#did i ever tell you how much i love the structure in your stories?

[lanasblood]

your headers are always sooo kjhgfdsxcvbnmju *goes feral*

it's usually not my style but I'm gonna be a toxic relationship apologist when it comes to neteyam *definitely not healthy and probably worrisome but ain't nobody got time for that*

this was so hot and sooooo sweeeeet, ahhh I love fluffy andra (I love all types of andra) 😍😍😍

my highlights, you ask? I'll list a few:

His thumb traces your lips, the mix of your salivas making the glide easy, as his beautiful golden eyes bore into yours with enough force to cower you, to make you hunger and ache for more.

i am here arching for more. write that fucking book, please, don't make me beg, a novel, a movie script, idc what it is, something, I need people to see this writing, it's so vivid, as the reader you automatically have the pictures in your head.

Because you’re mine. And I’m yours. You own me.

howw?? what do I need to do to make neteyam fucking sully say exactly that to me?? I need a ten-step guide.

you know he’s forgiven already, because whatever he’s about to do is always more than enough to make up for all the shit he didn’t do, because the stuff he knows how to do is enough to excuse world calamities and mass destruction in your mind

WRITING!!! >>>> also same but bruh he is such a walking red green flag actually haha

“Fine, but I swear to Eywa that if you -” “A-ah, fuck!”

idk if the way I quote this makes sense but the transition from fighting to fucking made me screeeammmm!! it's grandiose!!

and the praises that follow after?? kinks are kinking!!! ahhhhhh good girl, take me so well, tiyawn, did so well for me, AHHHH I want him, can I buy him 💳💳💳💳

“Argh, who cares?! It’s be-better he’s gone, he’s a k-killjoy anyway and i for one a-am happy to be rid of-“ “Neteyam!” Tuk’s screams close to deafen you and the sound was the last push your body needed to lunge itself forward and hurl the contents of your stomach onto the mossy ground that was now more yellow than it had ever been green.  “Oh, mighty and all-powerful Eywa.” “Hi, Syulen. I got it, thanks.” “Take her home, Neteyam. And don’t get any funny ideas.” “Yes, ma’am.” 

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS HILARIOUS AND WONDERFUL AND I LOVE DRUNK READER x HOT CASUAL NETEYAM COMBINATIONS SOO MUCH!!!!

I MEAN YOU HAVE TO LOVE THEM, LOOK AT THEIR INTERACTION:

“I hate y-you.” “I know.” “You’re the wo-worst.” “I know.”

neteyam caring for the baby palulukan, tending to his wounds, and gifting it to us?? 🥺for us to become a family??? 😭😭 like I said from the very beginning, such a green flag this man, I love him.

From now on, I only want to run towards things. Towards you. I’m yours. You own me. For good, this time. If you still want me.

always, sir, a l w a y s 🫂

You really were the girl that cried Palulukan

the reference was mwah 😘🤌🏼 I loved everything about this andra, I don’t even know what to say anymore, head empty, currently in my neteyam feelings 😩💔🥴💞✌🏼

ੈ♡˳ ɪ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛɪᴍᴇ

Pairing: Neteyam x Omaticaya!Reader

Synopsis: You and Neteyam's relationship only knows the 3Fs: fighting, fleeing or... loving.

Requested: Yes.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. aged up!, smut (p in v, oral - f receiving, light choking, praise kink), fluff, kinda toxic relationship but it's fine cause it's neteyam and i don't see red when it comes to him, it's all golden

WC: 2.3k words

A/N: how the hell did this also turn fluffy in the end??? what is wrong w me??? anyway, i had so so much fun with this request, it might quickly become one of my favourite things i've ever written. thank you so much for the sweet anonnie who suggested it, and i hope you enjoy x

I get tired of your no-shows You get tired of my control They keep telling me to let go But I don't really let go when I say so 

"Everybody's going out. Just come out with us. Don't let him ruin another perfectly nice eclipse."

Your best friend was so right, as she always was, as she gave you this speech for what felt like the millionth time in the years you've had an on-again, off-again situationship with the prince of the Omaticaya, the one and only Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan - a man you loved, that you wished you didn't sometimes, most times, especially tonight, as he forgot about your plans... again, in order to train for way longer than was needed or necessary, way longer than anybody else... again.

Look, you loved Neteyam's drive. It was part of what drove you to him to begin with. He was unrelenting and determined, he was powerful and skilled, he was savvy and intelligent, he was beautiful and charming, he loved his family to death and was incredibly loyal and all those things made him just so. damn. hot.

They also made him the reason you wanted to pull your braids out, because those traits were good in moderation, but nothing was ever grey with Neteyam. No, Neteyam was all or nothing always, black or white and nothing else, and that meant that loyalty for his family quickly turned into neglect for you, determination for his practice quickly turned to forgetfulness of you, and his power, beauty, intelligence and charm meant you never got to do anything about it, because, if you ever tried, you ended up overpowered, outsmarted and fucked dumb face down on your mat until you forgot you were ever mad to begin with.

I've tried to fight our energy, but everytime I think I'm free  You get high and call on the regular I get weak and fall like a teenager Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry? I need to do this, tiyawn, I have to be stronger for my family, for my clan... for you. You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being unreasonable?! Are you out of your fucking mind?"

You feel tears pool in your eyes and spill like a broken fountain as you take him in, bloodied gashes and muddy patches, tired eyes and calloused hands and still... the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. He looked at you exasperatedly, like you're the crazy one, and you hate it. Hate what he's doing to you, hate that he doesn't consider you or think about you, and that his sorries are always stained with unspoken truths, like how he doesn't truly mean it, not when to him, it's all justified, it's all warranted, and shouldn't be questioned.

"Every day and night, I do nothing but wait, Neteyam. Wait for a man who doesn't think twice about the plans he's made, the promises he never keeps, the memories that sour with every absence he gifts to me like a necklace that half-chokes me to death. I'm tired. I can't do this anym-"

A kiss is all it takes to silence you, to stun you, to make you melt in his embrace the way you always do, all the arguments and the ultimatums swallowed under the intensity of the touch of his lips on yours, his tongue meeting your own in a welcome embrace, so intimate and knowing, so fucking frustrating.

"Net-..."

His thumb traces your lips, the mix of your salivas making the glide easy, as his beautiful golden eyes bore into yours with enough force to cower you, to make you hunger and ache for more. That's all you ever wanted when it comes to Neteyam - more. When his finger pushes gently past your lips and into your mouth, you immediately close them around him and lick... and suck, and he moans, his gaze growing darker and needier with each second you're not writhing under him, the way you should be, the way you were meant to be.

"No, tiyawn. I can't let you speak if you insist on saying those insipid, meaningless words again. You won't leave, because you can't leave. Because you're mine. And I'm yours. You own me."

His hand grabs yours and redirects it to his loincloth, tented up under the weight of his hard-on and the slight damp spot under your touch makes you swallow instinctively. You had no thoughts outside of him anymore, outside of the overwhelming desire that took over you whenever he was in your presence, his being inundating your senses and hijacking your mind to be rid of all but him, full of him, only him.

"Look what you do to me. You. Only you. I need you. Always. I know I'm not good enough, I know, but ..."

His hands find their way to your ass, lifting you gently, and you wrap your thighs around him, although there's no need, not when he moves you just a few feet until he's sitting on your mat, laying you gently on it. When he moves his hands, he takes your loincloth with him, and you whine softly at the sudden cool breeze that hits your aching, sopping core.

"...Let me show you how sorry I am."

When he lays down with his head between your thighs, you know he's forgiven already, because whatever he's about to do is always more than enough to make up for all the shit he didn't do, because the stuff he knows how to do is enough to excuse world calamities and mass destruction in your mind.

Just when I get on a new wave Boy, you look at me and I slip outta my lace They keep calling me a head-case 'Cause I can't make a good case why we can't change

"You're out of your mind, tiyawn."

"Well, if I'm out of my mind, then you made me out of my mind, you skxawng."

"Can we talk about this somewhere more private?"

You have to admit, starting the fight at the communal dinner in front of his parents, the leaders of the clan, and your friends, and everyone you knew, was probably a bit gauche and uncouth, but you think it was just more than anything a perfect testimony of how this man drove you to the brink of insanity in a way no one else could.

"Fine, but I swear to Eywa that if you -"

"A-ah, fuck!"

Propped with your hands on his shoulders, his fingers around your throat, you were bouncing up and down his cock, trying to ignore how you could be caught at any point, how close you were to the communal fire, barely covered by some shrubbery, how fear was fuel for your desire as his tip kept slamming into your cervix so hard you felt it in your ribcage when he rutted upwards into you.

"Quiet, tiyawn. You don't want people to hear us, now do you?"

A glint of mischief flashed across his eyes, smirk to match, as he brought the hand he had gripped on your hips to help him move you on his length forward, circling your clit masterfully and you whimper again, eliciting a small laugh from him.

"Or maybe you like that? 'That turn you on, huh? My dirty girl."

The sound of skin slapping against skin was so strident you'd be surprised if someone wouldn't come just to see if they can catch the end tail of a rousing performance people couldn't help but clap for, but to be honest with yourself, you didn't care. It was known in the village - your mad, intense, mercurial, quixotic relationship with Neteyam. You were both crazy - for each other, and in general, it seemed, because you fought, fled and fucked more often than truly anyone could keep with with.

"God, I love watching you take my cock. You're such a good girl, and you always take me so well, tiyawn. So well."

You said nothing as the rush of all the sensations trying you quickly became overwhelming, as the heady combination of being chocked by a man who knew how to use it to your advantage helped heighten his ministrations on your clit, his wild and intemperate thrusts that stretched you and filled like you craved, like only he could, and you come, whining and sobbing, nails digging painfully in his skin. He follows suit, his own groans unable to be kept hidden, and he releases his hand from around your neck and brings it back to the nape of your neck, willing you softly in his chest, where, although full of cobwebs and a little dusty, would always be your home.

"Shh, that's right. Did so well for me, tiyawn. My perfect girl." A kiss on your temple, soft and intimate, and the constant shower of unbridled praise, that you lived to see come out of his beautiful mouth as he filled you up with his cock, reminded you why you stayed and came back, over and over. Because it was worth it. And he was worth it.

"I'm still fucking mad at you."

I get drunk, pretend that I'm over it Self-destruct, show up like an idiot Why, oh why does God keep bringing me Back to you?

"We are never getting back together. Like ever." you say in between sips of fermented yovo juice, that always goes to your head way too quickly, that always makes a mess out of your tongue and a slur of your words.

"I want to believe you, friend...I really do, but... you've said that one too many times. You're the girl that cried Palulukan. Nobody's coming to rescue you now, sister."

"N-no..." the hiccup was violent enough to make you throw up in your mouth and you groaned, the headache caused by the startled yelp digging in your temples. “I me-mean it this t-time. It’s o-over.” You were stomping your feet in determination, eager to prove that you would once and for all be rid of the man that was nowhere to be found for the village celebration that he’s known about for months.

“Lo-Lo’ak! Hey Lo’ak!” The sighting of Neteyam’s nicer, more amiable, sociable younger brother was a one for sore eyes, as it proved that it wasn’t family duty keeping your boyfriend… ex-boyfriend… away, it was his own maddening stubbornness and selfishness doing it instead.

“Neteyam’s training… I’m sorry. We told him to come, but he… gets in like a weird trance whenever he’s on the grounds, I swear it’s like something out of an Earth zombie movie.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about and he didn’t elaborate before he took off, leaving you leaning against a tree with only your tiny friend as a barrier between your face and the cold, hard, ground.

“Argh, who cares?! It’s be-better he’s gone, he’s a k-killjoy anyway and i for one a-am happy to be rid of-“

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s screams close to deafen you and the sound was the last push your body needed to lunge itself forward and hurl the contents of your stomach onto the mossy ground that was now more yellow than it had ever been green.

“Oh, mighty and all-powerful Eywa.”

“Hi, Syulen. I got it, thanks.”

“Take her home, Neteyam. And don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come, tiyawn.”

You wanted to protest, but the bile in your mouth was bitter and burning, and so you didn’t, not as he picked you up as gently as if you were a precious flower he didn’t want to wilt, not when he pressed a kiss on your temple as his arm found the back of your knees for added support, not as he carried you home silently, outside of the soft-spoken coos of affection and apologies, while you mumbled unattractively in his chest.

“I hate y-you.”

"I know."

"You're the wo-worst."

"I know."

As you reached your tent, you were greeted by soft trills and purrs that sobered you immediately, that made you jump from his arms and onto the ground, where a small pup lay. It was cautious as you approached, but eventually relaxed around you and let you kneel beside it. It has an ugly gash across its back, that looked like it had been tended to. It was a Palulukan pup, and the thought made fevered chills run down your spine.

"Neteyam, wha-"

"I found him coming back from practice. He was hurt and limping, and clinging to his mother's corpse. I took him home and have been helping my grandmother tend to him ever since. That's why I'm late."

“I know you’ve been lonely since your parents died. Well, he seemed lonely too. His parents are gone, and so I thought… you could be his new home. And I could be yours. I’m done running away, tiyawn. From now on, I only want to run towards things. Towards you. I’m yours. You own me. For good, this time. If you still want me.”

You smile a sheepish smile, looking up at him through your lashes while you pet the new priceless addition to your small family. You really were the girl that cried Palulukan.

“If I say no, will you take him away?”

He winced a little, a grimace marring his beautiful features.

“Of course not.”

“If I say yes, can we all be a family?”

The grimace dissolved as quickly as it appeared and a dazzling, gummy smile replaced it, one that dizzied you in its utter and undeniable beauty, one that you couldn’t help replicate, not when kneeled in front of you and took your face in his hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, his own face mere inches from yours.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

taglist: @fanboyluvr @yagirlheree @teyamsbitch

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

SERIES IS DISCONTINUED- sorry y’all, just not inspired to write this anymore and don’t wanna force it.

[mariasont]

Need a bimbo assistant reader x hotch fic where the team is making fun of hotch for having no sense of humour until we say smth like "what are you talking about? Hotch is hilarious!" And everyone just turns to hotch like "wtf??" To which he immediately changes the subject. But surprise surprise he's only trying to be funny around us to be charming 😛

The Funny Thing About Him - A.H

a/n: obsessed with this request bc this is so canon, i just know mans is saving ever stupid pun he sees on his blackberry to tell bimbo reader lololo

but thank you so much for the request lovely!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirtiness galore, hotch being whipped and not knowing it yet, the team being a menace and lowkey bullying hotch, unintentional simping, bimbo!reader glazing hotch's sense of humor

wc: 1.9k

It was a rare thing for the team to spend time together outside of work, and even rarer to do so in a place like this. A dive bar that looked like it hadn't seen a deep clean since the Bush administration. But Garcia had insisted--no, demanded--that they all check out what she had referred to as her second office. 

So here you were, crammed into a tiny booth with the team, surrounded by mismatched furniture, sticky tabletops, and walls that had somehow absorbed the faint tang of stale beer as if it were part of their structural integrity. But after a round of drinks, then appetizers, then more drinks, it had become kind of charming in a deeply questionable way.

Everyone had seemed to have loosened up. Hotch, naturally, was the exception. Seated at the edge of the booth, he looked almost hilariously out of place, like someone had photoshopped him into the scene. His posture was straight as ever, his suit jacket neatly draped on the back of his chair, and fingers loosely curled around a glass of whiskey. 

He was listening, though, as he always did--dark eyes flicking to whoever was speaking, his small nods he only thing that gave him away.

You, however, were hyper-aware of Hotch for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with professionalism. The small booth had left you wedged between him and Garcia, and you couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it meant you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, smell the woodsy, expensive cologne he always wore, and notice the little ways his expression softened just a hair every time you caught him glancing your way.

On the other hand, well, all those things were very distracting. 

Like, very distracting.

Garcia was mid-story--something dramatic about a terrible date, an allergic reaction, and a wig--but you weren't really listening. You were trying, of course, but your mind seemed too busy cataloging the way your elbow accidentally brushed against Hotch's every time you shifted, or how your knees kept grazing under the table.

Each time, you'd mutter a quick, oops, sorry, and each time, you absolutely did not mean it.

You liked testing the boundaries with him, liked noticing his reactions. In fact, you liked being able to notice most things about him--the little details no one else seemed to catch.

Like how he had this funny way of pressing his lips together when he was reading something particularly dense, like he was silently judging whoever wrote it. Or how he always seemed to have a spare hair tie ready in his desk drawer because yours snapped at the worst possible moments--and somehow, he always had it ready right when you needed it, like he'd been waiting for you to ask. 

Or how, right now, he kept subtly hovering a hand behind your head every time you leaned back in laughter, like he was ready to stop you from accidentally smacking the back of your head against the hard wood of the booth.

It made you feel warm and fizzy, like you’d downed one too many sugary cocktails. Which, honestly, you might have.

"Hotch," Garcia suddenly blurted, dragging you out of your thoughts. "Back me up here--there's no way this is the worst first day you've ever heard of."

He blinked, seemingly caught off guard. "I... I suppose it's up there."

Morgan grinned and shook his head. "Hotch, your definition of worst first date is probably someone not knowing how to file their taxes. You’ve got zero imagination for this stuff."

You glanced at Hotch, who just shrugged, not even bothering to defend himself.

No imagination, Morgan had said, and for some reason, you couldn’t help but try to picture it--Hotch on a date.

At first, the idea felt completely out of place, like imagining a celebrity shopping for milk. But then, the image started to take shape: he’d show up early, wearing one of those perfectly tailored suits that made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ. He’d pull out your chair, open every door, and probably order something practical--like steak or chicken. And even if the conversation started stiffly, he’d listen so intently, like every word you said mattered. By the end of the night, you’d be completely smitten.

Not that you’d thought about it or anything.

“I think you’re underselling him,” JJ said with a knowing smile, glancing at Hotch. “He might not have the most obvious imagination, but he has a way of surprising people.”

Emily snorted. “Yeah, right. Hotch probably schedules his surprises. Like, plan to laugh sometime between 8:00 and 8:15 PM.”

Morgan grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Hotch doesn’t laugh. He probably just stares at people mid-joke, makes them uncomfortable, and calls it a win.”

Hotch arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware my sense of humor was under scrutiny tonight.”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “You’ve gotta admit, Hotch, you’re not exactly cracking jokes left and right. Your idea of funny is telling someone they’re late for work when they’re actually on time.”

“That was funny,” Hotch deadpanned.

The table erupted into laughter, and even Emily shook her head, biting back a grin. “You’re proving his point, you know.”

“What are you guys talking about? Hotch is hilarious.”

The table fell silent. Every single person turned to look at you like you’d just claimed the sky was green. Even Hotch stiffened beside you, his glass halfway to his lips.

Morgan’s head tilted, his grin fading into something more incredulous. “What did you just say?”

“Hotch?” Emily asked, her face the picture of astonishment. “Did you… did you bribe her to say that?”

“No!” you said quickly, holding up your hands like you were defending yourself. “I mean it! He’s, like, really funny!”

“Hotch?” Garcia repeated, looking at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “Our Hotch?”

“How can you guys not think he’s funny? I laugh at his jokes all the time.”

Hotch, who up until this point had been composed despite the teasing, suddenly looked… well, less composed. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but then he clamped them shut, the faintest tinge of pink creeping up his neck and settling across his cheeks.

Emily smirked, glancing between you and Hotch. “Okay, now I have to hear these so-called jokes you think are hilarious.”

You turned back to them, still looking baffled. “Well, I can’t just, like, repeat them! It’s all in the timing. Hotch just… he has a vibe. You wouldn’t get it.”

The team erupted into laughter, but you just sighed dramatically, crossing your arms and turning back to Hotch. “Seriously, Aaron, tell them.”

Hotch cleared his throat, setting his glass down a little too forcefully.

 “So, Garcia,” he said quickly, his voice normal but his ears tinged red, “about this terrible first date—”

Hotch shot you a quick, almost panicked glance, but you pretended not to notice. Either way, you popped the fry into your mouth and smiled at him like you hadn’t just completely upended his reputation in front of the entire team.

Eventually the bar had mostly emptied out, including your team, the once-loud chatter replaced by the occasional creak of chairs and muffled laughter from the remaining patrons. You stood by the door, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket as another rush of cold air blew in when someone left. The chill bit at your cheeks. It wasn't the warmest coat in the world, but it was adorable, which you felt was more important.

Before you could even complain, however, Hotch stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you and the wind.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

You beamed at him, fingers idly playing with the end of your scarf. You took a small step closer--partly to escape the wind, partly for reasons you didn't feel you needed to disclose.

"Always," you said, tilting your head to examine him closely. "Did you?"

He nodded. "I did."

You blinked up at him. "Really? Even with everyone giving you such a hard time? I mean, they were relentless tonight.”

“They can’t help themselves." He huffed out a soft laugh, his breath misting in the cold air. Then, with a dry edge, he added, “And to be fair, I think I handled it better than you handled the fries Garcia stole from your plate.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. “Hey! That was a crime! I had every right to be upset!”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“See?” you said, poking him in the arm. “You’re funny! You are! Why aren’t you like that around everyone else?”

Hotch glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “I think I just… read the room.”

Hotch’s vague answer left you with more questions than clarity, but you didn’t push him. The more you thought about it, the more certain you became—he was different with you.

Hotch didn’t crack jokes in the bullpen—not unless you were there. He didn’t tell silly stories during late-night case reviews—not unless it was just the two of you staying behind in the office, sorting through files. Like that time he told you about his college roommate, you’d laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, and he’d chuckled softly, shaking his head like he hadn’t expected you to find it so funny.

Or the way he’d once walked by your desk and dropped a note on it that said, if it gets any colder in here, we’ll be solving frostbite cases next. You still had it tucked away in your drawer.

The thought made you feel a bit warmer, like you’d just downed a champagne flute in one gulp. Your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“You know, you’re the best boss ever. Have I told you that before?”

Hotch turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?” 

“Nothing!” you said quickly, your grin widening. “I’m just being honest!”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "I hope you remember that next time you're twenty minutes late to a meeting because there was a sale at Bloomingdale’s."

You gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile.

“Well, maybe if you came with me to the sale, you wouldn’t have to wait twenty minutes for me to show up.” You leaned a little closer, your voice dropping into a teasing sing-song. “And I bet you’d look so cute holding my shopping bags.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, his expression impossibly dry. “I think I’ll leave the shopping bag modeling to Reid. He’s probably got the legs for it.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your gloved hands. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me!”

He exhaled a small laugh, finally relenting. “Alright, let’s go before you freeze.”

Still laughing, you looped your arm back through his and gave it a little squeeze as the two of you walked through the door. 

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[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

-

He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 4 - Build

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Me again! We’re back. Sorry I know I keep adding new parts but I’ve broken up the final chapter into two as it just keep going and this is a huge bumper one (sorry). I promise there genuinely will only be one more looool. Thanks again for all of your reblogs/comments/love for this story, it means a lot!!

💔

Lou had welcomed you back with open arms, fixing you up with a waitress job at the diner. Of course he had. Lou was like the father you’d never had. His love was one of the few constants in your life.

Mercifully, he didn’t ask you much about Bucky, didn’t chastise you for making a bad choice and getting involved with a mob boss. That wasn’t what Lou was about. He knew that ‘I told you so’ served no purpose, he knew that you were a big girl and there was nothing he could tell you that you didn’t already know yourself. So why bother? All that mattered was that you were here, and you needed him. He would always catch you when you fell.

Going back to waitressing didn’t feel like you’d taken a step back or that you’d somehow failed, if anything it was quite nice to see this former version of your life once more. And you’d missed chatting with the regulars, helping Lou with the accounts, occasionally fighting small fires (both metaphorical and very occasionally, literal). With Bucky you didn’t need to work, which was nice in one way, but you’d missed the structure and purpose your old job had given you. You previously had no interest in daily gossipy lunches with the other mob wives, and there was only so much shopping you could do.

“How did we ever cope without you?” Lou had asked one morning after you’d successfully chased and caught a dine and dasher, and saved hundreds of dollars on the power bill after negotiating a new contract. All before 10am.

You grinned, “I feel the same way about this place”.

You had moved in with Wanda, she had insisted - despite your protests. She and her boyfriend, Vis, gave you the spare room and said you could stay until you got back on your feet. It was small and full of all the extra stuff they couldn’t fit elsewhere in their apartment, but you didn’t care. You would’ve been happy with the couch, or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Nat was equally helpful, sorting you out by buying new clothes and shoes in your size and giving you some of the toiletries and make-up she didn’t use. She even cut and restyled your hair (‘because hair holds memories’, she told you) and took on whichever role you needed. Sometimes that was nights on her couch crying as she held you, other times it was hitting up the bars and trying to forget. She did it all. She had come and got you that morning at the hotel, after you sent her a frantic message from the rickety computer explaining what had happened. She told you she’d be there in 30 minutes…but ended up doing the trip in 20.

One afternoon a week or so later, Bucky’s men radioed him to let them know that there was a redhead in a Mercedes at the front gates demanding to speak to him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sighed as he saw her familiar face on the security monitor and told them to let her in. He knew this day would come. He dismissed them, they didn’t need to be here for this.

Nat had parked up and casually exited the car, strolling across the patio as Bucky stood in the doorway and waited for the inevitable. She didn’t keep him waiting long, slugging him across the jaw with a sharp ‘thwack’ causing him to stagger back against the doorframe.

“Got it. Anything else to say?” he groaned.

She nodded and then kneed him hard in the groin, turning on her heel as she left him in a crumpled heap and ambled back to her car.

“I warned you this would happen if you hurt her”, she called out calmly without looking back.

“Always good to see you, Nat”, Bucky managed to eke out as she slammed the car door.

The generosity of them all was overwhelming, you knew how lucky you were. It’s often said that you don’t know who your true friends are until you fall on hard times, and your friends had proved themselves tenfold. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to repay their kindness.

💔

It had been about six weeks since the night at the hotel when he started coming to the diner. No goons or hangers-on, just him. Which was almost unheard of, given his position.

The first time was a Friday morning, around 9am. He sat in the corner booth, head buried in the menu.

“I can kick him out, hon’, I’m not scared of him”, Lou had snarled as he glared over at the man in the booth.

“It’s okay, Lou. I can handle him,” you told him gently, giving his arm a reassuring stroke.

You took a deep breath as you approached his table. You couldn’t see his face, just his hands, an eerie mirror of the first time you’d met.

“What can I get you?” you asked as you readied your pad and pen, your voice surprisingly even, in spite your stomach’s somersaults.

He lowered the menu slowly and you couldn’t deny it was good to see him again. His blue eyes shone, the former dusting of stubble over his chin and jawline now a fuller beard - just as tantalising as it had always been. A few strands of his hair had come away from the carefully styled gel, framing his face perfectly. Some of your former anger towards him bubbled away beneath the surface, but you couldn’t deny you had also missed him. You had loved him, after all.

The two of you shared a knowing smile.

“You know there are like…hundreds of other breakfast places in this city, right?” you teased, but half-serious.

“I do…but this is the only one that gets my eggs just right,” he grinned back.

“Mmm. I’ll pass your compliments onto the chef. You still want the usual?”

“Please”.

You scribbled down the familiar order onto the page. It felt strange to write it down again, it had been a long time since you’d done that for him.

“Are you going to behave?” you questioned, arms folded.

“Mostly”.

“You’d better. Lou will have your ass if you don’t” you scoffed.

“I don’t doubt it”.

“And Bucky, if you’re here to-” you began, your face betraying the pain that still lurked within you.

“I’m not”, he cut you off. “Just breakfast. I promise”.

You nodded, pressing your lips together with trepidation. The two of you watched the other for a few seconds.

“Well, okay, that’ll be right out”.

You turned and put his order into the kitchen. You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

“Here you go”.

You returned to the booth a little later, laying out the plates and re-filling his coffee, he thanked you and pulled a napkin from the dispenser.

“I like your new hair”, he said as he began to cut up his food, his eyes not leaving the table.

“Thanks. I like your new beard”.

“Thanks. Business going okay here?”

“Doing well. Yours?”

“Same old, same old…”

“And…Rumlow?” you asked, your throat catching a little as you said his name.

“Terminated” he replied coldly as he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes…I presumed so. HYDRA?”

“I finally cut off all of those heads”.

“I hope you mean metaphorically”.

“Mostly. The girls good? Vis?”

“All good. Steve? Sam?”

“Also good”.

“Good”.

“Good”.

“Well…good to catch up. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy”.

“Thanks”.

You waited for some big trick or reveal, but it never came. He ate his meal, drank another coffee refill, paid the bill, tipped, and left within the hour. Like any other customer. Lou was sceptical, and so were you – but there nothing to suggest it was anything else but breakfast…like he said.

And that’s how it was every Friday after that. He’d come in at 9am on the dot, sit in the same booth. Order the usual. You were always his waitress. Everything was the same, every week. The other regulars knew to avoid sitting at his table at that time. The other servers would barely bat an eyelid as he strolled in, taking for granted that you’d be along shortly to put his order in – even if he wasn’t in your section that morning. And it was…fine. He didn’t try and do anything more, didn’t ask you to meet anywhere or for a chance to talk. You initially thought it would be hard to see him again, but it was okay. Maybe a future where the two of you just pleasantly co-existed was possible.

The two of you would chat. Just small talk at first. Occasionally a joke. Even Lou would chat to him sometimes, he was still wary of Bucky but more open to him than he was previously. He certainly didn’t mind him spending money in his restaurant.

Weeks soon became months. Seasons changed. Still, he came in every week, rain or shine. Plates and plates of eggs eaten; endless coffee mugs refilled. He didn’t ever skip it, he was never sick, never seemed to take vacations. He showed up every time. Even if you weren’t there.

The small talk eventually evolved, so slowly you barely noticed it happen. You chatted more about the old times, memories started to feel fonder rather than sad reminders of what was lost. He told you anecdotes about Steve and Sam. You told him about Wanda and Vis, about Nat. You laughed uproariously one morning over the story of Sam’s disastrous vacation involving a mistaken suitcase and an overzealous TSA agent. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, just be with him. No expectations or obligations. You hadn’t forgiven him. You weren’t sure you ever could. But you had missed him. And seeing him for an hour every week, on your turf, just shooting the breeze – that was nice.

“So, you seeing anyone?” you asked one morning as you sat across from him in the booth and sipped your drink, your break coinciding with the end of his meal. You weren’t sure where it came from, but it popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. The curiosity was eating you alive. You seemed to talk about everything apart from his love life.

He firmly shook his head, “nope”.

You frowned. “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“With you,” he replied in that no-nonsense tone of his.

You cocked your head, peering over at him in disbelief.

“But Bucky…”

“What? I’m not interested in anyone else”.

“But we’re not together. And it’s been months”.

“I know”, he replied stoically as he sipped his coffee. His eyes seemed to be studying you.

“And we’re not getting back together…”

“I know”.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, but I-I don’t like this. It feels like a ploy, somehow. To push me into taking you back” you stammered, your finger dancing on the rim of your mug.

“It’s not. It’s just a fact. I didn’t even bring it up, you did”.

He was frustratingly calm and unperturbed, finishing his breakfast like this was just some casual conversation about the weather or a movie he’d seen.

“So…what, you’re never gonna date anyone again? Is that it?” you scowled.

He shrugged, “I never said that. It’s just not something I’m looking to do right now. Work is taking up most of my time. Plus, I’m in therapy, working through a few things. I’d rather be in a better place before I start dating again. Learn from my past mistakes”.

“Oh…” you responded in surprise, “well…that’s very mature of you. And is it…helpful?”

“Mmm, pretty eye opening,” he nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, “I’d recommend it to anyone,” he looked at you pointedly.

You felt the heat at your cheeks, perfectly aware that he was suggesting you do the same. And he was probably right. But you didn’t like the potential to appear vulnerable in front of him, so you merely shrugged and went back to rubbing your coffee cup. You were genuinely pleased for him…it was just unfortunate that your break-up was the catalyst. You felt a wave of grief roll through you.

You paused for just a beat, again unable to stop your word vomit.

“Are you gonna ask if I’m seeing anyone?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. You can date whoever you want”, he shrugged, keeping his attention on his plate.

You frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. I just want you to be happy, doll”.

“Bullshit!” you scoffed, “you once picked a man up by his ankles and dipped his head in the toilet because he grabbed my ass at that party…”

“Well, that was deserved. And I didn’t flush it on him, so he got off easy…”

You pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table. “Buck…I know you. What’s your game, here?”

He sighed heavily, taking a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. His eyes finally moved up from his plate to meet yours. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being with you? In whatever form I can? That maybe I’m happy just getting this time with you every week, no matter what happens between us?”

“And that’s enough for you?” you asked incredulously.

He shifted in his seat, his tone suddenly very serious.

“Look, doll. I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to be honest with you. If you turned around tomorrow and you told me you wanted to give things another shot – sure, I’d bite your hand off to accept. But I live in the real world. And I know you aren’t likely to forgive me for what I did, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. I’m just happy to have you in my life in some way, even if that’s just talking to you every Friday while I have my breakfast”.

You blinked back at him, unsure whether to take him at his word or if this was some manipulation tactic. The word ‘love’ echoed in your ears, and you had to shake it off that he said he still felt that way about you. Maybe this was all some trick. You knew you couldn’t trust him anymore.

But as you looked into his eyes, for a moment his sentiment felt…genuine. Real. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Fine”, you sighed as you took a sip from your cup, “I get paid to be here either way…”

💔

A few more months passed, it had been nearly a year since the break-up. Bucky remained a weekly customer but nothing else. You’d finally moved out of Wanda’s into your own place – a shitty, cramped studio apartment was the best you could do on a waitress wage and tips – but it was yours. It had been such a long time since you’d had your own space, you loved every meagre inch.

You'd also started therapy, to help get your head around your childhood and abandonment issues - to help understand why you were always ready to run and expect everything to collapse. Bucky was right, it was valuable - if not hard going. But you knew it was helping, even though nothing could be 'fixed' overnight.

You still visited Wanda and Vis regularly. In fact, you were over there laughing with Wanda and making an early dinner when you got the call that Friday evening. She knew something terrible had happened from the way your face fell, your eyes widening with shock as you listened to the voice on the other end telling you whatever horror story it was. Seconds later you were rushing out of the front door and trying to wrangle on your coat and grab your bag, as she called out to you in a panic just steps behind.

“It was a massive heart attack,” the doctor had said as she eyed the clipboard in front of her. “He was lucky that a passerby on the street called an ambulance, if he’d been alone…he may not have been able to call himself, and if it had been too late…”

You had not been at the hospital long, sweating and panting in your rush to get down there. Your head fuzzy, unable to fully take in what you’d been told. The doctor was still talking, her voice an unidentifiable drone in your ears as you concentrated all your efforts on staying upright. You tugged off your coat, suddenly far too hot. The hospital felt like a furnace, suffocating and stifling. You were dizzy, everything felt blurred.

A couple of chairs sat a few feet away along the sterile-looking hallway, you plopped down into one and put your head in your hands.

“Can she see him?” Wanda asked the doctor, her hands patting your shoulders supportively.

“He’s stable, but the team are just doing some observations on him. Plus, he needs to rest, and might be feeling groggy after the meds. He’ll be out for a good while. It might take some time to be conscious and lucid again, so-”

“I’ll wait,” you said defiantly, the first time you’d spoken since you got there. “However long it takes”.

“Yes, I understand. And you’re his…friend?”

“Daughter,” you corrected. “I’m Lou’s daughter. Well…good as. He doesn’t have any other family. Neither of us do…”

The doctor nodded kindly, pointing out the coffee machine across the hall and leaving you to it.

💔

Wanda waited with you for a while, but she had a work event that night. She insisted she’d stay but you waved her off, telling her you’d check in with her later. She’d been planning that event for months. Lou would be mad at her for missing it, let alone over him. And you meant it, you didn’t want her missing it because of you.

So, she left. Leaving you by yourself in the hard chair with the plastic cup of lukewarm motor oil masquerading as coffee. Nat was out in the Bahamas with some hottie for the week, and you didn’t really want to bother Vis, so you sat quietly alone. You kept sane by reminding yourself that Lou was stable, and his prognosis looked good. He would be okay. He would. He’s made of strong stuff.

Another hour went by, and you couldn’t help your tears from falling as you began to work yourself up worrying, exacerbated by the fact you hadn’t eaten and had nobody around to stop you from spiralling. Wanda had sent a few texts, but you knew she was busy and didn’t need you distracting her. You just wished you had someone to talk to. Or not even talk to, just be with. You squeezed your phone in your hands as if willing the idea that someone would suddenly call you out of the blue. A friend you’d forgotten, a long-lost family member. But there was nobody.

Well, almost nobody.

You pulled your purse onto your lap and dug through, retrieving your wallet at the bottom. You opened it up and checked each card holder until you found what you were searching for, slightly worn and torn tucked behind the library card you barely used, but the details still clear as day.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Director of 107 Inc.

You had scooped up the card after he left it in the hotel room. It was a bit of a split decision, you’d nearly tossed it in the trash but changed your mind at the last second and jammed it into your wallet, not really thinking about why. You hadn’t looked at it since, you’d never transferred his number into your phone, or even spoken to him outside of Fridays at the diner. But he had become something of a friend over the last few months, and you were surprised to find yourself looking forward to seeing him every week. It was as if you’d gotten to know each other again from scratch, a slow-burn friendship grown over time – the complete opposite of your initial whirlwind relationship, where heat had won out over foundations. But now, you felt you knew him differently. It was funny how you get to know somebody without the chemistry and physical attraction fogging up your brain.

Was this stupid? Were you asking for trouble? But…it would be nice to talk to someone. Just a phone call, nothing more. You took a deep breath and punched the numbers into the keypad before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hello?” came his gruff voice in your year after two rings.

You sat upright, surprised he had even answered at all – let alone so fast. You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say.

“Hey, Buck, I…” you squeaked, unable to mask the emotion in your voice.

“Doll?” his voice immediately softened, “what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, no, actually. I’m at Mount Sinai…uh…Lou-uh, Lou had a big heart attack and I’m at the hospital and hesreallysickandI-I…”

You sobbed, your words melting into one as the pain of saying them out loud hit home, “I’m sorry I…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take a moment for me, alright? Take a deep breath doll…”

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the air out of your lips like he said. You did it a few times, feeling slightly better afterwards,

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky told you. “Are you by yourself? Are Wanda and Nat there with you?”

“No…Wanda is working, Nat’s away. It’s fine…I just…”

“I’m so sorry about Lou, doll”, he said tenderly. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“No…no…it’s okay…I just. I just wanna talk,” you replied, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Yeah…yeah, we can do that. What shall we talk about?”

You sighed, “I don’t know. Anything. Anything that isn’t hospitals or heart attacks…or food. Because I haven’t eaten and I’m starving.”

“Alright. Hmm. Well…I had to break up a fight between Thor and Scott today, if that helps distract you…”

“What? But Thor is twice Scott’s size. That was mean of him…”

“No…Scott started it. Said Thor was mouthing off about something or other and it all blew up. Scott swung for him”.

“What?? Is he insane?” you practically shrieked, the beginnings of a giggle forming in your throat as you tried to imagine Scott trying to land a punch as Thor towered above him.

“I guess so. But they worked it out. Last time I saw them they were laughing, and Thor was swinging him from his shoulders”.

You laughed. A proper, deep belly laugh. It felt good. Cathartic. You could practically see some of the tension leave your body.

“Well, I’m glad they figured it out. What else did you do today, Buck?”

“Hm. Not a lot. Mostly work. I went to the park. Just to get some air. Went to that duck pond you like and sat on the bench for a while”.

You smiled, “I love that pond”.

“I know. Remember that time you nearly fell in trying to help that duckling trapped in the weeds?”

“I do. I remember that you had to catch me and I accidentally splashed pondwater on your suit as I stumbled…” you laughed fondly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had my dry cleaner remove for me. And we got the duckling back to its mom, even if she was furious at us”.

“She tried to bite you…”

“She succeeded”.

You both chuckled for a moment as you reminisced, then it suddenly went quiet between you both. You held the phone tightly to your ear, unsure and a little lost for words. It felt odd to feel tongue-tied around Bucky, it had always been so easy to know what to say to him. Despite how easy it was to slip back into nostalgia just now, and your newfound friendship, there was still something of a gulf between the two of you. You had been apart for so long now.

“…thanks, Buck,” you whispered.

“Anytime, doll”.

💔

After you hung up with Bucky, a nurse came over and you shot up out of your chair with anticipation. She told you that Lou was doing well but was slowly coming around after a heavy sedative. He should be ready for visitors in another hour or so. You sighed heavily but nodded grimly, as long as Lou was alright – that was all that mattered.

You sank back into your faithful chair, pulling out your rapidly dying phone again and wishing you had the foresight to bring a charger when you left Wanda’s. Or some food, at least.

You continued your vigil in the unfeeling hospital hallway, a place that seemed to exist outside of time. But you had to admit, speaking to Bucky had raised your spirits a little. It reminded you of the old days, when he was an anchor in a storm, a calming presence when things were tough. Part of you had missed that.

You’d just closed your eyes a little while later when you heard someone call your name.

“Still hungry?”

Your eyes filled with tears as your head snapped to see who it was.

There stood Bucky dressed in his off-duty grey sweats, his unstyled hair flopping across his forehead. In his hand was a brown bag, you instantly recognised the brand of your favourite take-out place printed across the front. It smelled heavenly.

“Buck…?” you mumbled in shock, not quite believing he was there, “what…what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “you said you were alone and hadn’t eaten. I know how you get when you’re anxious. Figured you could use this”.

It wasn’t clear if he meant the food or the company, but in that moment, you were grateful for both.

He sat in the chair next to yours and began to methodically remove the food tubs, placing them on your lap and opening the lids as he pulled out a fork and napkins.

“Hope you still like this one,” he said as he revealed your usual order.

“I do”, you replied, your voice small.

“Good. Dig in.”

You began to eat slowly, feeling strangely self-conscious about your audience. Fortunately, he pulled out a tub of his own which took the focus off you. The two of you sat side by side and ate in silence.

“Thanks for this, Bucky,” you mumbled between mouthfuls.

“Anytime. Any news on Lou?”

“Should be ready for visitors soon”.

“Well, that’s good. He’s a tough old bastard.”

You both finished your meals and Bucky got to work tidying up the empty containers and old napkins and depositing them in the trash. You thanked him as he sat back down.

“Hey…thanks again, that was really thoughtful - but really, you don’t have to stay,” you shrugged, “you probably have a busy night”.

He shook his head, “nope. I’m wide open”.

He stared straight ahead and leaned back, his bulk squeezing up against the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean when you said, ‘I know how you get when you’re anxious?’” you asked him tentatively.

“Just…I know how you can spiral when you’re stressed. Figured you could use some company is all,” he casually as he moved his hair away from his face.

“T-thanks,” you responded, your throat dry, “I’m not really up to chatting much right now, though”.

He was nonchalant, “that’s fine”.

The two of you sat side by side, nothing said.

It was awkward at first, sharing this cold and sterile space with your ex, worries about Lou weighing you down. But then after some time…it was sort of…okay? He didn’t try to initiate any conversation; he didn’t show any signs of boredom – even though he must’ve been feeling it. Didn’t complain. Didn’t check his watch. He just sat and waited with you, his arms propped up casually on the armrests and his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. You were grateful that he’d heeded your request not to speak as you didn’t have the brain power to labour a conversation. You didn’t fully understand why, but him just physically being there was strangely comforting - as odd as that was to admit to yourself.

Eventually the nurse returned, her smile warm as she greeted you.

“Oh, you have a friend. Right on time, Lou is ready to see you now”.

You quickly got to your feet and dashed after her as she led you to Lou’s room. Bucky followed close behind.

Your heart sank when you finally saw him, covered in wires and tubes, his face suddenly much older than his years. You gasped, rushing over to his bedside.

“Hey, kiddo” he wheezed, a smile creeping over his face despite the obvious effort it required, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh God, Lou, I was so scared…I thought you’d…” you took his hand in yours, unable to say the words out loud as the tears started again.

You felt like you’d cave in on yourself from the anguish, but a steadying hand found its way to your shoulder from behind you. Bucky squeezed once, a small reminder of his presence, then pulled his hand away. It was grounding, helpful.

“Hey there hon, I’m doin’ okay”, Lou rasped as he weakly tried to grip your hand in return. “But I guess this is a good reminder to lay off the bacon, huh?” he chuckled before the effort caused him to wheeze.

You smiled faintly and patted his hand, careful to mind the IV by his fingers, “you gotta start taking better care of yourself, okay? No more greasy breakfasts at work…”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky behind you, “you brought company…”

“Oh, yeah”, you turned to gesture to Bucky, “he sat with me and brought me dinner while I waited”.

Lou nodded, a flash of something in his eyes you couldn’t place. “You takin’ care of her?”

Bucky nodded in return, “of course”.

Lou inhaled deeply, “well…alright, I’m glad she’s not been by herself”, he begrudgingly offered. “I wouldn’t want her out in the cold…so to speak” he said pointedly, a clear reference to that awful night one year before.

“Rest assured…that would never happen,” Bucky responded coolly. “But I understand your concern”.

You watched as the two men stared at each other, something resembling an understanding seemed to lay between them.

💔

You sat with Lou for as long as you could before the doctor shooed you and Bucky out, explaining Lou needed to rest. You promised you’d be back tomorrow.

“Oh hon…no. Don’t waste your time on an old man like me,” he teased playfully.

“Oh, stop that. You know I’m going to be here with balloons and grapes, the whole shebang…” you grinned, putting your coat on.

“Good to see you, Lou” Bucky chimed in as he shook Lou’s hand, “you’ll be fighting fit in no time”.

Unbeknownst to you as you were busy with your bag and coat, Lou used a finger to beckon Bucky to move closer. Bucky obliged, leaning forward so that Lou could speak to him. His words were hushed but clear.

“Hurt her again and I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Bad ticker or not. And I don’t care how many of your goons you set on me…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his expression betrayed no emotion, “understood”.

You turned, smiling obliviously at Lou just as Bucky stood back up to full height and cleared his throat. They both smiled back.

“See you tomorrow, Lou”.

“See you, kiddo”.

You left the room with Bucky trailing behind. As a small sob escaped your throat, his hand pressed firmly against your back. A small reminder that he’d shown up for you. He was there.

💔

[copinghex]

Family bonds | T.S

Summary: After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child. 

A/N: Ok, so as I previously mentioned, I edited some of my old stories and will be reposting one per week. This is the first selected!

"Do you want to sit?" Tommy whispered in your ear, your hand went straight to your belly, moving up and down, where you baby rests and patiently waits to be born.

"No, I'm fine, just take this gin away from me, otherwise I'll be tempted," you pushed his glass away, "are the cute kids working?" 

"The wives look more excited than the men, but yeah, four huge donations until now," 

"In less than two hours? That's a new record!" 

This was probably the best business idea you ever had. The inauguration ceremony of the Shelby Institute for orphaned children took place in a cozy room, with closed windows and lighted up fireplaces, the cold breeze freezing the bones of anyone who dared to attend without a coat.

Months later, spring came to warm your bones and put a self-giving feeling into Thomas Shelby's heart. In the middle of a boring, typical week, he arrived home planning to uplift the structure of the institute's building. 

He told you the idea during the night, with his hand resting on your pregnant belly and although he didn't tell you what made him come up with it, you could clearly see his line of thought.

Tommy could rarely afford nice things, there was no gentleness in survival and for most of his life, that was all he did. Finally, with his rise to new money, he could provide something he never had to children who look too much like him - comfort. Also, being seen as a charitable person would do no harm to the business.

The small change of plans you suggested put a smile on his face, instead of making a typical fundraising dinner, why not make an afternoon tea? The invitations encourage couples to bring their children, seeing those innocent little humans running around shall make them remember why to donate.

A mansion with a huge garden was rented for the event, maids were hired to look after the children and butlers served biscuits and hot cups of tea. For your surprise, the event had more children than adults, most couples - including you and Tommy - were outnumbered by their children. 

Your eyes ran through the garden trying to find your little ones, the younger one was the easiest, no place was safest than inside your own mama, but it was better to keep an eye on the other three. Marie Louise Adler, whose hair looked exactly like yours. The twins, Henry and William Shelby, except for the eyes, are small versions of Tommy, from the physical appearance to the mannerism.

Quickly, you found William trying to teach one of John's girls how to use a slingshot. A few steps away, Henry had a handful of biscuits and carried a toy car made of wood.

"Where is Loui-'' before you could ask, a collective ugh followed by a child's cry got your attention.

Louise was under a tree with her knees on the grass, the hem of her yellow dress covered in dirt and the left leg of her white stockings ruined, exposing her bruised knee. Tommy reacted faster than you, his hand slid through your waist as he ran in her direction. You quickly followed after, rolling up the sleeves of your dress.

He picked Louise up, she put her arms around his neck and seemed to calm down a bit. A maid tried to apologize for neglecting your little girl, but you were too focused on following Tommy inside to answer.

Curious eyes followed your trio while you crossed the hallway and once you were in a private room, Tommy tried to put Louise on a sofa, but she didn't want to let go.

"C'mon, love," he encouraged, making her lift her crying face from his neck and allow him to sit her down.

"What happened, Lou?" you took her hair off her face and her stockings off, watching out to not brush her bruised knee.

"I was trying to climb on the tree, but I got scared and slipped up," she brushed off tears with her tiny hands.

Tommy took a napkin and wetted it with gin, after kneeling in front of the girl, he asked, "And what did me and mama say, eh?" 

She looked down, ashamed of disobeying.

"You can only climb trees when me or daddy are around to help," you rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she pouted.

"Now I have to clean your knee, it's full of dirt," Tommy held her leg.

"No! It 's gonna hurt!" she pulled her leg back.

"Just a little, but don't think about it," you sat at her side, holding her head to your chest, "think about the delicious cake I'll get you when we get home!" 

"Can we get some too?!" William, who'd been peeking the whole scene from the door, suddenly yelled, Henry tried to shush him and ended up being dragged by the hand into the room.

"Boys! How long have you been there?" 

"It was William! He had the idea of following you!" Henry quickly accused.

"That 's not true! You were curiou-" 

"Alright, boys, it doesn't matter," Tommy silenced the argument before it started, playfully hitting the twins foreheads with the napkin.

While you were distracted by the kids, Tommy had taken care of Louise's knee and the five of you were finally allowed to go back to the event.

Louise insisted Tommy should carry her, Henry and William took your hands and the eyes of many guests softened to the vision of you walking together. 

Soon, the kids dispersed in the garden, Tommy got the attention of charitable housewives, interested in donating to the institute, you leaned on an empty table, sipping your favorite juice and smiling at anyone who crossed your way.

"Mrs. Shelby!" an old woman walked to you with a huge smile, "I must say, this is the most diverse charity event I attended in years!" 

 "Oh, thank you so much, misses…"

"Thompson, Aline Thompson, nice to meet you," she shook your hand. "you don't drink?" 

"Usually I do, but I'm pregnant," 

"Darling! That's lovely! Your husband is already so lucky to have two kids, now one more!" 

"Three," you corrected her.

"Pardon?" 

"Thomas and I have three children, Henry, William and Louise," 

"Well, if that's the case, I guess you're the lucky one, Mr. Shelby indeed treats the girl as if she's his," 

"Hm," you pressed your lips together. "may I ask who told you Louise isn't Tommy's?" 

"It's written in the guest list, Y/N Adler Shelby and Louise Adler, I'm sorry for Mr. Adler, I'm sure he was a good man," she smiled, "now, if you excuse me," 

Aline left you with teary eyes, how dared she speak about your family like this? But what if…? What if she was right? Did Tommy really love Louise? Did he see her as his daughter or an extension of you?

"Seven, Louise falling over had a good effect on them," Tommy held your arm, telling you about the new huge donations.

"Really? That's great, love," 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, just a bit tired," 

"I'll tell the driver to take you home," 

"No! There’s still a few hours to go,"

"Ada will take your place, most of the guests are leaving already anyway,"

"Oh, alright then," you drawled.

"Will you take the kids?"

"Yeah, I think," you looked around, searching for them, "just Louise, the boys look like they're having fun, can you look after them?"

"Sure." 

-

The way home was quiet, Louise had asked to rest on your leg and fell into deep sleep, Frances helped you to carry her to bed. After a well-deserved bath, you had put some foundation's papers in order so Tommy could add today's profit without any problem. Night was falling and all you could do was wait for the rest of your family to arrive.

Heading upstairs, your eyes fixed in a spot they usually didn't, the family painting. It took months of persuasion for Tommy to agree to pose and even longer for it to be done, since he only agreed to give away two hours of his agenda. 

Your heads leaned together in a sign of unquestionable affection, Louise sat in the middle, where your right and Tommy's left leg stuck together. William was on your left leg and Henry on Tommy's right, they were less than two years old and didn't get a characteristic Shelby haircut yet. All in all, you looked like a family, no one would dare to say otherwise, unless Aline Thompson.

The sound of the front door opening followed by the maid's heels told you Tommy arrived, you decided to wait in the stairs and he showed up alone.

"Where's Henry and William?" you asked with furrowed brows. 

"At Ada's, they wanted a sleepover with Karl," 

While you both walked upstairs, he had a hand on your lower back and you realized he didn't ask about Louise, the very first thing you did when Tommy arrived was to ask about your kids, Tommy didn't even bother, probably because Louise wasn't his.

Time passed quietly, Tommy took a bath and asked a few questions about the paperwork, you told him to add today's profit and nodded to whatever else he said. Night could have been good, or at least, peaceful.

He sat on the bed looking through his paperwork and his sudden warning made your jaw clench, "You have a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so be home when he arrives," 

"What for?" 

"To check on our girl," he answered without paying attention.

"How do you know it's a girl?" 

"This pregnancy it's different from the boy's," 

"Oh," you lay down, turning your back on him, "I'm glad you at least care about this girl," 

He sighed and you heard him writing something, a few seconds passed until he asked, "What did you say?" 

You didn't answer.

"Y/n, what do you mean?" he touched your shoulder, trying to make you look at him.

"Nothing, Tommy, nothing," 

"No, what the fuck you mean with this girl?" 

You sat up, taking a good look at his face before questioning, "How many children do we have, Tommy?" 

"Three and another one on the way," he harshly answered and you sighed in relief.

"This is what you say to everyone else, right? Not just to me," 

"Yeah, y/n, of course, why would you fucking ask that?" 

You teared up and Tommy's face softened, he cupped your face, catching some tears and patiently waiting for you to speak.

"You only have three, Tommy, the twins and this one," you rubbed your belly.

"Who said that?" he looked at you with disbelief.

"It's the truth," 

"Louise is my child,"

"You know she's not, I know it, you know it, and-"

"Y/n-" 

"Aline Thompson fucking knows it," 

"Who 's Aline Thompson?" 

"It doesn't matter, Tommy," 

"It fucking does, if there's someone around saying Louise isn't my child, then I have to know," 

"It won't change the facts." 

"Listen," he moved closer to you and cupped your face again, "Louise is my child, I'm raising her, she's a Shelby." 

"Then why didn't you ask about her when you arrived?" 

"I asked Frances, she told me she's sleeping since evening," 

"Oh," your cheeks heated up, ashamed of this huge misunderstanding. 

"Who's Aline Thompson?" 

"A stupid woman at the charity tea, she said I was lucky for you treating Louise as your own," 

"Lucky, eh?" he nodded, "I bet her husband has a deal with the Shelby Company," 

"No, Tommy!" you giggle.

"Oh, just a few pounds to lose,"

"Tommy! You're mean! Not that she doesn't deserve it," 

Hesitant knocks on the door made you stop laughing, you and Tommy switched a look before he got up and opened the door.

"I'm sorry to bother, Mr. Shelby," a young maid holding Louise's hands apologized, "but Louise wants to sleep with you," 

Too sleepy to speak, your daughter rubbed her eyes and walked past Tommy, climbing on the bed and laying near you. 

"Right, thank you-" 

"Oh, also, Mrs. Thorne called, the twins want to come home."

[wellofdean]

I read your post about Supernatural being queer somehow from season 1 and I have two questions.

1. Don't you think it straight-appropriates the word "queer" to say it just means "not normal"? That argument seems disingenuous to me, and a lot of us want representation, and to see that word applied to explicit depiction of queer sexuality, and it's a cheat that they don't. Queer studies did start as the study of queer sexualities and the experience of queer people.

2. Are you saying that the makers of Supernatural intended for it to be "flesh on queer bones"? Do you think they intentionally sat down to tell a queer story?

Those are good questions my anonymous friend. Thank you for asking. Here are my thoughts:

To answer your first question: no, I don't think it appropriates anything. Here's why: firstly, if we're talking about sexuality and gender, it's queer 101 that no one owes anyone a justification of their queerness, and not everyone who is queer is interested in labeling it or making it legible to you, and they have no obligation to do so, and not doing so doesn't make them any less queer. Furthermore, some people who are queer are not interested in sex, so what about them?

All of that together is why, for me, the entire queer project is much more deeply about non-compliance with hegemony, and specifically with hegemony around gender roles, sexuality and to put it under a big umbrella, patriarchy, than it is about who you fuck. Those things extend into so many other aspects of life that I think you can easily talk about "queering" a very wide range of topics, and possibly? ANY TOPIC.

You are responding to this post, I think, and in it, I made a choice to talk about family and hunting, and our heroes roles and characterizations in that, and did not talk about gender shenanigans or sexuality, because my point was that even before we get to anything to do with it, Sam and Dean are immersed in a queered world in a fundamental, structural way. That said, I assure you that if you go back into season 1 of Supernatural, you will find LOADS that could be said about gender and sexuality, too. As well as other things, and a particularly important area, as @ironworked pointed out in the tags, is blue collar/white collar class issues.

As I said, the depth of queerness in Supernatural is actually dizzying just in terms of the story's BONES to say nothing of how they flesh it out. Queerness is about deviation from the norm. It's about rebellion and disobedience against hegemonic systems for the sake of personal authenticity and love.

Think about Cas for a minute. Cas's whole story is that he rejects his role in a hegemonic heaven. He rebels for love, and that is pretty explicit as early as season 4 when he tells Dean "We're making it up as we go". Fellas, that is THE QUEEREST SHIT EVER even if he didn't do it for Dean, and like... HE DID IT FOR DEAN. Cas did not have to tell Dean he loved him for me to know it, and for Cas to be a deeply queered character. When he DID say it, I wasn't the least bit surprised he was in love with Dean, because seriously, we been knew. I was only surprised I got to have the immense pleasure of hearing him say it and looking at Dean's face while he took it in. Jesus. I will NEVER RECOVER.

This is my perspective on representation in Supernatural: It's excellent, and I relate to, and feel seen by it as a queer person. Nobody needs to get fucked on the maps table for me to do the math that this is a queer story. It is very, very, very thoroughgoingly canonically queer in so many ways, and not all of them are to do with sex. I think some fans will only allow it to be called queer if dudes make out in it. I am not one of those fans.

As to your second question, I think there is a wealth of evidence in the filmic oeuvre of Eric Kripke to suggest that as an artist and a writer, he is concerned or maybe even preoccupied with masculinity issues and issues around family, and around the way patriarchy fucks men up. So, yes. I think he knew what he was doing and he knew that queerness was part of the mix. For fucks sake, it's a family of men who hunt monsters. That is very fucking on the nose. Do I think he kicked off Supernatural in 2005 planning a 15 year operatic queer romance between Cas and Dean? No. I don't think anyone planned for it to go as long as it did, and it's a matter of record that some things were influenced by fan response, actors' chemistry, different writers and showrunners' preferences and etc. What I will say is that when they had a choice to "straighten shit out" or lean into the queerness, they fucking leaned in, nearly EVERY TIME. Like, it's pretty amazing how consistently they lean the fuck in.

I'll admit -- I wasn't watching it with those eyes the first time, and I didn't give it much real estate in my mind when I watched it as it aired from 2006 to the end, but the last three episodes reshaped it for me and made me angry, and also made me need to watch it all again, this time with an explicitly queer lens, and BOY HOWDY let me tell you this: the Supernatch rewatch journey is a wild and wonderful trip to Queertown. It is legit more difficult to argue that Dean is straight than it is to argue that he is queer. There is a full on CORNUCOPIA of story evidence to support that read and relatively little that convincingly counters it on the straight side, and that starts right at the beginning, when they bend pretty baby Dean over a police car in episode one, and he smirks insouciantly in his lip gloss. Do I think everyone involved knew how that looked? Sexy, submissive and a bit gay?

YES I DO.

[inkspiredwriting]

A Hargreeves Welcome

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Y/N stood outside the grand, imposing structure of the Umbrella Academy, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. She had heard so much about Five’s siblings, each one a unique force of nature, and now it was finally time to meet them. Five stood beside her, looking uncharacteristically anxious.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

They walked up to the front door, and Five pushed it open. The hallways of the Academy were just as she had imagined—grand, a bit dusty, and filled with an air of mystery. As they entered the living room, they were greeted by the sight of the Hargreeves siblings in various states of relaxation.

Klaus was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a fashion magazine, Diego was cleaning his knives at the dining table, Allison was reading a script, Luther was lifting weights, and Viktor was playing his violin softly in the corner.

“Hey, everyone,” Five announced, his voice a little louder than usual. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

All eyes turned towards them, and Y/N felt the weight of their scrutiny. She put on her best smile and waved. “Hi, everyone. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Klaus was the first to react, springing up from the couch with a wide grin. “Five, you didn’t tell us you were bringing home such a hottie!” He enveloped Y/N in a dramatic hug, twirling her around.

“Klaus, put her down,” Five said, rolling his eyes but smiling nonetheless.

Klaus set Y/N down gently, giving her an exaggerated wink. “Welcome to the madhouse, darling. You must have the patience of a saint to deal with our dear brother here.”

Diego smirked from his spot at the table. “So, how many timelines did he mess up to win you over?”

Y/N laughed, feeling some of her nerves dissipate. “Just the one, I think. Or maybe two. It’s hard to keep track.”

Allison stood up, crossing the room to give Y/N a warm hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N hugged her back, grateful for the genuine warmth. “All good things, I hope.”

“All good things,” Allison confirmed with a smile.

Luther put down his weights and approached, towering over Y/N with his imposing frame. “I’m Luther. If Five gives you any trouble, let me know, and I’ll straighten him out.”

Y/N laughed, glancing at Five. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Viktor set his violin down and walked over, offering a shy smile. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Viktor. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You too, Viktor,” Y/N replied, appreciating the sincerity in his eyes.

As they all settled into the living room, Klaus couldn’t resist continuing his teasing. “So, Y/N, did Five tell you about his first love?”

“Klaus...” Five warned, but there was no stopping him.

“You mean Dolores?” Y/N said with a grin. “Oh, he’s told me all about her. I’m just glad I don’t have to compete with a mannequin.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Five groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why did I bring you here again?”

Y/N patted his back, laughing along with the rest of them. “Because you love me, and you wanted me to meet your family.”

Klaus draped an arm around Five’s shoulders, grinning mischievously. “Yeah, Five. It’s all out of love. Just like how we’re going to tell Y/N all the embarrassing stories about you.”

“Oh, please do,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m all ears.”

Five sighed, knowing he was in for a long night of merciless teasing. But as he looked around at his family and saw Y/N fitting in so effortlessly, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite the embarrassment and the chaos, this was exactly where he wanted to be.

As the evening wore on, stories were shared, laughter echoed through the halls, and Y/N felt more and more at home with each passing minute. The Hargreeves were a handful, but they were Five’s family. And now, they were hers too.

In the end, it was Klaus who raised a toast, his voice uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “To family, old and new. And to Y/N, for putting up with our dear Five. Welcome to the madness.”

“To the madness,” Y/N echoed, clinking her glass with the others. She looked at Five, her heart full. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and she couldn’t be happier.

[ooctlt]

I think the etiquette of ask blogs is a forgotten art. what I'm saying is (imo) it's not that people don't want to play, it is they don't know HOW, and more importantly they don't understand that the game exists to begin with. obviously you do not have to teach people the rules because your time and energy is finite but idk. it feels like from some of your OOC responses that you assume people know the rules and are playing badly, but I genuinely think people (me) just don't know what you are wanting them (us) to do. and also they (i) don't know how to tell if they (i) are playing the game correctly.

An example I am genuinely confused about is, is inciting a "shut up" answer a signal that the game is being played correctly, because we are inciting a reaction from the character? or is a "shut up" answer a signal that we are playing wrong and need to do something different? I'm sorry. I really love your art and seeing the story unfold but I'm confused and I want to play and I don't understand how.

yeah ive had a couple people tell me this has been the first active askblog in a while and the concept of askblog etiquette has been forgotten- @thatneoncrisis and i made a diagram:

link to full-res image

a "shut up" reaction will hopefully show whether or not it's a closed path of exploration: if you have gideon sweating, going "pshhh its nothinggg" it means there is something worth exploring. if you have harrow slamming the door in your face, that is an advance that wont work on her

transcript under the readmore:

DEAD END QUESTION ANON: CAMILLA DO YOU THINK HARROW'S HOT?

"Please stop talking to me."

This question is BAD because it's BLUNT, INCREDIBLY PERSONAL and founded on INCOMPLETE KNOWLEDGE of their relationship.

NOTE that its not that shitty questions will NEVER be answered, its that 1) they have a LOWER chance of being answered and 2) they have a HIGHER chance of being made fun of in character

gideon: haha who thinks harrow is HOT

DECENT INCONSEQUENTIAL QUESTION ANON: CAMILLA DO YOU LIKE TO DO ANYTHING FUN WITH HARROW?

"Sure. We run a lot of errands together."

This kind of question may not advance the plot, as it is INCREDIBLY BROAD yet NONINVASIVE. They're good for quick 1-3 panel answers. May generally be met with a less EXCITING answer.

It might also be DIFFICULT TO ANSWER because a broad question could include MULTIPLE ANSWERS - asking "do you guys go out" could not be answered SUSTAINABLY, because i cannot draw all the places they visit

ANON: EVERYONE, WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CLOUD / WATER / MOLECULAR STRUCTURE / BONE / CAR / COFFEE BRAND/ BOOK CHARACTER?

me: "i have to do so much research"

NEAT QUESTION CAMILLA HAS HARROW EVER ASKED YOU TO DO SOMETHING WITH HER SHE WAS EXCITED ABOUT?

"Yes, actually. She once invited me to [REDACTED], I didn't know she liked that sort of thing."

This question is SICK AS FUCK because not only do you learn something SUBSTANTIAL about the characters, you have stumbled upon A NEW PLOT BRANCH, one that actively deepens character connections and their past within the world. It specifically remarks upon a MEMORY* rather than AN OPINION and will typically be LONGER.

Another good option is to PROMPT something following this:

ANON: CAMILLA, MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY TAKING HARROW OUT TO DO [REDACTED] THAT SHE LIKES BEFORE XYZ?

and this can then spiral onward…

*DM, ONE TIME I ASKED ABOUT A MEMORY AND I GOT A RUDE ANSWER; WHAT DID I DO WRONG?

It's not that this topic can never be spoken about, it's about WHEN you asked it and HOW you said it, or even WHO you asked.

Some topics, like the nature of HARROW AND GIDEON'S UPBRINGING are too recent for them to talk about, it has only been TWO YEARS since they left and there are SPECIFICS about the situation that the AUDIENCE hasn't discovered yet. There are things like GIDEON'S PARENTS that she CANNOT answer because she DOESN'T KNOW and answering multiple asks with I DON'T KNOW becomes repetitive and dull for both the DM and PLAYER.

BUT! She can learn! Over time, when the time is appropriate and feels the most natural for STORY PROGESSION. Think of it like a BAD ENDING in a visual novel. You START OVER and ask a DIFFERENT QUESTION, or approach it from a DIFFERENT ANGLE. If Gideon reacts poorly to someone congratulating her leaving BAD CIRCUMSTANCES, consider talking to her about the FUTURE. Instead of trying to pry at Camilla to see if she had an INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP with Pyrrha, try to ask about other things in that period of her life, like how they met or what caused her to move out.

FINALLY, if you'd like an ask to be answered out of character, your best bet would be to goto @notedchampagne and send it there. If you'd like an ask to be answered SINCERELY or you don't want SNARK, you can specify this in the ask, but know this blog may not be your thing.

[yuurivoice]

Saw a goofball post about ASMR Roleplay, romantic plots, narratives, etc. and so on.

Let me share some of my philosophy with you as someone in this game for 7 years, 150k subs on YouTube, and who turned this into a lucrative business for himself. I say all that not to flex, but to assure you that maybe I know a little bit about what I'm talking about.

Audio Roleplays, ASMR Roleplay, etc and so forth is not some sort of rigid, strict thing. If you believe that content in this niche has to adhere to strict rules, structure, and expectations, you've already entered into this with strange expectations because there is such a vast array of ways you can go about presenting this content.

Some of it is slice of life moments in time with an assumed relationships between character and listener. Before narrative audios started to pick up steam, or rather, a handful of folks (myself included) developed followings centered on original characters and stories, the vast majority of creators in this space were just doing snippets of experiences. And, in case you were unaware, that approach is wildly successful. Boyfriend Experiences, audio smut, etc. has a much wider appeal at this time because a listener can drop right in and enjoy it.

If you have somehow deluded yourself into thinking that every audio has to adhere to strict narrative rules, be defined by conflict, or things happening beyond whatever the vibe calls for, you're willfully putting yourself and the niche in a box. Which is fine, but seeing people piss and moan about it is strange.

My approach has been to blend narrative series along with one-shots. One-shots serve as super self indulgent audios that aren't tied to the narrative and allow listeners to engage with some of their favorite characters they fell in love with in the narrative without furthering the plot.

Sometimes I play the game, explore tropes and clichés that are popular for the sake of taking a crack at it. Because it brings in new listeners who then become fans of my narrative work and creates genuine supporters of my passion projects.

And ya know? It fucking works. It works really well. I can drop a very straightforward, stripped down comfort audio with Alphonse like I did today and move listeners to tears. And then we can continue on with BitterSweet when I'm good and ready. It keeps the channel running, keeps the audience engaged, and keeps me working.

The bigger point here is that creators should be able to approach their work as they see fit, without concerns about goofballs with strange expectations and standards dictating to them what is and is not valid. You wanna know what's valid? Creating shit that you like, that the people who support you like. However you achieve that is all good in my book.

Having some goofy ass superiority complex about how people play pretend with pretty voices is strange behavior. I'm proud that my community has never flung that kind of nonsense around, and I'm speaking on it to affirm that kind of stance for the folks who rock with me.

If you're a listener who has recently stumbled into this niche, I implore you to explore, listen to others, find what you like and enjoy it because you enjoy it. There are countless people making audio content these days and there's no wrong way to do it, never has been. There's something for everyone, and if someone tries to tell you otherwise, be wary.

I'm not about negative nonsense, not about tribalism or putting down one person over another. Lift up your faves and share why you appreciate them and their style. But petulant bickering and shitting on others because of something as trivial as audio content? Nahhhh. If I catch anyone spouting nonsense like that in my name, I try and snuff it out as fast as possible because that's not how my shit is built.

If you are someone who fucks with me and my work but has had some opinions like that, I implore you to chill because none of this has ever been that serious. I want people to enjoy what they want to enjoy because for the love of fuck, life is too short to try and grandstand over this silly little niche. Or please get all the way away from me and my people.

Deuces. ✌️

[void-my-warranty]

i love your writing so much! i’m not sure if you’ve answered this question before, but how did you develop your writing style? each sentence of your writing is always so captivating and keeps me wanting more. i love it so much!

Ooh this is gonna be a long one because I’m pretty much self taught and I don’t have published resources to explain what I do when I write.

1) Sentence flow within a paragraph.

Check out this paragraph from my first ever fanfic:

I drew a chair to the other side of the bed and sat in it, elbows resting on my knees. She smiled back at me. She was utterly captivating. Relaxed, happy, and half naked. I hoped she wasn’t a sexual drunk. I could find someone else to babysit her if it came to that, but I really was enjoying myself. It was a welcome experience after my night in the woods.

When I read this, it’s choppy. It’s a lot of starts and stops, and doesn’t flow well. That’s because there are too many single-comma and no-comma sentences in the same paragraph. For my writing style, I make my paragraphs have a variety of sentence structures within them, and most importantly sentences with two or more commas, like here:

You don’t do yourself the disservice of glancing towards Simon for permission. This isn’t about him, it’s about you. And besides, he already knows a lot of your kinks, because it was just one of many getting-to-know-you kinds of things that you talked about as the relationship became more serious. He’s always been interested in you, even the parts he can’t exactly experience firsthand.

0 commas, then 1, then 2, then 1.

I’m naturally a bare-bones writer who struggles to add words, so I had to force myself to figure out how to create 2+ comma sentences, and in the process of that, I found my writing voice. See that, “and besides,” there? That’s personality, and it also adds another comma.

Here’s another example:

He’s wearing black everything. Pants, shirt, jacket. All fucking enormous, fitted perfectly to his body and so expensive looking. The gratification that you were right bubbles up inside of you, and your face splits into a wide grin as your eyes crawl back to his face. Yeah, you’re about to be murdered, but it will be classy. It’ll be a beautifully maintained handgun with a top-of-the-line silencer. Or maybe a shiny piece of wire that he polishes every night, yanked tight around your throat while he murmurs in your ear, telling you exactly how much of an inconvenience you are. Oh yes, there are worse ways to go.

The “Yeah, you’re about to be…” and the “Oh yes, there are…” are both personality additions. They’re unnecessary to the actual story — and would probably be cut by an actual publisher — but to me, they help the reader bond with the protagonist, and allow the sentences to flow.

When I first started figuring this out, it was tedious. I was always counting sentence pauses in my paragraphs, making sure there was a variety, and that it flowed. Now I’ve had enough practice that it comes naturally.

I also use italics to emphasize the parts of thoughts that the protagonist emphasizes, and that helps to create personality as well. All of these tricks are much easier to do in Reader POV, so I highly recommend writing a little of that while you’re figuring out your writing voice.

Just for fun, I’m going to edit that first paragraph into something I’d write today:

Sighing, I drew a chair to the other side of the bed, ignoring the way her curious eyes followed my every move. I settled myself in it as casually as I could, with my elbows resting on my knees, and an impassive expression carefully schooled onto my face. Except, she just smiled back at me. It was one of those lovely, sunshine smiles that she rarely allowed herself to wear — captivating and sweet, like it would have a delicious taste if I were to lean forward and kiss it. She was relaxed, happy. Incredibly naked, of course, and I fervently hoped she wasn’t a sexual drunk. I could certainly find someone else to babysit her, if it came to that, but I really was enjoying myself. In a way, it’s exactly what I needed after that long night in the woods, trying to ignore the bite of frigid wind on my wings. Being in her presence made me feel a little more like a person again.

See how that became several paragraphs? It’s not long winded, it’s just far more communicative of the feelings and the thoughts of the protagonist. The 2 comma sentences create flow, and help make the 0 comma sentences land with more impact.

2) I don’t write what I don’t want to write.

If you’re a reader of mine, you’ll probably notice that I don’t write many physical descriptions or surroundings in my fics. Pretty much the only time I’ll add details is if it’s heavily plot relevant (he walks past the same bar that he’ll later find a body in) or sensory/emotional (the fuzzy blanket that feels good on your skin. The extra sparkle in their eyes. The air temp, which will mean that any shivers aren’t from cold.)

This allows me to save my descriptors for body language/voice changes, which is my thing. It’s what I like.

Granted, I understand there are writers who want to write all the details and the surroundings, and at times I can definitely appreciate that. It’s just not my writing style, and I find it largely unnecessary with fanfic, because the groundwork has already been laid by the source material.

3) Stream of consciousness creates a natural passage of time.

You could write:

He doesn’t say anything for several more minutes. Then finally he says, “Push me in.”

Or you could write:

Why isn’t he yelling at you? He’s just standing there stiff as a statue, staring at the ocean as if it personally offended him. You deserve to be yelled at, you fucked up bad, and you both know it. He’s probably thinking about it right now, imagining shoving your useless body off the line of rocks until you crash into the waves below.

“Push me in,” he mutters finally, making you whip your face in his direction, shock etched into your features.

One feels clunky and tells the reader that time has passed, and the other gives more perspective, and shows that time has passed. Two birds one stone, and we also got some detail about their surroundings in a relevant way.

I try to be strategic with a character's internal musings in order to pace the story, cutting them as small as possible in the middle of dialogue, and writing the majority when there’s silence or a pause, or someone is alone. I also find that this sort of pacing is less overwhelming to the reader, because it spaces out the plot points so they can be comfortably processed without taking the reader out of immersion.

4) I make my phrasing as accessible as possible by avoiding flowery language and niche words.

A simple, straightforward description is a powerful tool for keeping your readers in immersion and not making them stop for a second to think, “What does that word mean?”

So for example, I could have chosen the “correct” term here with “walking boot” or “orthopedic boot.”

But I decided to use more simple terms that described the nature of the thing, for accessibility.

“Arm’s fine,” Johnny says pointedly, clearing his throat to get your attention away from the man-candy. “Foot’s the pooched bit. Got this thing now.” He brandishes the clunky plastic boot on his foot that you hadn’t noticed before.

Most people can imagine that description with very little effort. I feel that my fics put the reader through effort in other ways (mysteries or complex dynamics or big emotions) and I think this is a nice way to balance it.

Another example is the way I write people making noises. In a lot of books and fics you’ll see “He hummed,” and you’re supposed to imagine someone going, “Hmm.” But to me that’s not ideal, because there are lots of different ways to hum, and also it doesn’t tell you anything about the intent behind that noise. So I tend to write something like, “He made a soft, nervous rumble in his throat,” because that’s something everyone can imagine with minimal effort, and it also communicates information about the character’s feelings.

So a lot of times it’s more work on my part to construct straightforward, tactile kind of descriptions for what the reader is experiencing, but it’s a strong aspect of my writing style. I’m a big believer in doing work up front so your readers can sit back and watch the movie.

Anyways, thank you so much for the question! I’m so happy my style resonates with you, and I hope you found something helpful in this! ❤️❤️

[mmmelahii]

Mel audiodrama rec list!

I'm gay sad and picky, read into that how you may - in no real order - heed each show's TWs

RED VALLEY!! LOVE THIS SHOW TO DEATH. Great beginner audiodrama, such excellent audio and writing and chemistry and woayfhhtm. Cried a lot. A good amount of existential dread. Ough

Woe.begone: lots of wbg brainrot as of late. Genuinely the most scary podcast ever to me - but only if you think about it. Don't get too attached to the ARG format of the first season. Its long, a mind fuck, and not for everyone. It took me 2 tries over a year and a half to lock in properly. Best consumed in a binge as to keep the plot threads fresh in mind. Great discord server <3 cried a lot too

The Grotto: Wbg has great music but Grottos hits different. It makes me want to teeth. I adore the writing personally, but be OK with your pov character sort of being a toxic person. He's trying he really is. This show portrays nuances of grief and mental health issues so well imo. Also great discord server <3

The Kingmaker Histories: Very very charming writing and world building. The world building is alternate history in a way that the fantastical elements occur to you naturalistically as you listen. Lovely lovely cast. Self aware about its tropes and excellently uses em to their advantage. Acknowledges a lot of the darker facets of history in an almost satirical manner to its absolute benefit

The Bright Sessions: Was actually my first full audiodrama! Was obsessed with it for a while. A good comfort listen imo, it's character chemistry is definitely a strong suit; a very human look at fantastical people

Fawx & Stallion: Narm-y but so genuinely charming. I absolutely love the casting choices, I think they're all so perfect for the characters. I'd almost call it a satire played straight, where the main characters behave in nearly caricature levels of eccentricity, but their consequences are shockingly grounded. It's pleasant! Can't wait for the next season

Ethics Town: I'm a philosophy sociology student, legally cannot not recommend. It subverted my expectations for what the format of the story would be tbh! In a neutral way, it just took me by surprise the first time. The world building is very fun and relatively unique, it gets you attached in a way that can really make your stomach drop

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: SO GOOD AND SO SLEPT ON!! I loved this show so much, its one of those that leave you craving for something to hit you the same way it did. One of my favourite anthology shows, mainly because of how interlinked the over all plot is to all of it, all while keeping the stories so fresh and invigorating. Listen to it!!!

SCP: Find Us Alive: The characters and cast are excellent; and I like how strained and tense the relationships between them get! It's not necessarily comfortable to listen to, but it's investing and leaves you on edge just like the characters would be. I like their personal lives breaching the strict professionalism of their work gradually. No prior knowledge of SCP really necessary

Jar of Rebuke: Really poignant in the alienation it portrays. I love the way Jared experiences the world and himself; his understanding of his own gender, the way that his innate abilities don't correlate to those of others, the way that he never feels quite like he's saying the right thing, it's all such mfmfjdndmdm good show. Unfortunately audio does sometimes tick off my sensory issues

Neighborly: I LOVE GOTHIC HORROR SO MUCH OH MY GOD. I love the narrative structure and the domestic horror of this show. The ambiance and the dreamy story telling all excellent. The one issue I have is that listening to it with headphones REALLY fuck with my sensory issues :((

Blake Skye Private Eye: Really slept on imo! The exaggerated noir setting and pacing are great, unfortunately the audio leveling does mess with my sensory issues :( is someone willing to lend me a better auditory system

Shelterwood: As aforementioned I LOVE GOTHIC HORROR SO MUCH. THE SUBLIME. THE DOMESTIC SUSPENCE. LOVE THAT SHIT. I really love the sound design here. Characters are so so real. Love them. Can't wait for more

Keep it Steady: Fuck fuck fuck man. I cried most of the way through heart brockoken this is so good I love it cant wait for more.

Speed round for podcasts I like to throw on for light hearted (to me) quick, queer fluff

- Love and Luck

- Kaleidotrope

- The Two Princes

- The Lavender Tavern

- Tales from the Low City

- Monstrous Agonies

[aihoshiino]

chapter 161 thoughts

Chapters Since The 143 Kiss Happened And Went Entirely Unacknowledged And Unaddressed Count: 18

Aqua Hoshigan Status: For the future

Never has an OnK chapter gone from It's Hoshinover to We Are Oshi no Back quite as hard and fast as this one. I have issues with this chapter in terms of what it implies about the story's overall structure and the fact that it sort of ruins 153-4 by association but this chapter's back half is so fucking good and the chapter itself works so well in isolation that much like 153-4, I kind of uhhh don't care about the structural issues because the story's heart is, for the most part, not just intact but beating harder and more passionately than it has in a long time.

To get what I don't like out of the way, the story seems to have settled on Super Evil Serial Killer Mastermind Kamiki as his final form characterization with some helpful Tsukuyomi exposition to just straightforwardly Tell Us things the manga probably should have spent some of the last 70something chapters Showing Us about Hikaru. The basic idea of Hikaru being some sort of serial killer so dedicated to upholding Ai's legacy that he kills women with the potential to surpass her was more or less always where I expected his character to land and this settling of his character does at least preserve what I think is the most important thing: that he genuinely loved Ai and his bent towards villainy only came after her death.

What I don't love as much is that this chapter seems to continue leaning into Uber God Manipulator Mastermind Kamiki like last chapter. I already talked at length about my issues with this framing in my previous chapter review so all I'll reiterate here is that the story's attempt to frame Hikaru as being equally or even more culpable for the actions of Nino and Ryosuke fall entirely flat to me, especially when the manga itself does such a pisspoor job of actually explaining how or why Kamiki was able to control and/or predict their actions to the extent that he supposedly did. And ESPECIALLY especially given that Nino and Ryosuke seem to have already been dangerously obsessed with Ai by the time they approached him.

In general, Hikaru's character is honestly just so inconsistent at this point that making any sense of his actions feels fruitless. If I really dig into what's going on, I can infer that maybe he fell into the same trap as Aqua by overcompensating for his trauma-induced helplessness by becoming overly controlling and guess that his fucked up trauma response to Ai's death combined with those terrible words Kindaichi gave him at Airi's funeral lead him down he road he's traveling now. I can even extrapolate that Aqua showing him the DVD message in 153-4 pushed Hikaru to this extreme and now that he has nothing to lose, he's lashing out at his children too - though, it should be noted, that the manga still hasn't actually established what Hikaru's culpability is in Nino's attempt on Ruby's life, outside of Aqua saying "well you didn't use your psychic powers to perfectly predict nino's actions so it's on you".

But like - this is all stuff I'm having to infer and extrapolate and guess, reverse engineering logic from our end point in an attempt to create a stable foundation for this characterization. The manga has done such a poor job of properly establishing Hikaru both as an antagonistic force and as a consistent character that I feel like I'm trying to assemble a coherent image from two different puzzle sets with all the fucking corner pieces missing and that's with Crow Girl looking into the camera and Explaining Him to me.

And listen, I am a bitch who LOVES to infer things. One of my absolute favourite pieces of fiction of all time ever is Umineko no Naku Koro Ni, a mystery story that literally does not contain any straightforwardly explicit, textual confirmation of the culprit's identity or motives because it believes so strongly that you, the reader, are smart enough and empathetic enough to put in the time and effort necessary to understand it regardless and it deeply, deeply values being able to give you that experience. But OnK feels less like it's intentionally encouraging me to think hard and enjoy the process of putting my head and my heart to work - it feels like it's leaving its homework unfinished and letting the reader do the actual hard work of sewing up the internal logic.

I probably won't talk much more about Kamiki this chapter cos I'd just be saying all this shit over and over but I really just am struggling to understand from a perspective of authorial intent what the vibe is even supposed to be. Like I mentioned in a previous ask, if this is where Kamiki's arc is reaching its conclusion then it means that the Movie Arc was essentially a whole-ass waste of time in and out of universe. Blech. Hate that.

Also, before I move on, I don't want to leave this just implied - making Kamiki explicitly a CSA victim and then ending his arc on Aqua (and implicitly the narrative) dismissing him as being too broken/corrupted to be saved is a really major misstep that I think represents a huge black mark on OnK's handling of CSA as a topic. The idea of an eternal defilement or an unfixable core wrongness in the self is already something real life CSA victims struggle with in the process of unpacking their trauma and having our likable and supposedly morally superior protagonist espouse this unchallenged in a work as prominent and relevant as Oshi no Ko is irresponsible bordering on dangerous. It's incredibly disappointing that after all the care Aka and Mengo seemingly took in handling this topic that it was whiffed so badly at the last second.

ANYWAY!!! Now all the beef's been dealt with, we can cleanse our palettes and move onto everything else I liked which was… basically everything else in this chapter!

Admittedly, Aqua's overall arc is still suffering from us being kicked out of his head from like 123 onwards for no real apparent reason and while 150 was a welcome refresher on where he's at in this part of the story, it still feels a bit like the story is prioritizing preserving the surprise factor of its twists over making these surprises feel earned. Compare it to volume 1 - you are basically told exactly what is going to happen to Ai, especially in the manga when Saitou and Gotanda outright say as much - but her death is still incredibly impactful and upsetting. I think this chapter is very effective, but could've been a lot moreso if we'd spent more time in Aqua's head leading up to it.

THAT SAID… If the intention of keeping us out of his head was to recontextualize Aqua's behaviour across the past ten or so chapters in this new light, I don't hate it as much as I might have. I initially took issue with what felt like the story off-screening and not addressing the resolution to Aqua's suicidal ideation so whipping back around to prove that it was still very much present puts some particular Aqua moments over this past volume into a very different light. As some people pointed out, Aqua missing Kana's pitch - literally dropping the ball in responding to her feelings - and his wide-eyed look of alarm in 151 seemed very ominous omens for the success of her confession and that beat of him covering his face when Kana approves of his dream… very incheresting knowing Aqua was still struggling with 'love or revenge' at this point.

Most interesting of all to reconsider is Aqua breaking down in tears in Miyako's arms in 155 when she addresses him as her son for the first time. At the time it read like catharsis but now I can't help but wonder if this was Aqua grieving for something he desperately wants but thinks is out of his reach.

i do have to say though. i get the general vibe of this plan and think it works fine as the apex of aqua's self-sacrificial protectiveness for the people he loves but how is being the daughter of a serial killer somehow any less scandalous for her career than being the sister of someone who killed one dude. does aqua think they just won't notice that kamiki happens to be their biodad or something. wasn't that the whole point of the movie. goofy ass plan.

What really saves this whole scenario is the emotions at play, though. This really does feel like Aqua at his most Aqua in a really long while and this chapter has so much love and respect for his life as Aqua and the bonds he has formed as a result. The dreams Aqua lays out are so agonizingly simple, too - he wants to pursue the career he finds rewarding. He wants to date the girl he likes. He wants to accept Miyako as his mom and Himekawa as his brother and to make things right with Akane after hurting and using her. He wants to see Ruby achieve her dream and be there to support her when she does.

But Aqua's always considered his dreams impossible, hasn't he?

I fully admit; I got spoiled with the full page spread of Aqua stabbing himself way in advance of the chapter and initially hated it as a twist. But with the full chapter as context and the sheer weight of Aqua's longing to just fucking live and find joy, it's not just effective but absolutely gutwrenching. It is the synthesis of Aqua's series-long battle to choose love or revenge and it resonates perfectly because it has never been one or the other for him - Aqua's revenge has always been rooted in the fact that he loves others so wholly and completely and hates himself so utterly that he thinks sacrificing himself to preserve their futures is the only path for him to take. It's the culmination and final release of the suicidal ideation Aqua has been dealing with since he was four years old and like Ai's tragedy before him, there's a horrible sense that maybe there really was no other way this could've gone.

Aqua being the character who actually takes the knife also firmly cements him as Ai's narrative echo in the text which has me barkin and howlin because it's what I've been saying all this time. Not just that, but so many of Aqua's expressions in this chapter pointedly and deliberately echo Ai's after she was stabbed. Not just that, but Aqua's achingly simple dreams echo Ai's own heartrendingly simple regrets - all the two of them ever wanted was to be happy with the people they love.

This also reframes the story's prior establishment of Ruby as paralleling Ai and seems to place the twins in the position of echoing not Ai in her entirety but Ruby as 'Ai of B-Komachi' and Aqua as 'Ai Hoshino'. This was actually something I outlined in one of my very first meta posts on the series, but I think making it more specific to 'Ruby as Ai the idol' and 'Aqua as Ai the human', this actually gives Ruby's arc in relation to Ai a bit of breathing room. Don't get me wrong, everything I've said about her post-BH writing being underbaked and inconsistent is still the case, especially when it comes to how confused the story is on whether Ruby is her own idol or New And Improved Ai 2.0 but giving it less ground to cover helps in terms of her writing no longer being spread quite as thin.

Speaking of Ruby, that beat of her seeming to react or sense something is up the moment Aqua takes the stab. 'Something happened to my loved one far away and I just Feel It' is a trope I'm always a sucker for and I really dig it here.

"The public don't care about the truth, so let's tell them a lie" is such a crazy hard sentiment to go out on too. Holy fuck.

There go our boys…!!! Quite a few people predicted they might go over the edge when Aqua showed up in his Mephisto fit (Mefitsto) and I'm interested to see if we get any parallels to the ED's imagery in the next few chapters. Overall, though, I'm really excited for where things are going - I don't think Aqua will die, but I do have some theories about what might happen. I can't think of a more traditional misogi purification experience than the middle of the ocean in late December, after all…

No break next week! Woohoo! While the delay of episode 12 means we won't be getting them on the same day, that is the same week S2 of the anime will be concluding and Aka does like lining up his bombshells with the anime. So who knows what we'll see.

seriously tho aqua. everyone already knows kamiki is you and ruby's biodad. HOW IS THIS ANY BETTER THAN HER BEING THE DAUGHTER OF A SERIAL KILLER AS IT ALREADY STANDS

[cupids-chamber]

MEETING LEONA'S FAMILY, he's never quite enjoyed the idea of you meeting his family, but now you'd finally get to meet your partners family members!.. surely everything will end well...?

GENDER NEUTRAL READER | [ Fluff / Un-edited ]

Sunset Savanna was much more prettier then you had expected, the beautiful and well thought out designs and structures, the many different kinds of beast-men and some humans, living their day to day life despite the wretched heat of the Savanna—You couldn't quite tell why your partner was so against the idea of you coming here for a visit, and meeting his family as well! The palace was much more different—lavish, then you had expected, it was lovely to say the least, the intricate corridors, the beautiful surroundings and location in which the grandiose living quarters were made, it was a palace fit for the Royal family…

You tried your best when greeting his family, Leona was around and though he told you not to be so uptight and more or less formal—"Listen, if ya' stress it, you'll trip and cause a scene, and I don' like it when you're embarrassed and pouty"— You couldn't help but feel the need to maintain some sort of elegant behaviorisms—Maybe it was because you wanted to leave a good first impression, or it could be the fact that you're meeting with the literal King and Queen of Sunset Savanna… It was probably the latter, after all, even if Leona was your partner and even if you did truly lik—love him—Trying to get into someone's families good graces, is much more difficult then it seems.

Not to mention, your partner always seemed.. nervous? You couldn't tell really, but it was easy to read that Leona didn't really prefer or like the idea of you meeting his family.. You are more then well aware of his sour relationship with his brother—Which may or may not be one-sided, but it does provide some ground as to why he'd dislike you visiting so much…. But even if you were nervous, you couldn't help but anticipate the idea of meeting his family..

The moment the door opened, Cheka came jumping—he was quite excited… well not necessarily to see you, but more or less he was excited to see his uncle back at home again…. Though when he noticed you, he quickly pulled you into a hug as well.. It was adorable… but Leona probably didn't feel the same way.

Contradictory to all your expectations, Leona's family was sweet beyond your wildest dreams—They treated you as if you were one of their own, telling you cute and cliché stories about Leona, when he was a child... Scolding him softly when he tried to poke in on the conversations… Wait.. They've heard about you before?.. Well you know Leona's not really the type to open up about how he feels, and what not, he's not one to really discuss about you so openly.. but the fact that he did made you happy beyond imagine.

It felt nice, you wouldn't lie… Ever since coming to Twisted Wonderland—way back.. When you were first transported to Night Raven College, you had to come to terms with the idea that your friends, family, relationships, and connections are basically nonexistent here… and although you've made many wonderful friendships here… You've always lacked a sense of familial love—Sure, your connections with your friends maybe thicker then blood, but it felt nice… Having and feeling that familial love and comfort again.

You're pretty sure Leona had noticed the shift in your mood, the way your smile cracked into a more genuine and happy smile, in the corner of your eye, you could see the small grin plastered onto his lips..

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[tonati143]

Anders rant

Lowkey, I need to talk about this and Im sure other Anders fans have probably talked this to the ground.

But I feel like Anders suffered so badly at the hands of the creators and its both heartbreaking and the largest reason I love him so much. We see him, easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom, and he is not handled with nuance by either fans or anti’s because the writers never even gave room for that nuance.

You either are hate him or you love him, because there was never an option presented that allowed for a grey area.

Lets talk about easily one of the most popular options (and mirror to Anders), Solas. He easily does so much worse for even less of a reason. What he tries to do in Veilguard, what he did in Inquisition. If I remember correctly, bro gives the anchor to Corypheus bc he couldn’t understand it and thought bro would fix it for him.

If this would have been Anders, there would be outrage.

But because Solas has the benefit of writers that love him in both games, he gets the benefit of getting a grey area. There is not nearly as much hate, no one sits down to talk about how secretly he is the cause of every problem here.

I cant help but wonder what Anders did to lose out on such nuance. Cullen, one of my favorites, receives that nuance, when we are well aware what can happen with his story line if we dont play our cards right in Origins and DA2.

To have a writer that basically wants you dead is so crippling.

There is no nuance, there is no forgiveness. Even the route where your Hawke doesnt stabby stab him is made to look like you made the wrong choice. I was lucky, my Hawke in inquisition does not paint Romanced!Anders as a monster, my Hawke is much more forgiving and speaks of him as someone who needs to be taken care of. But Ive seen other people talk about how their Hawke speaks of Anders.

We lose out on Awakening!Anders in a way that almost doesnt seem natural. It is like we were given a completely different character. One is capable of facing trauma, and I would even say having to give your body to a spirit holds some form of trauma as well, while maintaining core parts of their personality. It wouldnt have hurt to show us bits of that previous Anders once in a while.

Its hard to look at really, because there are things that he says in DA2 that gives us insight to what is going on in the chantry, things that gives us insight to why he is going through such lengths. But because everything is structured around the idea that you are supposed to hate him, no one ever really acknowledges him in game or in the fandom.

I saw on a comment a few days ago that states that Anders tried so hard to be heard, to have his stance listened to but throughout the game almost everyone shrugs him off. No one takes him seriously. And yes, he can be obnoxious about it sometimes, but if I put myself in his shoes, I would also be talking and talking about it until someone acknowledges me. In smaller cases where I would have things to say in places like highschool and everyone would ignore me, I would find myself repeating it again until someone would tell me “yeah, we heard you already”. Its in a way where I understand what it feels like, to have something so important to say and to be pushed to the side, I understand what Anders feels in party banter in a way that cant be said outloud without being questioned if I agree with his decision towards the Chantry.

He could have been perfect, a way to start a conversation where we ask ourselves, at what point are extreme measures acceptable? At what point can we consider what a person did to be necessary or unnecessary? Would anyone have listened to the cause if that measure hadnt been taken?

Unfortunately, its answered for us, it ends the conversation before we can even have it. It tells us what is supposed to be the answer. It tells us it is wrong, it tells us that this is a black and white conversation. What could have been a legitimate substantial conversation cut short because of their efforts to make the fandom hate Anders as much as they do.

And I mourn that ever since 😔

[sly-s-n0nfusion]

Sly's personal ✨Octopath rankings✨

So I've been into Octopath since the year it came out as a franchise basically and I recently finished the second game so I felt like ranking both games' characters and stories based on my likings. Remember that all opinions are valid and if I didn't enjoy your favorite character or story as much as you did it's fine :) also, there aren’t characters or stories I actually disliked with two exceptions so I’m mostly being kind- but honest.

May do spoilers so I'll put them under a cut

Ot1

Stories

Olberic - His story has to be my favorite because of its impeccably functional structure and climax. I am a sucker for redemption stories and I think they nailed every chapter of it. They even made me like the arena chapter even though I'm not a fan of tournament arcs. It's a very well-executed emotional story and it had me hooked since the beginning (also loving the “plot twist” that his final chapter boss is NOT Erhardt, which is what everyone is expecting since chapter 1)

Cyrus - A compelling mystery story with some plot twist I liked and actually interesting pieces of lore in it. What I liked the most about it (if we ignore Therese's blatant deus ex machina moment in his ch3) is that you can't really tell what will happen when you go into one of his chapters. Also has probably the best ch4 with some of the rawest lines ever against Lucia

Alfyn - Loved his chapter 3 to death because of the moral ambiguity and also has one of the best side characters (Ogen). Golden boy has to doubt everything he knew in his life and I love that. Has kind of a slow start though

Ophilia - While I think ch2 could be executed much better and made less boring, the circular structure and moral of her story is amazing. The emotional ch4 almost made me tear up

H'aanit - Cute interpretation of a "pupil has to find his mentor" story and has some epic moments like chapter 3. Not much more than that but it was still really enjoyable (bonus mention for Susanna, one of the best npcs)

Primrose - Kinda compelling revenge tale, except that it ends in the most unsatisfying way possible. Has some nice ideas but I felt so empty and broken at the end of her ch4 because she too is empty and broken

Tressa - Not a fan of the "coming of age stories" but I enjoyed her rivalry with Ali and her friendship with Noa, as well as Leon's backstory. No hate, just the more lighthearted stories are not really my cup of tea. Apart from those, it found it pretty boring and probably has the most anticlimactic final boss ever

Therion - The one story I really didn't like because of... many reasons. Like, it really had potential with the whole Dragonstones thing and everything but they executed it in the worst way possible. Also I hate how they tried to make him trust people again thanks to some questionable people like Cordelia and Heathcote... it just didn't feel right and left me asking myself but why though so many times

Characters

Cyrus - I do love every high intelligence - low wisdom character, bonus of they're a dork and kind of naive. Could write a whole essay about him so just know he won my heart he’s been my blorbo for what 3 years now? Almost 4

Olberic - Another trope I love is grumpy and probably depressed characters who just have a heart of gold inside and use their strength to protect the people they love so there you have it. They did a great job of delivering the emotional baggage in his internal monologues

Ophilia - I love how her character gravitates around the concept of love, loss and family. She's so dear to me

H'aanit - I like her view of the world and her stoic personality but I must say that for a main character, her introspective side could've been explored more

Alfyn - Sunshine boy who feels too much. I do like men who are not afraid of crying in front of others

Therion - a bit of a lone wolf stereotype- but I like his dry and sarcastic attitude when he talks to the other members of the party

Tressa - I like that she's a bit hot-headed and I like her enthusiasm. Definitely a character who shines more when she's with other characters though

Primrose - I think they messed up a bit with her characterization sadly because I can't really tell how the real Primrose is supposed to be even after ch4. She's often portrayed as an overly-flirty femme fatale even though it's probably trauma response and often says some... questionable things to the other members of the party in her travel banters, it's hard to get her true personality right. When she's angry, she kinda comes off as cold and distant, too. I think the writers could've done a better job with her

Ot2

Stories

Castti - Hands down the best Octopath Traveler main story ever imo. It was perfect from how the emotions were delivered to the compelling plot, to the climax in her chapter 3 and the bittersweet ending in her chapter 4. So heartbreaking and has a great attention to details, as well as amazing side characters. Perfect under every aspect and I loved the “horror rpg” vibe to it

Osvald - Amazing revenge tale (and kinda mimicking The Count of Montecristo), much more effective than Primrose's and also more heartbreaking and with an ending that's a bit more satisfying (even if the last chapter is definitely the weakest one and could've been handled better for such a good story). Cool plot twists at the right times an a villain that's actually Rotten to the Core (if we ignore the ridiculous laugh Harvey has). His chapter 1 was probably the best Octopath Traveler chapter 1 narration-wise and had me almost crying at his chapter 4 boss

Throné - I wasn't expecting her story to be this good in the slightest but the "getting out of the mafia" tale is well-executed and has some nice side plots for its side characters, as well as some quite shocking twists near the end. Her chapter 1 is also super good and has some pretty good dialogues.

Temenos - I have mixed feelings towards this one because it had so much potential but it definitely needed more time to be done correctly. The mystery plot feels kinda rushed at times (especially in chapter 3 because I think that one is kind of a narrative mess like why is everything happening SO QUICKLY) and one fatal flaw: Kaldena's backstory not being addressed well enough. She is really a character who needed to pop out more in his story. In the end it's probably a matter of pacing but it does have some real big wasted potential. Also another story that like Primrose's leaves you with a really bitter aftertaste except this time it's actually fitting for Temenos' character

Ochette - .....I'm sorry guys this story is literally Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire for a good 70% of it. Which doesn’t make it necessarily the worst story but it’s not original either. What I liked though is that it has some real good first and final chapters that got me kind of emotional and also kinda creeped me out. The side "anti-racism plot" could've been articulated better narratively but that's what we got in the end so. Also big wasted potential.

Hikari - I am not a fan of stories in which by chapter 1 you already know how they're going to end and Hikari's was exactly like this. I quite enjoyed the arena chapter and the chapter in Stormhail as well, and some parts of it were very cinematic. Not much more than that

Partitio - DISCLAIMER for the next 2 stories: again, I am not a fan of lighthearted stories because of personal taste, nothing else. I want the drama lol. This is why this one was not my cup of tea. I liked the narrative pace of chapter 1 but after that one it just kinda goes a little overboard with the crazyness idk it felt kinda weird to have a bulldog, a jobless guy and a train as bosses. What I loved were the "scent of commerce" side-stories though because it was really fitting to the time period the game is set in to have the merchant traveler interested in financing new inventions and machines. Also not that compelling overall

Agnea - Guys I'm sorry but this one was a big no for me. Legit had me really bored most of the time (especially didn't like the musical parts and her dialogues-only chapter 3 oh god) and never really got me hooked. I liked how cinematic her final boss battle was though and big w for the lesbians in her story I guess

Characters

Castti - Loved her caring, yet sarcastic attitude. She was such a fun and interesting character to be around (if we ignore how many times the travelers insist on calling her “mom” because she is just so much more) and has traits to her that left me quite surprised

Osvald - I love that for once we have a character that's not always nice to the other party members. I like his sharp tongue and atypical behavior, and him going nonverbal at times. A really interesting take on the scholar character I appreciated a lot (also dilfs lover here sorry not sorry)

Temenos - Mixed feelings for Temenos, again, because he does kinda sound like certain anime characters from my childhood but he is a fun character. Sly, snarky, diffident and secretly very broken inside is always a winning combination

Throné - I liked her a lot. I like the contrast between her kind personality and the gruesome job she's forced to do, and that she wants to redeem herself from everything she had to bear since she was a kid. I love her soft side and that she wants to be the good person she is

Partitio - Alfyn, but better. I can say I'm a fan of his over the top humour and attitude and his kind, generous heart

Agnea - Fun girl! I like her bubbly personality and also that she is stubborn and determined. She’s not a deep character but she is still fun

Ochette - I think her character had wasted potential. Even though I agree that she's fun and quirky, they didn't do a great job of portraying her as part of another whole species because they really kinda just made her personality rotate around liking meat. Also didn't really like how unnecessarily infantilized she was rip but she is still cute and fun

Hikari - .......Hikari likers I'm sorry. Oomfs who are Hikari likers if you’re reading this just know that I think your tastes are valid and I'm the one in the minority because everyone loves Hikari, so sorry for what I'm about to say but he kinda was what ruined his own story for me, as well as being the only traveler I actually dislike. I didn't like his teeth-rotting sweet dialogues and his whole character rotating around the concept of friendship. I didn't like that his one (1) flaw is him being possessed by a demon because of his cursed blood. He's too perfect. Therefore to me he's too uninteresting. Sorry!

Peace ✌️