectively decided to stall for time and keep Inspector Scrap-It from entering the building until Clem got back and they could properly book it. However, when she did arrive with Acapella in tow, and Cafe Palette left that universe shortly thereafter, what none of them realized was that Inspector Scrap-It was taken with them...

And, after making a deal with his own devil, Inspector Scrap-It is able to follow Cafe Palette, determined to have that safety inspection, come hell or high water. And he might just be able to achieve it, too, if he isn't distracted by a glaring safety violation in whatever new world he's in after a grand total of five minutes. Inspector Scrap-It combines an earnest desire to help with comedic levels of obliviousness and being near-indestructable - it's not that he can't be hurt, it's that he has repair nanobots that can patch up any damage he takes alarmingly fast. He considered getting ripped in half by Willow to be very rude at worst. He's effectively what you would get if you made the Terminator an OSHA inspector.

Fishbone - Fishbone is the devil who Inspector Scrap-It made a deal with, a fellow who seems fishy in both the literal and metaphorical sense but is actually rather chill. They're Devi's ex, with the two breaking it off after Devi figured out he's ace, and while they're on...relatively good terms with each other, Fishbone still thinks Devi can have a bit too much of a stick up his ass at times. They figured out he was involved while they were talking it up with Inspector Scrap-It, "smelling" the trace of their ex's magic on him, and once they knew Devi was involved, Fishbone figured it would be hilarious to actually give the robot man the means to pursue the Cafe Palette, if only to see the look on their ex's face when he did manage to catch up. Far more mellow than the overly serious Inspector, Fishbone is at first mostly just sticking around him because he's funny, what with his obliviousness and the chaos he makes just earnestly trying to do his job, but after some time, they find themselves actually growing attached to the strange robot man and his incredibly earnest nature, becoming far more protective of the bot than they really HAVE to be considering Scrap-It's nigh-invulnerability. And as they open up to the robot man, they reveal that underneath the laidback persona is a surprisingly deep layer of cynicism that permeates their entire being, stemming from one simple thing...Inspector Scrap-It isn't the first Fishbone's made a deal with. And unlike their deal with Scrap-It, that deal went horribly, horribly wrong, through no fault of Fishbone's own...but I'll save the details of that for later :)

Aaaaaaaaand that's the main cast! Again, hope you enjoy!

[lorimay2862]

Twin-Cuisine Technology: Mastering the Art of Dual-Basket Air Frying

In the realm of modern kitchen appliances, the dual air fryer stands out as a revolutionary tool. With its unique twin-basket design, this appliance offers unparalleled convenience and versatility, making it a must-have for any home chef.

What is a Dual Air Fryer?

A dual air fryer is an advanced version of the traditional air fryer, featuring two separate cooking baskets. This allows users to cook two different dishes simultaneously, saving time and energy. Imagine preparing crispy chicken wings in one basket while roasting vegetables in the other—without any flavor crossover.

Key Features of Dual Air Fryers

"The dual air fryer is designed to enhance your cooking experience by providing flexibility and efficiency."

Separate Cooking Zones: Each basket operates independently, allowing for different cooking times and temperatures.

Large Capacity: Ideal for families, dual air fryers can handle larger quantities of food.

Energy Efficiency: Cook multiple dishes at once, reducing overall cooking time and energy consumption.

Versatility: From frying and roasting to baking and grilling, the dual air fryer can do it all.

Benefits of Using a Dual Air Fryer

Why should you consider adding a dual air fryer to your kitchen arsenal? Here are some compelling reasons:

Time-Saving: Cook two dishes simultaneously, cutting your meal preparation time in half.Healthier Meals: Enjoy your favorite fried foods with up to 75% less fat.

Convenience: With pre-set cooking functions, making a variety of dishes is a breeze.

Easy Cleanup: Most dual air fryers come with dishwasher-safe baskets and accessories.

Popular Dual Air Fryer Models

Several brands offer high-quality dual air fryers. One notable example is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, known for its versatility and user-friendly features.

How to Use a Dual Air Fryer

Using a dual air fryer is straightforward, but here are some tips to get the most out of your appliance:

Preheat: Preheating ensures even cooking and optimal results.

Use the Right Temperature: Different foods require different temperatures. Refer to the user manual for guidelines.

Shake the Basket: For even cooking, shake the basket halfway through the cooking process.

Experiment: Don't be afraid to try new recipes and cooking techniques.

Maintaining Your Dual Air Fryer

Proper maintenance can extend the life of your dual air fryer. Here are some tips:

Regular Cleaning: Clean the baskets and accessories after each use to prevent buildup.

Check for Wear and Tear: Inspect the appliance regularly for any signs of damage.

Store Properly: When not in use, store your dual air fryer in a cool, dry place.

Conclusion

The dual air fryer is more than just a kitchen gadget; it's a game-changer. Whether you're a busy parent, a health-conscious individual, or someone who loves to cook, this appliance offers something for everyone. With its twin-basket design, versatile cooking options, and user-friendly features, the dual air fryer is set to become a staple in modern kitchens worldwide.

For more information on dual air fryers, check out this highly-rated model.

About Toshiba

Toshiba is a well-known brand in the home appliances industry, offering innovative and versatile products designed to make your life easier. One of their popular products is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, which features 8 cooking functions, Fuzzy Logic Technology, and a 24-hour delay timer.

For more information on Toshiba's range of products, visit their official website.

Additional Resources

Understanding Air Fryers

Toshiba Small Rice Cooker

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Friends With Benefits Part 2/6

Summary - Reader and Ruben have been in a friends with benefits situation for over three years now, with Reader eventually looking for something more serious. But what does Ruben want?

Enjoy!

One day, out of the blue, you decided to take a leap of faith and try online dating. You had heard stories of successful relationships that had blossomed from such platforms, and figured you had nothing to lose. Little did you know that your journey would be a peculiar one.

Your first encounter was with a man who called himself Dr. Alan, a dentist by profession. On your first date, he enthusiastically talked about tooth decay, dental floss, and his collection of teeth-shaped souvenirs from around the world. You found yourself captivated by his unique quirkiness at first, but soon realized that his obsession with teeth trumped any chance of a meaningful connection. And so, that was the end of that.

Your second encounter was with an individual named Mark, whose chauvinistic mindset was apparent from the moment you sat down at a local coffee shop. Prior to entering the coffee shop you got a text from Ruben, a picture of his junk to be exact. He had been sending you alot of those lately, his way off telling you that he needed attention. Usually you would entertain his needs by sending him risky pictures of yourself with a hand between your legs or something similar, but for now you left his messages on read, as you desperately tried to wrap you head around this online dating sceem.

Turns out Mark was a sexist, though. Firstly he wouldn't stop boasting about his position as a top executive in a prestigious company, dismissing your passions and achievements as trivial. He believed that a woman's place was in the home, serving her husband's every need. Unable to tolerate his toxic views, you swiftly left, determined not to be reduced to someone's subordinate.

With your optimism faltering, you hesitated before delving into the realm of online dating for the third time. You eventually matched with a man named Eric, who seemed charming and sincere in your virtual conversations. However, upon meeting him, you quickly discovered that Eric was nowhere near the person he had presented himself to be. He belittled the waiter, made offensive comments about other patrons he'd met online, and spoke about himself incessantly. It became clear to you that Eric was simply awful, consumed by his own reflection and devoid of compassion for others. You excused yourself politely, feeling a sense of relief as you walked away from what could have been a disastrous connection.

"Are all men pigs?" You asked, a hint of a sigh.

"Yes." Ruben groaned, rolling over to lay his back after letting himself nut inside you.

You had answered one of his "You up?" texts in a moment of weakness, resulting in him dropping the location of the hotel that he was staying at for the weekend. The two of you had been going at it until morning. This was usually the part where you kicked him out of your apartment, however, you were on his turf now, unable to do that.

"Why are all men pigs?" You said, refrasing the question, in hopes of a less arrogant answer from Ruben.

"Why?" He yawned. "Pigs like to eat don't they? There is nothing better than eating a woman out."

"Get out!"

You nudged his warm body out of the bed. At least you still had the power to do that.

"What did I say?" He chuckled.

"That all men are pig because all they want to do in life is eat pussy."

Ruben threw his hands up in defense. "I can only speak for myself."

"Yeah, well, it would have been better if you didn't speak at all."

Ruben cocked his head to the side, watching you curiously as you sat with the hotel sheets cradled around yourself.

"What?"

"You look beautiful." He said.

"In the morning?" You snorted. "That must be the greatest lie you've ever told."

"No lie."

He returned to bed, puckering his lips as he leaned down towards you. You kissed him out of habit, although it did cause a stir in your abdomen. Calling some beautiful prior to kissing them should be off-limits in a friends with benefits situation.

"You want to ride around with me while I run some errands?"

You smiled against his lips. "Since when do you want to..."

"It's a yes or no answer, Y/N."

You pulled back, taking him in, as he stood hovering over you. You were a bit suprised that he hadn't asked you to help tame his morning wood yet.

"Sure, Ruben." You nodded. "I'd love to."

After a quicky in the shower the two of you were off in Ruben's Mercedes, driving around town, running minor but not pointless errands.

As you drove through town you found yourself pleasantly surprised. This wasn't just any ordinary errands run. Instead, Ruben turned the mundane tasks into meaningful conversations. You spoke of dreams and aspirations, of the joys and challenges of life. You realized that beneath the smooth-talking exterior, Ruben possessed a deep understanding and love for his family. It was evident in the way he spoke about his parents and siblings.

"What are you, Y/N, like 25?" Ruben drove with one hand, the other resting on your thigh.

"I'm 24, I'll be 25 next month."

"So you're like me." He shrugged. "Why are you in such a rush to get into a relationship and start a family?"

"It's not the same for men and women, Ruben. Women have a need to settle down early, whilst men can go around throwing around their seed into whomever they please to."

"I disagree." He chuckled. "Women can throw around...whatever they like to throw around, with whoever they wish to."

You rolled you eyes, turning your head to look out the window. You passed the coffee shop that you and your date, Mark, had gone to. This reminded you to text your next date where to meet up tonight.

"How old are the guys your seeing anyway?" Ruben drew your attention back into the car.

You shrugged. "27-32"

"See, now that's too young. No wonder they've all been pigs."

"Too young?" You frowned, "Those are grown men, Ruben."

"On the outside, yes. I say you have to subtract about five years of a man's age to figure out his level of maturity."

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

Ruben turned his head to look at you, suprised by your sudden outburst.

"That kind of talk just shows your lack of accountability and it's pathetic."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but there's about a billion of other men like me out there and unless you up the age preferences on those dating apps your on, you're going to encounter most of them."

You felt like crying, but only because Ruben was right, so fucking right.

"Could you just drope me off, my apartment is not too far from here."

"Don't be silly, Y/N." His hand squeezed your thigh. "I'll drop you off in front of the building."

"Thanks, but I have to pick up my dress for tonight. The dry cleaners is on the way."

"Three dates in three nights, I see. I guess you're on a spree?"

"Four actually."

"Wow, and you call me a fuck boy."

You hit him in the shoulder. Angry that Ruben made it hard for you to stay mad at him.

"Y/N."

You perked up, hearing the way Ruben said your name. He had parked the car along the sidewalk, ready to drop you off.

"Yes?"

He turned to you faced you in the passenger seat.

"If you ever get into trouble with one of these guys that you're seeing, just call me, alright?"

"Then what?"

His eyebrows furrowed.

"Then what will you do, Ruben?"

His hand under your chin brought you forwards, pressing your lips against his own. He did not let you pull back until you winced for air.

Ruben grinned once you did.

"I hate you."

"I know."

Taglist:

@kathb59

[geekywritings]

“Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

(Quick info: I’m also taking writing prompts and suggestions for this handsome Jedi! ;) )

_______

How long have the two of you been traveling together? It must have been months. So many weeks of planning, fighting and surviving. Every day, Cal gave you new hope that all of this wasn’t in vain, that you stood at least some chance against the mighty Empire, that any of your actions actually mattered.

But as the war continued, you began to grow tired. No matter how big your victories, the Empire just seemed to grow stronger by the day. You had lost so many comrades and friends on the way already…

Looking up from the holo table, you stared at Cal, as he explained the next mission to your little group. Merrin was listening with a passive expression on her face, while Greeze looked openly skeptical. This was dangerous, but the red-haired Jedi seemed convinced that you were on the path to uncovering something grand. Something to help the rebellion in a new way.

“I don’t know, kid…”, Greeze started after Cal had finished. “It could be chasing nothing more than a legend…”

“Or it could be a real chance.”, the Jedi argued back and once again you found yourself admiring his optimism. Or perhaps it was desperation cloaked in hope. “We just have to try…”

“I agree.”, Merrin jumped to his aid. “It could be a safe haven for all of us. For Cere and her project. And for thousands of others.”

Suddenly all eyes were on you, as they awaited your opinion on the matter.

“It might be nothing more than a legend…”, you began. “But I trust you, Cal. So let’s see what we can find.”

What he promised was nothing less than a new home for those trying to escape the ruthless reign of the Empire. A place to start anew and build something untainted by war. If this mystical place was more than a rumor, of course.

Honestly, it sounded too good to be true to you. There had been only one home you had ever known: The Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Everything that came after that was just a hiding place, a temporary shelter, a location where you constantly had to watch your back or tongue.

The Mantis felt different, but it wasn’t home either. Not really.

The crew split up, each returning to their tasks. Greeze busied himself with dinner, while Merrin went to study some artifact she had recovered from her latest trip. You wandered back into your room, hoping to meditate a little, but couldn’t get into the right state of mind. Thoughts of this possible hidden haven kept spinning in your head, making you almost restless.

The whizz of the door opening had you looking up, surprised to find Cal entering.

“Hey… thanks for your support back there.”, he spoke, hand nervously going through his hair.

“I mean what I said, Cal. I trust you. Or I wouldn’t be here.”, you began. “Besides, at least half of your crazy ideas worked well enough so far, right?” A little humor to lighten the mood, and it worked, as both of your lips drew upward a little.

“But you also looked hesitant.”, the Jedi became serious again, moving to sit on your bed, while you stayed on the floor, eyes locked on his form. Curious green eyes stared back at you, waiting for you to speak.

“It’s not about the mission itself.”, you began, trying to sort your thoughts into cohesive sentences. “I.. I just find it hard to consider any place home again, after…” You left the rest unsaid, knowing full well that Cal would understand.

He nodded solemnly, reaching out a hand to place on your shoulder. “I know what you mean.”, he began slowly, as you tried your best to concentrate. His mere touch had your heart beating so damn loud, heat rushing through you. It had started weeks ago, and you still struggled to get these feelings under control.

You couldn’t be falling in love. Especially not with Cal Kestis. A fellow Jedi survivor. And a man dead-set on whatever mission he chose for himself. He would never love you back, you were certain, and you wanted to avoid the heartache.

Yet every time he reached for you, sought your company in private, you found yourself falling for him all over again.

“But even if it’s not a home for us, it could be for others.”

You nodded quietly. He was right. This wasn’t just about you. It was about so many others that deserved a better life. You were thinking about what to say, when Cal continued, voice low, but steady.

“Besides, home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

Eyes widening, you stared at him with lips parting in surprise. What? What did he mean by that? You were sure your heartbeat could be heard all across the galaxy at this point, as you tried to wrangle your feelings into place.

The hand on your shoulder wandered higher, pushing some of your hair behind your ear, before coming to rest on your cheek. He was smiling now, his eyes full of gentleness and… was that affection? Longing? Love?

“Cal…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He was about to retreat his hand, but you were quick to place yours on top, holding him against your cheek.

“Do you mean this only as a friend, Cal? As a comrade on the battlefield?”

You had to know. Had to be certain before you laid your heart open to him. Seconds ticked by like small eternities before you heard him breathe one simple word: “No.”

He couldn’t prepare for what you did next. Heck, you yourself weren’t prepared for it. You just closed the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his.

Cal froze for a second, but before you could think he might not enjoy it, he was kissing you back, hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head, making sure to keep you close. Your own arms had sneaked around his neck, keeping him equally tight against you, as you gave in to the longing you had felt for so long.

“I love you…”, you breathed between kisses.

“And I love you, starlight.”, he said, slowly pulling away to look at you. “And for as long as we are together, it doesn’t matter where we are.”

It was true. He was your home as much as you were his. But that wouldn’t stop you from trying to find a shelter for others. You simply had to try.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s catalog re-recording campaign continues with a thoughtful version of 2010’s Speak Now that tempers teen angst with the ageless quality of lullabies and folk songs.

Taylor Swift emerged in 2006 as a 16-year-old wunderkind with a gift for articulating all the intimacies and humiliations of falling in love. But throughout her early career, her image was predicated on her youthful innocence as much as her outsized wisdom. Swift “does not drink or swear or flash cleavage,” remarked a profile from around the time of her third studio album, Speak Now—a point that stood in opposition to peers like Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato, who were quick to jettison their tween-friendly branding. Swift seemed to take up the mantle of youth role model with pride. Though she was careful to never disparage anyone directly, she told The New Yorker in 2010, “I don’t feel completely overcome by the relentless desire to put out a dark and sexy ‘I’m grown up now’ album.”

Speak Now, released in 2010, emerged at an inflection point in Swift’s life. She had recently turned 20 and moved out of her parents’ home, had toured the world, and, as evidenced by gut-wrenching tracks like “Dear John” and “Last Kiss,” had experienced heartbreak that shook her sense of emotional security. On this album, she struggles to balance her love of fantasy and escapism with her new responsibilities. Throughout Speak Now, she asks, How do you believe in fairytales and also acknowledge the depth of your pain?

As with her previous re-recordings of early work, Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) remains largely faithful to the arrangements and lyrics of the original. But Swift is not the same singer she was at 20. In more recent material, her starry-eyed optimism has been replaced with nuance and caution. She’s learned to voice regret as much as rage; in songs like Lover’s “Death by a Thousand Cuts” and Reputation’s “Dress,” she drinks and allows her sexual fantasies to run wild. On the new recordings of old Speak Now songs, her maturity is revealed not through the words themselves, but how she chooses to deliver them. The angry songs are presented with a sigh rather than a vindictive grin. The songs about heartache are sung carefully and patiently. It feels less like she’s sending a message to any particular ex than she is conveying a generalized weariness about how draining young adulthood can be.

Written between the ages of 18 and 20, the original tracks on Speak Now depict Swift clinging to her girlhood like someone trying to hold water in their palms. “Never Grow Up,” an acoustic ballad, was ostensibly written for young female fans. But by the end the song reveals itself as a means of mourning her past self. She promises the impossible: that no one will ever leave her deserted, that there will be no pain in her life. “Innocent,” a song about forgiving someone who wronged her, evokes the subject’s childhood—chasing fireflies, relying on someone bigger to get things off the shelf—in order to find something worth redeeming in them. Thumping rocker “Long Live” uses images of castles and dragons to celebrate the larger-than-life experience of touring with her band. It’s full of love but sung in the past tense, as if to memorialize the moment while it was still happening. Hearing these songs on Speak Now (Taylor’s Version), there’s less fear and more gentleness. Losing some of that teenage angst makes the songs less immediately enthralling: In the originals’ jagged inhales, sneered words, and ad-libbed laughter, you could hear how deeply these stories affected their author. Hearing her sing them now, they sound slightly anonymous, more like lullabies and folk songs than expressions of pressing concern.

Swift’s youthful naivete peeks through in the way she sings about other women. In her professional life, she had benefited—however passively—from comparisons to women deemed less wholesome and pure. And in her songwriting, she depicted them as unworthy rivals and master manipulators. In “Speak Now,” Swift’s narrator disrupts a marriage ceremony in hopes of separating the groom from his snotty, overdressed bride. On “Better Than Revenge,” she chastises a woman who supposedly stole her boyfriend. She later revised the sentiment, saying in 2014, “No one can take someone from you if they don’t want to leave.” Since the announcement of the re-recording, it has been speculated that she might edit the song’s most cutting and criticized lyrics: “She’s better known for the things that she does on the mattress.” On Taylor’s Version, this line becomes, “He was a moth to a flame/She was holding the matches.” The change feels half-hearted: Diss tracks aren’t supposed to be respectful. No one listens to “Better Than Revenge” expecting a measured response or nuanced feminist take. The song was satisfying precisely because Swift captured the nearsighted perspective of a teenager; in the attempt to distance herself from that person, she sacrifices resonance for optics.

“Dear John” remains the emotional centerpiece of the album, and one of the most devastating songs Swift has ever written. Across a lonely, warbling guitar lick and patiently unfurling blues-rock arrangement, she details mistreatment from an older partner: his wild oscillations between hot and cold, his ever-moving goal posts. John Mayer, whom the song is ostensibly about, was 32 when he dated a 19-year-old Swift in 2010. The new version, released by Swift at the same age that Mayer was then, is more powerful than ever. It provides a showcase for her deeper vocal range, and the way she enunciates each syllable adds weight to every word. When she belts out his name in the chorus, she sounds completely in control.

Since 2010, Swift has written another song about a torturous relationship she was in at age 19, presumably the same one. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” from last year’s Midnights, reveals the lasting impact of the memory. She wails, “Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.” It’s colored the way I hear “Dear John” and all of Speak Now: This wasn’t run-of-the-mill teen angst or ego that Swift was singing about back then. It was a coming-of-age moment turned crisis of faith, the kind of experience that reveals people’s capacity to inflict hurt. When you’re a 19-year-old girl curious about the world, it’s often implied that older men with deep eyes and brooding stares should be your teachers. But the lessons they offer are not always the ones you expect. Growing up is learning how to hold that knowledge without giving up hope of finding the pleasure and love you deserve.

Like prior album re-recordings, Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) includes a handful of newly released tracks that emerge “from the vault.” Hayley Williams joins for “Castles Crumbling,” which repurposes the same fairytale imagery from “Long Live” to relay her paranoia about a dramatic fall from grace. On “I Can See You,” which sounds more like the inky, lilting trap-pop on Reputation than anything on Speak Now, Swift describes an illicit workplace romance with sultriness and authority that stand apart from the album’s otherwise chaste perspective. On the breezy country-pop song “Foolish One,” Swift reminds herself that she is not the exception to the general rule that if someone is acting disinterested, they probably don’t want to be with you. Just one album prior, she was so confident in her exceptionalism that she re-wrote Romeo and Juliet as a love story starring her. Now, she tempers her romantic fantasies with pragmatism and a sense of jubilant freedom, encouraging a younger self to broaden the scope of her desire.

This re-release doesn’t benefit from the same novelty as Fearless (Taylor’s Version) in 2021, when the endeavor of re-recording her catalog to regain control over her masters felt rare and exciting. And musically, the Speak Now material doesn’t stand up to Red (Taylor’s Version), which presented perhaps her strongest album along with an extended version of fan-favorite “All Too Well” and a number of excellent vault tracks. In recent weeks, news of the latest re-release has been overshadowed by intrigue and minutiae from her current Eras tour. Throughout Speak Now (Taylor’s Version), Swift sometimes mutes the messy adolescent impulses that gave these songs their spark. But elsewhere, she divests from fantasy archetypes—the knight on a white horse, the helpless child—that once limited her. Think of the new Speak Now as a call and response between who she was and who she is: a teenager full of questions about what it means to grow up and an adult woman who’s still turning them over to find new answers.