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forthechubbies · 9 months ago

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Love Thy Husband

Kingpin's Son!San x Innocent yet spicy! Chubby! Wife

You arrived adorned in luxurious fabric bought with their bloody wealth. You are not just a gift, but a treasure...a plaything acquired for the pleasure of the rightful heir to the Choi dynasty.

Choi San.

II: Bring Me Home ♡ *New*

⚠️ Language, forced marriage, San is a good boy with bad habits, Yn conceals her face with a veil....and San is feral for your modest dressing style. No peep show for San 🙃⚠️

The purpose of a wedding photograph is to immortalize the beauty of that specific moment. Yet, when you stumble upon your own image, it triggers memories of your past yet your in laws so proudly display pictures all over their home. She was abducted by the man she now calls father to settle a overdue debt owed by her birth father.

You shed a tear, remembering your grim past.

As their son finally arrived at the mansion, he discovered his hidden surprise - a gift waiting for him. Despite the mysterious ivory veil that concealed her face, he agreed to accept her without hesitation. Little did he know, the veil was a humble plea from your father, who wished to shield his princess from the dark and dangerous world of the mafia.

The day unfolded before your eyes, obscured by the delicate ivory lace that draped over your face. Gripping the bouquet of baby's breath tightly, your heart pounded as the groom tenderly lifted the veil, allowing it to hover just above your trembling lips.

San's name escaped his lips in a hushed tone, barely audible against the backdrop of your rouge painted lips. Instead of forcefully pulling you towards him, he leaned in, delicately pressing his lips against yours. In the midst of this tender moment, he unintentionally crushed the bouquet.

The kiss, though seemingly pleasant, bore a resemblance to the innocence of toddlers exchanging affectionate pecks. He delicately pressed his lips against your flushed ones, refraining from any further advances. Despite his family now viewing you as his possession, San even restrained himself from touching you.

From that moment on, the vibrant world outside became a distant memory, The majority of your existence now revolves around the presence of your husband, consuming your every waking moment.. Who frankly you couldn't wrap your head around! One moment he’s stern and hostile the next, he’s a sweetheart gentlemen.

Speaking up the devil, There he is, Your phone icon alarmed you of husband’s incoming call. You rolled your eyes before answering. “Hello, San-"

"Omo..you sound like your about to die or worse." San complained under his breath. " You realize I'm your husband and not the grim reaper, yeah?" You could hear his blood simmering.

"Oh, you really had me fooled," you sarcastically remarked. Suddenly, you gasped, gripping your phone tightly, only to berate yourself for your own foolishness right away.

San’s brow involuntarily twitched, disturbed by the sass that escaped your cheeky lips. "What was that?... My dearest," he uttered with a tone that never ceases to send chills down your spine.

You carefully approached him, using his nickname in a soothing tone, "San..nie?" hoping to ease his anger. "My dear husband,” You’re cheeks reddening in embarrassment for actually fearing your husband’s wrath…some would say it should the other way around.

The phone went quiet briefly, only for your man to let out a chuckle that stirs up your fury, playing with you effortlessly. "Impressive, Sannie?.." He arches his eyebrows, making you squeal as he exhales his rugged accent over the line. "Sweetheart, I had no idea you could be this adorable." He taunts you in your mother language.

You are completely oblivious to the depths of your husband's affection for you. His love for you knows no bounds and shines brightly in every aspect of your life.

Especially your body....of what you allow him to see.

You feel safer when concealed from the sun, the man's wild gaze fixated on your delicate ankles and soft hands, pretending to be strong against his threats. You resist him so feebly, he longs to tear off your veil, granting you the illusion of courage to sass him, walk away mid-conversation, and disregard his presence as if he's not a menacing figure linked to the Atz, with his father just a phone call away from silencing your weak father permanently.

"I adore you, Mrs. Choi!!!" Wooyoung's voice echoed through the air, a mix of excitement and mischief. He sprinted towards San, seeking refuge behind him. "That asshole busted my lip," he growled, feeling the sting of his bloody lower lip. But despite the pain, he couldn't help but flash a mischievous smile at his friend, casually draping his arm over his shoulder. "So, how's the lovely wife doing?"

San sound shocked. “ How did you know I was-“

Wooyoung simply grins and nods. "You're adorable when you talk to her," he says with a mischievous smile, teasing his embarrassed friend.

The next thing you know you hear Wooyoung wince in pain, you assumed San hit him like usual followed by "Arghhh!!" Wooyoung biting him as a response.

"Don't fucking bite me, ya little bastard!" San's accent made you flinch, your Korean is far from perfect, and most of the time his words go unnoticed or you simply stare at his lips out of sheer cluelessness. But hey, it's not your fault. You were forcefully taken away from your family and thrown into this marriage with just weeks later.

"Ya! Who are you cursing at, cunt!?!” Wooyoung yelled in response, only to be met with a menacing voice hurling threats at them..

San's eyes gleamed with mischief as he glanced at the towering goon. "Hey, Woo, is this your buddy?" he asked, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Sorry, Honey, gotta go," he said, his voice dripping with allure as he abruptly ended the call. The unmistakable sound of San ruthlessly overpowering the goon echoed in the background.

Overwhelmed by the harsh truth, you found yourself standing in complete silence, consumed by the weight of this new reality.

#choi san x chubby reader #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san scenarios #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez series #choi san series #choi san fanfic #ateez ot8

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idy-ll-ique · 1 year ago

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IOU.

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: angsty angst with happy ending

warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of hospitals, mentions of panic attacks, and also bills. they're scary.

requested: nope

word count: ~4.5k

summary: y/n thinks she owes the ruthless, unforgiving mafia man money. no she does not.

author's note: hiya peeps! till i can muster enough courage to post that part 2... thought i'd post this in the meanwhile. enjoy!

masterlist

"New place?"

"Yeah. Really, really, really fucking good coffee. Lady knows what she's doing, for real." Bucky scratched his chin, regarding his friend with his usual cold gaze. "Hm. Fine, I'll try it. For now, go do what I told you to." Bucky sent him off, grabbing his sunglasses off the table. Then he left the room as well and walked out of the mansion, heading to his car. Getting in, he put in the address of the coffee place in his GPS and started the drive there.

But upon reaching, he was immediately greeted by a long line that took up nearly half of the sidewalk. He raised an eyebrow and approached the front of the line. The moment the people in the front saw him, they gasped and moved back, terrified. A loud chatter had already broken out in the crowd as everyone talked about his presence there. Ignoring them all, Bucky opened the door to the coffee place but just as he did, someone grabbed his arm from inside the shop, startling him. It was a woman.

"Sir, the place isn't open yet! You need to wait outside!" she told him sweetly, giving him a smile so precious the mafia boss froze on his spot. "Hey, don't talk to him like that," someone from behind him warned her, "And let go of his arm! Before you get hurt!" Did they really think he would hurt her? Assholes. He watched how her brows furrowed. She let go of his arm, gulping. "Uh, sorry, if you… if I may have overstepped… but we're not open yet! Uh… do you want… to wait inside… maybe?" the lady stammered, glancing at the crowd behind him.

Bucky coolly adjusted his sunglasses. "I don't mind waiting outside. I'll be the first customer." Just as he said it, someone yelled from inside the shop, "Y/N, you can open the door, we're ready!" Bucky unconsciously laughed. Y/N gave him an awkward smile and opened the door, allowing him to follow her to the counter. "So, which coffee would you like to have today?"

"Black coffee."

"Sugar?"

"No."

"Okay… your name, sir?"

"James."

"James… uh, that will be $7."

Bucky took out a 10 dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her. She returned his change and gave him another sweet smile. "You may sit, sir, I'll be right with you with your order!" He put the $3 in the tip jar on the counter, making Y/N smile wider. More people walked into the shop as Bucky went to sit. He purposely chose a table that allowed him a clear view of Y/N; instead of looking down at his phone like he always did at places, this time his phone was placed screen-down on the table, his electric blue eyes trained on her. She was taking a couple’s order.

All of a sudden, a different employee called out his name. “Black coffee for James?” the man bellowed, keeping a cup on the counter. When his name was called Y/N and Bucky’s eyes met. She looked away almost immediately, a shy smile on her face as she turned to the next customer. Bucky smiled to himself as well and went to get his coffee. “Uh, man, can I… tell you something?” The mafia boss looked at the guy. “What?” The employee looked at Y/N and chewed his lip. “She’s, uh… she’s—”

“Married? Engaged? Has a boyfriend?”

“No, no, she’s… too naive. Listen, I’m just saying it to warn you, and maybe even her… she’s ridiculously innocent, seriously. I don’t think she has ever had a boyfriend, or even a fling or something. Probably still a, you know, maiden. So… I wouldn’t think you’d want to go for her.” Had he been that obvious? Bucky listened to the man’s nonsense patiently, a cool smile on his face.

“And what, suddenly you know every thought that has ever occurred in my mind? You think you know me enough to tell me about my likes and dislikes?”

“I’m just saying, bro, me personally—”

“I don’t wanna know.”

With that, he turned around to walk out of the coffee shop. On his way out, he glanced at Y/N again, but she was too busy talking to customers to notice him. He sighed loudly and left. But his sigh caught her attention; she turned to the door but was too late— he was already gone. Her lips pursed. Would he ever visit again? James, he’d said his name was. She had no idea about him, about the fact that he was someone she should steer clear of. Y/N made up her mind; the next time he came to the shop, she was going to talk to him.

“You sure you’ll clean up?”

“Yeah. Go.”

“Okay.”

The manager left and Y/N sighed in the empty place, picking up the rag cloth that was hanging on the oven door. But in the quiet store, as she cleaned the counter top, she suddenly heard what sounded like a gunshot. She stood up straight, alert. Her hands were frozen in their place, her ears demanding confirmation. Was it actually a gunshot? When she heard another one, her hair stood on end. Was she going to die?!

Shaking, she rushed to the door and locked it, pulling on it to make sure. Through the glass doors, she looked outside; there was no one there, but she was 100% sure she’d heard gunshots. Her lower lip wobbled. Y/N walked back to the counter and began working at twice the speed; she still had to sweep the floor, and only then could she go home. “Come on, Y/N,” she muttered as she hurriedly finished wiping the countertop. But just as she was about to run to fetch the broom, three consecutive gunshots happened.

Y/N fell to her knees, terrified. This time, she could clearly hear shouting, as well as the screeching of car tyres along with the gunshots. What was going on?! Gang violence?! Scrambling upright, Y/N watched, horrified, as the headlights of a car shone on the glass doors. Oh shit, they’re right outside! Scared beyond words, she rushed towards the backdoors and threw them open. But then they closed with a loud bang, which scared her even more. What if they came inside now?

Her eyes darted around the place and she noticed the broom closet. My only chance. Y/N ran to the broom closet and opened the door, somehow managing to fit inside. Then she closed the door. Pitch black. Y/N took out her phone and dimmed the brightness, her hands clammy. Opening her chat with her manager, she texted him about what was going on. Her heart was pounding in her chest; what if she actually died that night?!

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she heard the front door breaking. The sound of glass breaking rang in her ears, and she clutched her head when she got a splitting headache. Y/N was fully panicking by then. More gunshots echoed around the place, this time much closer and much louder than before and Y/N realized that the coffee shop was being used as a place to fight.

She dared not to make a sound, even going so far as to hold her breath with short intervals in between. 15 minutes would pass before everything went silent; Y/N was very close to passing out now, but she held herself up, waiting until help arrived. After that, she told herself, she could sleep for as long as she wanted. One hand holding her phone, one hand clamped over her mouth, sweat dripping down her whole body, she waited.

When it all went quiet she thought of getting out of the broom closet. But it was as if her legs were rooted on spot, frozen in cement. She couldn’t move an inch of herself. Her eyesight had become poor because of the darkness in the closet, and her headache was steadily bringing her on the verge of fainting. Her ears were buzzing; in the end, she couldn’t even hear the police sirens outside. Slowly, she sank down on her knees and rested her head against the wall behind her, closing her eyes.

“There’s someone else here,” Steve spoke, poking his cheek with his tongue. Bucky looked up from where he was getting a bandage tied on his forearm. “An employee?” Y/N? “Yeah. I mean, the lights were on, and look at this cloth. It’s still wet, and looks like someone was using it. Did they flee the scene or are they still here?” Bucky bit his lip. If it turned out to be Y/N… he was going to burn down the entire world.

“Go check.”

Steve nodded and opened the doors to the backroom, looking around. There was no one there, but Steve did see another door— the broom closet. Just to be sure, he curiously walked up to the door and opened it. “Fuck!” he involuntarily screamed when Y/N’s unconscious body slumped out of the closet, falling on the floor. “Barnes! The employee is still here!” Steve knelt next to the woman, taking note of the way her phone was clasped in her hand.

A couple seconds later, Bucky and Sam ran into the room and Bucky froze when he saw Y/N’s body on the floor. And then, every curse word he knew from every language he spoke fell from his lips, rather loudly. Pushing Steve away, Bucky tearfully sat her up, hissing. “Look at her, she’s sweating so much, probably so scared… My poor darling…” He turned to Steve. “Pick her up. I’m taking her home.” Steve and Sam glanced at each other. Even still, Steve did as he was told, picking Y/N up bridal style.

“Sam, call a doctor, pronto.”

Once near their car, Steve opened the door to the backseat and put her in. Sam sat in the passenger seat, talking to a doctor. Bucky sat next to Y/N, allowing her body to rest against his good arm. Steve then got into the driver’s seat and swiftly drove to Bucky’s mansion.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

Startled, Y/N gasped in her sleep and jerked. But as she sank down on the mattress, her headache returned and a faint moan escaped past her lips, her brows furrowing. What was going on? There was a mattress underneath her, very soft might she add— was she laying down on a bed? Wait. Was it a hospital bed?! The previous night’s memories replayed in her mind, its load weighing heavier on Y/N’s already feeble mind.

All of a sudden, the bed dipped on her left, as if someone had just taken a seat. “Y/N?” That was her name. “Mm?” she hummed tiredly, without opening her eyes. “Are you feeling better?” She teared up. “No, I’m scared, I don’t know what’s going on,” she cried, the tears leaking out of her closed eyes as she sobbed, covering her face. Someone’s large hand then went under her head, their other arm around her waist. She was pulled up by the guy and was placed against something; a chest, that man’s chest.

He was holding her. Y/N slumped into him, still crying. Bucky, meanwhile, smiled sadly and held her close, rubbing her back. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re unharmed, I guarantee you— hiding in that closet was a good idea. I’m so proud of you. Come on now, baby…” Y/N’s sobs died down, and she finally opened her eyes. She tried pulling away from him but he wouldn’t let go. “I wanna lay down.” He lowered her immediately, and when he sat back up, Y/N gasped, finally seeing his face.

“James?!” Bucky chuckled, caressing her face under the excuse of wiping off her tears. “It’s me. You scared me shitless, Y/N, do you know how long it has been since you passed out?! 48 hours! I mean, please don’t give an old man a heart attack like that again!” Y/N smiled weakly. “Old? How old are you?”

“3 days old.”

This time, she laughed. “How are you only 3 days old?” Bucky smiled, besotted with her. “Because I met you 3 days ago.” Y/N cutely knitted her brows in confusion, until realization dawned on her. Then she blushed furiously, covering her face. “You are so cheesy!” she accused him, pouting. Bucky couldn’t believe she’d made him fall for her in less than a week. “Just for you,” he winked and she groaned.

In the end, she took a deep breath and pushed the blanket off of herself, seeing that she was still dressed in her 3-day-old clothes. “I stink, don’t I?” she wrinkled her nose, sending a sorry smile towards the brunet man. “I mean, kinda,” he played along, snorting when she, very frailly, smacked his arm. He stood up, taking her hand. He helped her stand up. “You can take a bath over there.”

Bucky pointed to the bathroom door. “I’ll leave some clothes outside for you. Once you’re dressed, just open the bedroom door, and I’ll be waiting right outside, okay?” Y/N nodded obediently. Bucky took her to the bathroom, explained all the functions of the bathtub and kept the towel where she could easily access it. “I’ll go now.” He left the room. Y/N discarded her clothes and sat down in the tub, moaning in pleasure. The water was of the perfect temperature.

She took a lengthy bath, and only stepped out half an hour later, a towel wrapped around her. Y/N put on her own undergarments and then the clothes Bucky had provided for her; a black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. Once she made sure she was presentable, she moved towards the door but paused when she heard Bucky outside. Her jaw dropped and her hand gripped the doorknob. He was talking to someone outside. “The bill? Ah, yeah, from the hospital. How much was it?” Hospital bill?

Surely that was for… her. She was the one who had been unconscious for 3 days, that meant that a doctor and medicines were required for her. Y/N dreaded the amount— she almost did not want to hear it but she also knew that it would be wrong. How could she let him bear all the expenses for something that was her liability? “$5k? Hm.” Y/N almost fainted for a second time.

“5000 dollars?” she whispered to herself, terrified. But she shook her head, standing up straight. It was her duty to pay him back. Definitely. Taking a deep breath, Y/N opened the door and sent Bucky a smile. He smiled back at her. “Come, have breakfast and then I’ll have someone drop you home.” She wordlessly nodded and followed him downstairs to the dining room. On their way there, Y/N looked around his mansion. It was a piece of art; Bucky was rich? So that meant…

No, no, absolutely not! You have to take responsibility!

They sat at the dining table, breakfast was served and 30 minutes passed. There were a few of his friends eating with them, but Y/N could very quickly make out that they weren’t his friends, more like, they were his subordinates. Working under him. He didn’t say one word to her until the 45 minute mark; then, once all his friends left, he finally looked at her, smiling.

She almost expected him to talk about the hospital bill. “Is it good?” he instead asked, nodding his head towards her plate. Y/N hummed, giving him a small smile. “Y-Yeah, it’s nice.” Breakfast ended. Y/N watched with anticipation as their plates were taken away and Bucky stood up. She followed suit. “I cleared my schedule enough to drop you home, should we leave?” Y/N looked down at her clothes. “Uh, let me just change—” He stopped her. “No, please, don’t wear those stinky clothes again. Carry them with you.” Just then, one of his housekeeping staff entered the dining room holding a bag.

Bucky took the bag and handed it to Y/N. “Here. All your stuff is in here, including your phone.” Y/N peeked into the bag. “I, uh, send me your address so, um, I can return your clothes… I’ll have them washed…” Bucky scoffed, walking around the table to stand in front of her. “Baby, please, stop saying stuff like that. Keep them, it will mean a lot to me. Promise.” Sighing a little, Y/N chuckled. “Fine, I’ll keep them. They are comfortable, you know.” He laughed along.

The two of them walked out of the house. As Bucky drove to her house, Y/N glanced at him. “Um, James, about the… uh…” He glanced at her as well. “Yes, sweetheart? Is something bothering you?” She felt weird asking him about it herself. I’ll just send him the money directly, why have this uncomfortable conversation at all? “Nothing, it’s fine.” Bucky figured something was off but he didn’t push. Soon, they reached Y/N’s apartment building, she bid him farewell and they each went their own ways.

“Good morning, sir— James! Hi, you…” Y/N gasped when she saw the man in front of her. He smiled at her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “3 weeks. How are you, sweetheart? All better?” Y/N nodded, blinking. 5000 dollars was a huge amount of money; so far, she had only garnered around $1500. Immediately, she began feeling a little… guilty. His smile didn’t waiver at all, though, so that meant he wasn’t mad at her. Right? What if he was here right now to talk about the money? Y/N gulped, lowering her gaze. “What would you like, sir?” Sir? Bucky’s face dropped. Why was she calling him sir all of a sudden? “Um, are you okay—”

“You’re holding up the line, sir.”

“Black coffee and a blueberry muffin.”

$12.”

He handed her $15 and like he had the previous time, put the extra 3 dollars in the tip jar. When Y/N still avoided his gaze, Bucky was completely sure there was something off. “Can you deliver it to my table instead of calling out my name?” Y/N hummed. “I’ll do that.”

He went to sit in the furthest corner. 10 minutes later, Y/N approached his table and placed his order on the table, turning to leave. But before she could, he grabbed her hand and tugged on it, making her turn towards him. “Mr—” “Absolutely not. James. What’s wrong? What happened? What did I do?” You’re still silent. “I— I need some more time,” she blurted out, “Please, give me, like, another month or so, I beg.” Bucky’s brows furrowed in utter confusion. “Time for what? Honey, time for what?” Y/N angrily glared at him, tears stringing her eyes.

She was never the one to lose her temper so quickly, but to repay Bucky, she had been taking up extra shifts at the coffee shop, which was making her tired and frustrated, and by extension, temperamental. “Just because you’re not asking doesn’t mean— I know you want it back, so don’t play stupid. I’m telling you, another month. Please let go of my hand.” Without even waiting for him, she yanked her arm away and wiped her tears off, storming towards the front of the shop. Bucky was too perplexed to even notice.

Want it back? Want what back? His clothes? Didn’t he already tell her that she could keep them? But then… Why would she require a month to give back a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants? She could have easily done that the next day… It wasn’t his clothes she was talking about. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything else that she owed him. Money was absolutely the last thing on his mind. Sighing despondently, he finished his coffee and muffin and left the shop, without so much as a glance at her.

But Y/N was staring at him as he left. Unconsciously, tears pricked her eyes but she sniffed them away, looking at the customer in front of her. “What would you like?” Her voice was a little watery, which the customer picked up on. “Wasn’t that James Barnes that just left the shop? Don’t tell me he comes after innocent people such as yourself! What did he do to you?!” the customer demanded protectively, which made Y/N confused. If he was excluded from the innocent people category…

“Wh-What do you mean… who is he?”

“Girl, you don’t know James Barnes?! He has been in the news so many times! He’s a mafia man, a mobster boss! Most ruthless, most feared leader of the underworld! How come you don’t know?” What?! “A mafia don?! Are you serious?!” The customer scoffed. “For sure I am! Even the police are scared of him, that’s why he roams the streets freely. To be honest, he only ever goes after the other bad guys, I have never heard him go after, you know, ordinary citizens. But you? What did you do to him?”

“I… I need to pay him back, $5000.” The customer covered his mouth, shocked. “That much?! Girl, do it as fast as you can— is that why he visits the shop frequently? I have seen him a couple times before… wow…” Y/N’s blood ran cold. She owed a mafia leader money. A mafia leader who was known to be ruthless and unforgiving. What if she couldn’t collect enough money? What if he sent one of his friends after her to kill her? After her shift ended, Y/N was once again alone at the shop, cleaning up. But as she sweeped behind the counter, the bell above the door rang, signaling someone’s arrival.

She looked up and froze when she saw Bucky. “16 hours. For 16 hours I have been thinking about what you owe me, and I haven’t got one clue. Baby, you need to tell me yourself what you think you owe me. Come on. Help me out here.” But as he continued taking steps towards her, she backed herself up against the wall, heart pounding in her chest, fear visible in her eyes. “Please, please don’t— you know— you’re playing dumb!” Bucky froze as well at her look of pure terror.

“Are you scared of me?”

Tears began flowing down her cheeks. “I told you, give me another month, I’ll pay you back, I promise! I have $1500 ready if you’re willing to take installments— but by the end of 30 days I will have the remaining $3500 ready, trust me!” Bucky closed the distance between them. His eyes… showed betrayal. “So… $5k? You’re saying you owe me 5000 fucking dollars?” he whispered. His hands reached up to wipe her tears off, his own starting to fall down his face. “Why do you think that? Have I, even once, asked you about the money myself?”

Slowly, Y/N shook her head. “Then why do you break my heart like this?!” he screamed in her face, startling her. She cried harder. “Because I know now who you are! Surely you want the money back?” He snarled, banging his fist on the wall next to her head. “But why would I want something back from you that you don’t even owe me?! What $5000 are you talking about?!” Y/N sniffled, lowering her gaze. “The hospital bill.” Bucky paused. “Hospital bill? Honey, that wasn’t for you.”

She looked up, confused. “You don’t know what happened that night, do you?” Y/N shook her head again. Bucky sighed, taking a step away from her. “Come with me. Let’s sit.” He took her hand and led them to a table, sitting down. “I… I always assumed you were just passing by and were kind enough to… you know… take care of me.” He wiped his tears off, chuckling.

Usually, Bucky had a firm handle on his emotions but hearing the woman he loved accuse him of such a heinous thing was enough to make him break down. “No. Now that you know who I really am… that night, the gunfire and the violence that happened involved me, my men, and a rival leader and his men. You were already passed out when the fight ended— I was injured. Look at this.” He shrugged off the right side of his jacket, revealing his forearm that had a faint scar on it.

Y/N gasped softly upon seeing it, her mind filling with worry for his well-being. “Are you okay, now?” He took her hand. “Yes, I’m completely healed. Some of my men got injured as well, and it’s my duty to look after their medical bills as they got injured on my command. It was our hospital bill, sweetheart, not yours. We didn’t call a doctor for you— all you needed was to lay down and wake up comfortably.” Y/N suddenly felt extremely hollow. “I took up extra shifts.”

Bucky came to sit next to her and hugged her close. “You didn’t even think about confirming it with me, first? Angel, when someone owes me money, I make it very clear to them, okay? The fact that I didn’t ask you for a single penny means you don’t owe me shit.” Y/N burrowed closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I just felt… weird bringing it up. I thought I could just directly send the money over once I had enough.” Bucky hummed. “And even if we had reached that stage, I would have just sent the money back. Thank goodness we nipped it in the bud.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N pulled away from him, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked at Bucky, who was looking at her with a fond expression on his face. “What?” she chuckled. But she was completely caught off-guard when Bucky gently held her chin and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. “Even if we had called the doctors for you,” he whispered, “Even if the hospital bill was yours, you wouldn’t have owed me anything. Why? Because the love of my life will never owe me even a single dollar.” Y/N blinked dumbfoundedly. And then, a deep blush graced her face and she squealed, burying herself back in Bucky’s arms.

“James, don’t say that!”

“Bucky, my dear, call me Bucky. And was what I said wrong in any way? Wasn’t it completely true?”

“Yeah but you don’t have to say it out loud!”

“And forgo seeing this cute little blush on your cheeks? Never.”

“Stop it…”

“Nope. My cute little angel can get into as many accidents as she wants and she still wouldn’t owe—”

“I’m gonna go clean up!”

a/n: eeeeee screaming!! thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky barnes #mob au #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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audriandae · 1 year ago

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we got attached... i think it all started with the live Ren Death. when he just stood there, taunting, taunting, taunting, until Gem finally snapped and killed him... I think it was that. and from that, the game shifted. we got so much more into the roleplaying of the game, no longer completely focused on the mechanics and how to win. we started to share lore and character headcanons and the grief that the characters felt when someone they loved died. I... I think we made a good decision?

also @hydrodoesstuff just decided it would be a good idea to take 23 crazy people (/pos) and throw them into a silly little game and shake them all around. and then SOMEHOW, a handful of the crazies (/pos) decided 'what if i made something about this' and CREATED ART??? and other people went 'hey what if not art, what if writing?' and CREATED FICS!! and now we're all moots on tumblr circulating posts about the game to each other and art of the game and fics of the game and good grief hydro, the 48 hour days, 24 hour nights gave us so much time that we decided we needed to MAKE OUR OWN ENRICHMENT (digital art, fics, webweaves, etc) and. now we're here.

we've made it to the end of night 5. day 6 in progress. i'm in grief.

but the angst is oh so tasty.

that feeling when you die in front of everyone else, cactus spines sticking out of your skin, unable to call out to your love because he’s the only one not there, then when you finally fall into the afterlife, you yell at the king of the hands that took your life, leaving your love to grieve you for the second time in the same place

#mafia peeps #lifesmpmafia #losing my mind over the character #losing my mind over the PLAYERS #like HOLY CRAP WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE SO COOL #gently holding each and every one of the life smp mafia players in my hands #humans need enrichment #and if they cant find it they will make it #and make it to make other people feel pain /pos #so yeah. live deaths. mmm #live laugh love #more like #decease depression detest

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madameinfinitehearts · 1 year ago

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So you guys remember the One Piece Mafia Wars mini-episode?

Yeah, that one.

I've seen plenty of peeps compare Luffy to Crocodile (even using it as evidence pointing towards the CrocoParent theory)

BUT CONSIDER...

What if that short story was hinting at more than just that?

Sir Crocodile is a character that doesn't trust anyone. He's made that very clear. But what happened to him in the past that made him that way. The "Croc is Xebec's kid" theory suggests that Crocodile may have witnessed some of the Rocks pirates (like Whitebeard) betray their captain at God Valley. It would make sense for him to be bitter about something like that but... is it enough?

Is one bad experience with betrayal and backstabbing enough to make him jaded towards trusting others?

I'd like to suggest another possibility. That Crocodile may have had another experience that ruined his trust in others. For now, let's assume that Crocodile is Xebec's. Sometime after God Valley, he could have been taken in by another family. Perhaps one with ties to the criminal underground. There, he would have gained a new family. Maybe things had been nice for a while. He could have built a close relationship with his new 'siblings'. But for one reason or another... that family met an unfortunate end. Something along the lines of a massacre, leaving Crocodile as the sole survivor.

(I would also like to take this moment to point out that in the mini-sode, everyone ends up killing each with guns...)

(It's probably not that important but you never know...)

Croc would have watched them slaughter each other over their own greed. He would have seen the worst sides of people at that moment and it would have stuck with him for years. But ultimately... Crocodile would find himself alone. Who could he trust now? And would they maintain that trust? Would it mean anything to them?

This is all speculation, of course, but until Oda gives us his actual backstory, I'm going to continue to speculate.

(Also I don't usually do longer posts but I felt inspired to do so by @moongothic. I enjoy their discussion posts so why not make one of my own?)

#one piece #op crocodile #sir crocodile #crocodad #crocomom #one piece theory

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ceruleanwhore · 6 months ago

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I know it's been a minute since Hazbin dropped and I'm late to the hate train but I have things I want to say, so I shall.

First off, the whole thing makes absolutely no fucking sense, conceptually. There is really no good way to execute this batshit idea of Lucifer having a daughter and that daughter deciding to start a fucking hotel in Hell to redeem sinners so they can go to Heaven. Also, the culling shit with the angels showing up to just kill already dead souls for no reason also makes no sense and there really isn't any way to make it make sense.

Secondly, when making yet another piece of media inspired by Christian canon, even if it is Christianity and you hate the religion, you absolutely have to know the source material before you go fucking with it. That's why, for example, Dogma is such a good movie but this series falls flat even though both are comedic critiques of Christianity - Dogma understands the subject well enough to criticize it intelligently whereas Hazbin feels like it was conceptualized and made by someone who only watched like two episodes of Veggie Tales and otherwise knows jack shit about the religion. Throwing Lilith in there is worse because she isn't even in Christianity and it has the same vibes as when CCD classes host a Passover Seder by and for a bunch of gentiles to 'teach' about what Jesus was up to when he was around. It's just so disrespectful. Actually, that's what it is - the creators learned everything they know about Christianity, Heaven, and Hell from Tumblr posts which is definitely why she's in there.

If they knew more about the thing they're trying to make a whole ass show about, Adam and Eve wouldn't have been angels, there would be no hotel because you could just have the creation of Purgatory instead or, at the very least, some take on the harrowing of Hell and salvation of the virtuous pagans in Limbo. Also, even if you don't want to touch the Bible because it's icky (and I mean yeah), all you had to do was read like Dante's Inferno and peep the Ars Goetia and then actually make a structured Hell with a hierarchy and everything. I think kinda like what Rachel Smythe did with the worldbuilding in Lore Olympus, they wanted to modernize Hell for some reason, so the turf war/mafia type shit was supposed to replace a stronger hierarchy of Hell with princes and dukes and presidents and such, but I fucking hate it and there's no goddamn structure.

More importantly, the worldbuilding of Hell itself completely misses the fucking point of Hell as a thing. Hell is there both to contain Satan and the fallen angels who joined him in that uprising thing that one time and also to serve as a place where sinners go when they die and are punished for their sins. We never see even once any sort of actual system for sorting all these souls and punishing them for their sins. On the contrary, characters like Angel Dust appear to get to do drugs for the rest of their immortal lives and, since they're dead, it's not like those are going to kill them so it really doesn't read like a punishment. The closest we get to actual punishments are when the sinners/demons have gone and made deals that give other residents of Hell control over them, like how Husk is under Alastor's control and then Alastor apparently also has some kind of deal screwing him over, and Angel's situation with shitty boa dude is pretty similar too. It feels like they did the extermination shit to replace punishment in Hell along with these deals we see here and there, which is utterly fucking ridiculous and makes absolutely no sense.

The other thing I'd add kind of going off that is that Heaven in this series also makes literally no fucking sense. It's actually also the biggest issue I have with Good Omens that it makes NO SENSE for the angels to have no clue what God's plan is or, in this case, how souls even get into Heaven. The whole fucking point is that there's an entire, nicely structured hierarchy for exactly this. Seraphim, cherubim, and thrones are all closest to God, so they can get the info from Them and pass it to the lower ranks. Hell, this could even be how you get problems, like you make it a bit of a gimmick that Heaven runs on a massive game of telephone. It also could've been a way to have some really cool variety in character design, so maybe some of the higher ranking angels look like the weird biblical shit with all the eyes and fire and they get progressively more normal as you go down the hierarchy. Instead, they picked like three recognizable names, made them into pretty people with wings and potentially also stupid Homestuck looking masks, and threw them in our face while just refusing to actually bother with worldbuilding or character design.

That brings me to the third thing which is that, when doing a series like this based on something like Christianity, you really have to sit down and figure out what kind of God your Christian God in your series is going to be, even if They never show up on screen. Is this God distant and neglectful and that's how all this shit is happening? Or do we have the wrathful God of the Israelites who regularly exterminates Hell out of pure sadistic rage? Or do we have a weak God on the verge of death who is barely present out of necessity while the angels take advantage of that absence and run amok? And it's not even just that determining what kind of God is supposed to be the God of this series would inform why stuff happens like it does, it would also help the writers to have a sense of direction and motive for what happens.

The writing in the show is all over the fucking place and figuring out what kind of God this God is meant to be is the very first question they should've asked themselves and it would've prevented most of the problems that currently exist in the show. If we had that, then maybe we wouldn't have weird shit with Lucifer where he very much does not feel like he's the devil at all and also Charlie is supposed to have daddy issues but then he shows up and is just a really adoring and supportive dad so that doesn't make sense. If we had that, then maybe Hell would have a fucking structure because we would actually have the motive behind Hell itself and why it exists. If we had that, then maybe we could get into the nitty gritty of the ethical/theological complexities of Hell and how, no matter how you slice it, it's really God's will at the end of the day so we could get a whole debate over if Lucifer is even evil or if God is just controlling and sadistic and all that. If we had that then maybe we could even have some reveal about how sin isn't even a concrete thing and the true nature of Hell is that it's a place people choose to go when they die because they don't feel worthy of salvation and they feel in their soul that they need to be punished. Anything, really.

Fourth is that it really, really shouldn't be a musical series. The pacing fucking sucks and they overexplain everything and I just feel like if you took all the time spent on shitty musical numbers and instead put it into showing, not telling, and also developing characters and relationships, it could be a lot better. If there was more time for shit, then maybe Charlie could not be a Mary Sue and Vaggie could have a personality and Angel could be an actual fucking character that isn't just an animated twink with trauma who gets off on violating people's boundaries. Also, I just really didn't like most of the songs in the series (outside the series they're fine) and I skipped a lot of those scenes.

Fifth and final is that it really just wasn't funny. A lot of the stuff that was supposed to be funny was just excessive swearing that felt completely unnatural, like that tiktok going around of that girl saying the n word. If you're bothering to do a whole series set in Hell that's ostensibly about Christianity, then why tf aren't you leaning more into biting criticism of Christianity for your humor? If they'd just gone full Dogma with this, it would've been so much better but no.

So yeah, it fucking sucked and so did the character design.

#anti hazbin hotel #anti hazbin #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #christianity #worldbuilding

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usergreenpixel · 2 years ago

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JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 33: MADEMOISELLE REVOLUTION (2022)

1. The Introduction

Well, hello there, my dearest Citizens! Welcome back to Jacobin Fiction Convention! I missed you but, unfortunately, real life ™️ was a bit complicated yet again.

Either way, I’m back at it again, roasting analyzing historical fiction. Today’s “masterpiece” was graciously sent to me by @suburbanbeatnik in PDF form as a future review subject. And boy is it one hell of a ride.

Now, on paper, I was intrigued by a story of a Haitian biracial bisexual female protagonist, as there are many possibilities for that kind of story to unfold in a Frev setting.

Besides, it was written by an author who is promoting the #OwnVoices stories, which is a good intention in my opinion. Let’s see if the execution matches though.

(Spoiler alert: IT DOES NOT!)

Unfortunately, it looks like the book is only available in English at the moment and has to be purchased, mainly through Amazon. But maybe both of those things are for the best, since, upon finishing the book, I will be happy if it stays as contained and inaccessible to the wide audience as humanly possible.

Why? Well, more on that later.

This review will be longer than the ones I usually post, so please keep that in mind and grab some popcorn.

Also, it’s a very explicit book with scenes of sexual assault and gore. Goya’s “Disasters of War” and even “Innocent Rouge” levels of gore. So yeah, please be warned.

Anyway, this review is dedicated to @suburbanbeatnik , @jefflion , @lanterne , @on-holidays-by-mistake and @amypihcs . Love you, guys!

Now, let’s tear this sucker apart!!!

2. The Summary

The book follows the story of Sylvie de Rosiers, an aristocratic young woman born to a slave but raised by her plantation owner father as a free member of local nobility. Although not enslaved, Sylvie never felt truly accepted by the elites of Sainte Domingue.

However, following the outbreak of the Haitian Revolution, Sylvie and one of her half-brothers manage to escape to France, where another revolution is unfolding.

Intrigued by the ideas of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, Sylvie must fight to find acceptance in this new context and carve out a place for herself.

Sounds interesting so far, right? Let’s see if the story lives up to expectations or not.

3. The Story

I have to admit that the first few chapters, the ones taking place on Haiti, were actually pretty good, or at least not bad. The pacing was good, the storyline building up to the uprising made sense and the introductions of the characters and the world building were fine.

Too bad that this lasted only for about four beginning chapters. The French chapters making up the bulk of the book were awful.

The characters suffer from assassination like they’re mafia snitches, the pacing turns into a speed run, the historical context isn’t explained well at all and the story rapidly stops making sense:

First Sylvie arrives and quickly meets Robespierre and the Duplay family, then becomes an ardent revolutionary, then flip flops between loving Eleonore Duplay and pining for Robespierre, then just so happens to meet Danton and Marat, then becomes a spy, then murders Marat… No, I’m not joking.

All of this is in the book with very little justification that makes sense. The worst part? The book isn’t stated as alternative history, so the author is very dishonest and presents everything in the book as actual history that is accurate to reality when it’s definitely not.

Oh, and flashbacks. The fucking flashbacks breaking immersion like a cat breaking a vase don’t help at all.

There’s also a ton of Thermidorian propaganda as well, so yeah… Fail.

4. The Original Characters

Let’s tackle the OCs first because the historical peeps deserve a separate category here.

First and foremost, I don’t like Sylvie as a character. She starts out as a vain spoiled brat growing up surrounded by privilege and luxury and openly looking down on slaves, especially on women.

Then she witnesses the execution of a rebel and very suddenly goes: “Fuck, slavery is awful!”, renounces her old ways, disowns her father and does a 180. It’s not written well though and is more like a teenage tantrum than character development.

Sylvie keeps flip flopping like this throughout the entire story too. Yay…

Oh, and she’s a Mary Sue. Everyone adores her except the villains, she’s able to charm her way through anything and obviously plays an important role in almost all of Frev! Robespierre even calls her The Mother of the Revolution at several points, even though she did nothing to earn that title.

She also pines for Robespierre for no reason at all, except for “he’s cool and charming I guess”, but in order to get closer to him, Sylvie Sue ™️ starts an intimate relationship with Eleonore Duplay.

So yeah, our protagonist manipulates another person (which is abuse) and plays Eleonore like a fiddle, but she also flip flops between only using Eleonore and actually loving her. Is Sylvie ever called out for that? Technically yes, but it gets resolved too quickly so it doesn’t count.

Also, Sylvie is INCREDIBLY selfish. She’s fine with manipulating Eleonore, fine with Charlotte Corday being executed for killing Marat (in the book Sylvie did it) and taking the blame… Again, everything revolves around Sylvie and she never gets called out on that either and never gets better.

She lacks consistent personality aside from those traits, however. She claims to want safety yet always takes the risky option and refuses to emigrate when it would help her obtain actual safety, for instance.

Gaspard, one of her half-brothers, is a much better character in my opinion, but still underdeveloped. But at least his journey from privileged fop to a revolutionary is less clunky. Too bad he dies with the Montagnards in the end.

Sylvie also has another half-brother, Edmond, who is cartoonishly evil and tries to murder Sylvie at one point.

Sylvie also has a standard issue evil stepmother who is eager to marry her off and thus get rid of her but at least has enough decency to not be actively malicious.

Her dad is loving, but painfully ignorant.

Sylvie’s aunt Euphemie de Rohmer is a good character, always looking out for Gaspard and Sylvie. She does emigrate to London during the reign of terror though.

Okay, now let’s discuss the historical figures.

5. The Historical Characters

I know that I usually don’t discuss accuracy, but an exception must be made here.

Maximilien Robespierre seems to undergo a typical “character arc” of “actual revolutionary turned ruthless dictator”. He is also one again coded as asexual and thus shown as not giving two shits about his lover, Eleonore Duplay. He tries to marry Sylvie for political reasons only later in the book and it’s all but stated that he condones all the violence going on and is called a hypocrite multiple times. Oh, and he also kisses Sylvie without her consent… Err… DID SIVAK CONFUSE HIM FOR DANTON?!!! Okay, one sec…

(Shows up with a bloody face) Okay, let’s continue…

Eleonore Duplay is a promising artist who is fiercely loyal to Robespierre but cheats on him with Sylvie and later turns out to be a member of a women’s secret society that is trying to curb the terror. She’s on board with murdering Marat and is also friends with Olympe de Gouges and Charlotte Corday. Wtf?!

(Checks that the antidepressants didn’t cause a hallucination)

Elisabeth Duplay falls in love with Gaspard and her marriage to Le Bas is portrayed as arranged by Robespierre to “reward” Le Bas for being a loyal Jacobin, but at least she is relatively happy in said marriage. Uhm, okay…

Olympe de Gouges and Charlotte Corday are portrayed as basically saints and also part of the secret society.

Corday in particular is willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of France and Sylvie is fine with that because, apparently, Corday has nothing to live for anyway but Sylvie does.

It’s not like in reality Corday actually had a family and Girondist friends or anything so yeah, TOTALLY OKAY to throw her under the bus amirite?!

Danton, luckily, is portrayed fairly accurately as a crass womanizing brute so at least that’s correct.

Marat is a stereotypical bloodthirsty monster who is supposed to be very smart yet acts like an idiot in the presence of our dear Sylvie Sue.

Charlotte Robespierre makes exactly one cameo and acts like a total ass to both Duplay sisters and to Sylvie (who she just met). Don’t get me wrong, Charlotte was at odds with the Duplay family but not all of them and certainly she wasn’t a bitch to every single fucking stranger.

Augustin Robespierre is merry, a gentleman, loyal to his ideas but also a part of that secret society and also supports the idea of offing Marat. Nice…

Surprisingly, Henriette Robespierre makes a cameo alongside Charlotte and also acts like an ass but at least less so than Charlotte. Except she shouldn’t even be in the book because the cameo happens in 1792, yet Henriette died in 1780. So it’s either a ghost or the author doesn’t care. I’m kind of inclined to believe the latter.

Where are Camille Desmoulins and Saint-Just, you may act? ABSENT, believe it or not! No, I’m not kidding! They’re nowhere to be seen for some reason!!! I have no idea why. They’re not even fucking mentioned!!!

Anyway, let’s move on before I lose my sanity.

6. The Setting

Again, the first chapters are much better than the rest. In the majority of the book the descriptions are not that great and the world building is laughably inaccurate, to the point that, if I were told that it’s a joke fanfic, I’d have believed it instantly!!!

7. The Writing

Thankfully, there’s no “First Person Present Tense” bullshit, but the writing is still full of problems. The aforementioned flashbacks are just one problem, but there are others.

For example, extremely clunky use of French. I’m the beginning of every chapter we get a date and the months are in French. This would’ve been fine but gets ridiculous in cases like “early avril 1793”. What’s wrong with writing “early APRIL”?!

Oh, and in another instance, the houses of families are called “Chez + Family name”, like Chez Rohmer and Chez Marat. It gets weird when the text has phrases like “went at Chez Marat”. Chez already means “at” in this context, so it’s extremely redundant and a damn eyesore. Wouldn’t it be better to say “Went to Marat’s apartment”? Apparently, not for Zoe Sivak!

Also, the author describes all the brutal and gory scenes of executions and torture at an alarming length and with a concerning amount of details, to the point that I got very uncomfortable despite not being squeamish most of the time.

8. The Conclusion

Phew, it’s finally over. As you may have guessed, I don’t recommend wasting your time and money on this pile of trash.

A 13-year old here on tumblr can write a better novel than whatever the fuck this author published.

It’s poorly researched with inaccuracies that even a quick Wikipedia search could fix, the protagonist is an awful Mary Sue, the historical characters get constantly fucked over… so yeah, please skip this shit.

Anyway, on that note, let’s conclude today’s meeting. I think I might need time to recover from reading this book…

Stay tuned for updates!

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel.

#obscure frev media #frev media #frev books #jacobin fiction convention #mademoiselle revolution #french revolution #haitian revolution #charlotte corday #charlotte robespierre #henriette robespierre #augustin robespierre #maximilien robespierre #elisabeth duplay #eleonore duplay #philippe le bas #jean paul marat #georges danton

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embersofthewoods · 1 year ago

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The Way I Loved You ~ A Soukou fanfic

It was twilight, and Chuuya was sat on the roof of the mafia building, overlooking the city, smoking a cigarette, and completely lost in thought.

“You should smoke so much you know. You’ll damage your lungs – like my brother.”

Chuuya almost leapt out of his skin. “Jesus, Gin, I didn’t hear you coming.”

She only shrugged before adding, “I am an assassin. And quiet is kind of my thing.”

She sat down beside him, and swing her legs over the edge of the building. They sat in peaceful silence for a few moments, before Chuuya finally asked, “Why are you up here anyways?”

Gin gave him a look. “You’ve been up here, alone, for almost an hour.”

“So?”

“You miss him.”

Chuuya felt his face flush bright red. “What!? No, I- I mean… who are you- I don’t even know what you mean.” he declared.

“It’s alright,” said Gin, “I miss him too.”

“You- you do?” Chuuya couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Yes. Despite being excessively cruel to my brother sometimes, Dazai-san has taught him much. He was also the first person to ever give us a home. So yes, I miss him.”

“I suppose so. Why would I miss him though!?” asked Chuuya. His attempt to bluff his way out of the situation failed, as Gin gave him another look that quite clearly said ‘Don’t give me that crap.’

Chuuya sighed resignedly. “Okay. Fine. We were secretly…friends.”

“…”

“OKAY. More than friends. We- I- … Much as I hated him, - and I did hate him, - I… I think I loved him. And now… now that I’ve realised and accepted that… I miss him. So much.”

Gin looked at him silently, her soft eyes clearly indicating she understood and was listening.

“What was it like, to love him?” she asked softly.

“Wow.” Chuuya leaned back on his hands and gazed up at the stars.

“That’s a big question.

“Well, we would constantly be screaming at each other, especially in public obviously, and fighting to prove our strength.

“But then he would randomly come and drag me out of my apartment and we would kiss in the rain…” Chuuya sighed and smiled at the memory.

“And I was constantly up at like 2am, thinking of him. I would curse his name because I just couldn’t get him out of my head!! I was… I was that madly in love it made me act insane!” Chuuya punched his palm aggressively and covered his face with his hands. He peeped through his fingers and Gin, who was still listening in her quietly comprehensive way, before continuing.

“I had so many mental breakdowns, like panic attacks, and times when I would just… I had to cry in a corner.” He stopped again and glared at Gin suddenly. “You won’t tell anyone about this. Will you.” he said gruffly.

Gins eyes, filled with kindness, stared back. “Not if you don’t want me to.” she promised.

Chuuya relaxed slightly. “Good. Yeah. Well, when… that happened, it was always okay, because he was there to comfort me, and tell me ‘its okay, I’m here’. And I would always be there for him. And now…” Chuuya broke off, his voice filled with emotion. He composed himself quickly and resumed, in still a slightly shaky voice.

“Also… he was the one who encourage me to come out to you guys… do you remember?”

Gin nodded, “I do. That was so brave of you.”

Chuuya sighed sadly, “well, Dazai was the reason I has the courage to do it.

“It… I mean… the whole experience gave me a rush, like I was on a rollercoaster, ya know? It made me giddy with love and happiness, but now, its over, so suddenly. And all I feel is kind of… sick.

“But mostly… I just never knew I could feel that much. Like… I’m… I don’t… I’m hardly human. Yet all these emotions that I couldn’t explain, let alone understand just filled me, and… it was all because of him.

“So yeah. That’s the way I loved him. And God, did I love him. I see that now.”

Chuuya sniffed, and breathed deeply.

“It’s alright,” said Gin.

“I know! I’m fine!” insisted Chuuya.

“Yes. But… that’s a lot. I think you should tell him how you feel. Then maybe… he will come back. For all of us.”

Chuuya looked at her sceptically. “I could never say all that to him.”

“Well maybe, you don’t have to.”

The confusion was evident on Chuuya’s face, so Gin continued,

“You’re a musician, right?”

“How on earth do you-“ Chuuya interjected.

“Never mind how I know. But you could write him a song. Saying everything you’ve just told me.” she suggested softly.

Chuuya stared vacantly at the city.

“I… well, … maybe I could.”

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain,

And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name,

So in love that I acted insane

And that's the way I loved you.

Breaking down and coming on out,

It's a roller coaster kind of rush,

And I never knew I could feel that much,

But that's the way I loved you

HELLO MY FRIENDS I have returned from the abyss. This fic took /ages/ as I just kept procrastinating it but it is now finally here.

Obviously I based it on the lyrics to the Taylor Swift song "The Way I Loved You". I just thought the lyrics fit Soukou so damn well. I like taking inspiration from random stuff like this :) I have more lyrics fanfics in the works so lemme know if you'd want to see that and if there's any songs or ships you'd particularly like to see :)!

AS USUAL any feedback is gratefully received. I want to know what you guys think!! I had loads of fun writing this so I hope you like it too!!

K bye I will return. Soonish. :)

Edit: oh yeah tags are a thing

#YAY SOUKOKU FICS #fic based on lyrics #bsd #fanfiction #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd dark era #soukoku #soukouku #bsd skk #skk #skk fanfic #bsd gin #gin akutagawa #bungou gay dogs

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theknightmarket · 2 years ago

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This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of.

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked.

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!”

Speak of the devil and he may appear.

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying.

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana.

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron.

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you.

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes.

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day.

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right.

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn.

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you.

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless.

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first.

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death.

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead.

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.”

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag.

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.”

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom.

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting.

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention.

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you.

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to.

You.

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking.

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple.

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like.

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining.

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before.

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones.

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience.

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear.

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs.

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter.

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt.

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways.

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary.

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray.

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched.

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites.

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit.

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book.

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—”

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand.

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience.

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow.

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters.

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?”

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned.

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.”

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it.

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers.

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]

#markiplier #illinois x reader #illinois #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos #fanficiton #theknightmarket #x reader #request #reader insert #oneshot #Indiana jones #James bond

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one0p1nk · 1 year ago

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Hey! BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. 💞💕

// goodness- that many people??? I don’t have the exact energy to make this a chain loop DJDMDNDN I won’t do this in order, because I love my moots equally :D Also, I have many other moots- so all I can do is mention the first 8 that I have first in mind oof- I simply have so many words to say to each of them because that would be fair and would make up the fact I’m not sending this to 8blogs/ih

if anyone else happen to send the same chain, I’ll just do a part two/hj So let’s see,,,

Yami, my lovely beloved Angelfish bestie artist partner-in-crime mafia world co-creator with silly but wonderful ideas of their OCs that I love to read about with a great passion <333/ih

Four, I will never forget the Floyd kinnie bestie that comes in and out every once in a while just to check on us- also threaten us with twst pics if we don’t take a break especially on Yami FJFJFJF I love you/p and your artistic skills and scrunkles you offer for us to cherish 🥺♥️

Nakki, the other Floyd kinnie/ih yet is the big bro I feel comfortable to talk with,,, Everything is just all fun and good vibes when we hang out and I hope that stays that way djdjjd <3🌸

Beth, she is such a sweetheart,,, I like helping her in Minecraft- having to talk to her about AUs and ships is soft vibes,,, She’s now our mafia group’s cookie supplier and I have no regrets about that/ih/pos 🥺💕

Klai, they always give me this mix of “hehe so silly and fun” and “oh gosh what to do with this problematic gremlin” Floyd kinnie djdjjddj- don’t blame me, nonetheless, ily/p bestie, even if it’ll take ages for me to comprehend certain parts of your humor- yet, they’re so understanding with my autistic tendencies everything doesn’t seem to be so awkward when talking with them 😭🥺✨/ih

Tae, they’re so nice to me and I’ll forgive their wrong-doings they ever have/ih(well I’m not sure about their spouse forgiving them tho/ih),,, one reason why they’re somehow in the mafia group (yeah Angelfish, we should start raising some standards for the growing group we have/ih) ily/p the same, and I’m hoping you’re always happy everyday <3

Kory, ily/p and your scrunkles (and you might be tired of the many times I keep apologizing for missing Law’s bandanna- the event was just life-changing and I took that personally since I adore him- 😔) Having talks with you about ships make me giggle like a dork you have no idea- well, you kinda do know in an extent I would lose track of time(adhd moment??? I probably have unfortunately/ih) you’re a wonderful peep I somehow ever met, idk if it was such a great coincidence that we happen to meet jfjfjfjf

Besides feeling so indebted to my bestie Mandi- I’m just sobbing softly the times she helped me while I was kinda having a boomer tech moment😭🥺😔/ih, especially when it comes to Ai voices,,, I always love hearing about Pearce 🥺💕🌸 as we share the same passion for his majestic chest fur✨/ih I love Amanda just the same- this strong woman is scary, not like this silly of a man like Laurence minds about that :D♥️/ih

#pins speaking

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audriandae · 1 year ago

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(yepyepyepyep we're just rping on main)

...

Me. Of course me.

I don't control every single player, Cleo. I only chose the path that Tango would take. And the people he would befriend. the people who he would inevitably betray.

wouldn't you rather live knowing how you're going to die? wouldnt you rather know what to expect? how much joy you should drink out of certain moments before they end? wouldnt you prefer to know just how long your sadness would last before it faded away?

...

is it truly everyone else's problem if they don't remember? They only know the happiness and the hardships the single time over. It's impossible for everyone to be happy. I tried my best.

I wanted everyone to have as little pain as possible. this was the best option. you don't want to know what happened in the other loops. only that it was far, far worse.

We trusted you.

oh ... oh you never learn. Bdubs, Lizzie. betrayal after betrayal. dont you get it? its always the same.

trust always ends in the same way. death, betrayal, betrayal.

was it better to have loved and to have trusted? or would you have preferred to lock yourself away, to hide your heart, to save it from shattering?

would you have chosen to live in solitude? to see him die without your comfort?

...

it always happens this way.

i've made it happen this way.

countless times.

#lifesmpmafia #mafia peeps #mafia fellas #tee hee #yeah so anyway #hows it going gang we lived we survived we won #well #the hands won #tee hee pt 2

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cloudcountry · 2 years ago

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I feel ya with sewing, and I want to get a sewing machine so I can make clothes, but money said no <3 . But yeah, I've also formed a Craft Club with my friend for NRC; everyone is free to join, even if it's just for one session (even though it's just us geeking out). And writing is an art, and therefore a craft, so you too are crafty. Funnily enough, my OG career aspiration was to be an art/biology teacher, but Covid and 3-years of art block had other plans; the book I have on education is of more use than Crowley is.

But nah, I'll come off anon; as much fun as being THE Goose Anon is, I think it would be best if people knew me I guess? (especially peeps who want tarot readings, glad everyone is enjoying them) Idk, I just came out of nowhere after being a lurker after seeing an aroace Azul-kisser blog brain went, "FELLOW MULTIPRONOUN AROACE FISH MAFIA ENJOYER! BEFRIEND THEM!" Like yeesh, brain, chill.

-Dove (aka Goose Anon; still a birb name, just a different kind of birb)

Alphabet Mafia Stuff: they/them (I just eat pronouns at this point), aroace

I have become attached to the goose emoji, so feel free to keep it.

Sidenote; Floyd is still avoiding the paper bag, I have part of his story started and bullet points/brain worms, but he's still avoiding me. Get in the bag, please.

NO LITERALLY i used to have a little one when i was a kid :C it was ol' reliable and worked surprisingly well given it was one built for children LMAO

writing being seen as an art makes me happy ^^ because some people don't think it is hwhwaawhawh AND CROWLEY IS USELESS IM NOT SURPRISED!!!!!

ITS THE GOOSE ANON!!! THE LEGEND THEMSELVES!!!!! omg thats me they're talking about me :O

NO BC WHEN I SAW THE ASK ABOUT FELLOW AROACE FISH KISSER OR WHATEVER YOU SAID I WAS LIKE OMG :(((( I WNAT TO BE FRIENDS W THEM I HOPE THIS ANON COMES BACK AND HERE YOU ARE!!! :D

do you think luring floyd in the bag with octopus would work

#🪿! dove

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ladystrallan · 2 years ago

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Once Upon a Time season 4A thoughts

I’m rewatching OUAT and I wanted to share some of my opinions on each season!

- Funny story about this season, back in the day when I was watching OUAT for the first time, me and my dad watched it on netflix, and when we finished season 3, season 4 wasn’t on netflix yet, so we bought a box set and then a week later (no joke) it was put on netflix lol

- It’s beck from You!

- That cgi ice…

- I mean marian is a little bit right (even though I don’t like her)

- I feel like Regina’s redemption was a bit fast, and her only motivation for being good is Henry (not her having actual remorse for her actions)

- Rumple visiting Neal’s grave :(

- The ogre wars are the funniest thing in this show

- How long did they last? How did they start?

- I guess we’ll never know

- Regina… girl… just turning evil at the smallest inconvenience

- RUMBELLE HONEYMOON

- They are so adorable omg

- Him trusting her with the dagger… awww

- Aaaaaaaa! The beauty and the beast dance

- This is too cute

- “Maybe we should have gone with baelfire” yeah if you want him to get bullied

- Sidney is so thirsty for Regina lol

- THE SORCERERS HAT

- I’m sorry but the enchanted forest also being called misthaven??? I kinda hate it

- “Anna, I will find you” would you say… you will always find her? Lol

- LONG HAIR DAVID

- Omg he looks like he should be riding a horse on the cover of a romance novel

- “They call her bo peep” aka the least menacing name ever

- What are your intentions with my daughter???

- I forgot they made bo peep a lowkey mafia boss

- Not David calling her a warlord lol

- “When I was six years old, one morning I woke up hearing my father and mother going at it” yikes

- Ohhhh they were fighting… I thought they were doing something else

- Nooooo he died from drunk driving

- Ok I think I’m a full on captainswan shipper now

- “I don’t like to say such a name out loud” he’s not voldemort

- I’d know that giggle anywhere…

- INGRID

- This is the frozen 2 we deserved

- Oooooooo she got the white streak

- Ponytail Regina looks kinda fruity ngl…

- That painting clashes so bad

- Marian looks like she ate a blue popsicle

- Why don’t they disguise Elsa? She’s not exactly looking inconspicuous like that

- WILL SCARLET (For some reason I called him will roland for the longest time)

- Wait but didn’t he literally switch it out with the real dagger though???

- The way he hooked her arm!!!

- It’s zoso

- Ooh has rumple not “succumbed to darkness in his heart”?

- Captainswan date!!!

- “I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date” lol

- Awwww that’s cute that he wants to hold her

- But the hook is kinda sexy

- “Captain hand” that’s so funny

- “Is there something wrong with your skin?” Please—

- Wait… granny’s ISN’T the only restaurant in town?

- His old self is coming back to haunt him…

- Those brooms in fantasia used to give me nightmares

- Placebo hand

- Should I watch OUAT in Wonderland?

- LILY

- Awwww they’re cute

- I like how she poofs away in a little blizzard

- Ooh this is like the broken glass curse

- The Neal picture…

- Omg plot twist (I actually remember this lol) Ingrid was Emma’s foster mom

- THAT OGRE IS SO SCARY

- Ogres killed my mom…

- OAKEN

- “I pray you never have to cross paths with that twisted man” she’s married to him lol

- Omg the duke’s moves lol

- Rumple is in every single story

- This man is everywhere

- Ew the duke of weselton is such a creep

- Oh no she froze her heart

- Yikes what happened to focus on your wife???

- Zelena actually could have been the sister Ingrid was look for

- She was born with magic and misunderstood

- Why does Robin dress like a lumberjack???

- I forgot about the whole rumple stealing Emma’s magic thing

- Why doesn’t Ingrid wear shoes?

- Why do they hate happy? What did he do?

- I really like the emma/elsa friendship

- Rumple stop being evil and just be married to belle!!!

- At least for a season

- My plan to resist the curse: wear goggles

- Noooooo the vows before they die

- That is so sad

- Honestly serves blue right

- Hey, at least the curse looks pretty

- Alternate plan: tear out everyone’s hearts (the curse didn’t work on hook because he didn’t have his heart)

- Everyone fighting each other is really funny

- Awwwww that’s actually so cute (Ingrid adopting Emma)

- Why does anyone bother running when they can just poof away

- Henry? More like Kevin McAllister

- And… she ruined it

- That’s sad :(

- Rip Ingrid

- Finally a villain that shows ACTUAL REMORSE for their actions

- “Don’t you sneeze on me, you son of a—“ lol

- Oh, rumple. When will you learn?

How I feel about the characters this season

Love: Belle, Emma, Anna, Hook

Like: Rumple, Elsa, Ingrid, Kristoff, David

Neutral: Regina, Snow, Henry

Dislike: Marian, Robin

Hate: Hans, the duke

Season rating: 7/10

I liked this season more than I remembered liking it! The beginning felt a little slow, but it got really good towards the end. I like Ingrid and I think she is the best ‘misunderstood’ villain in the whole show. Her sacrifice was so sad but such a payoff! I’m just not a fan of the Marian plot and Rumple being evil for the sake of it (he didn’t really have a strong motivation for his actions imo)

#ouat thoughts #once upon a time season 4 #once upon a time #once upon a time season 4a #emma swan #elsa of arendelle #anna of arendelle #ouat elsa #ouat anna #regina mills #rumplestiltskin #belle french #rumbelle #captain swan #killian jones #ouat frozen #shattered sight #ouat ingrid #outlaw queen

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