#i can’t articulate it and someone probably has better

[pealeii]

current obsession is STILL in my life

[rachalixie]

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

[writing-for-marvel]

Withdrawal

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 2 | Series Masterlist | PART 4 > >

Summary: You wait for Bucky to call.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, some angst and self doubt, references to sex, references to Bucky having a traumatic past

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Will he call? Won’t he call? Let’s find out! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky stares down at his phone and sighs.

He wants to call you, genuinely, so why is dialling your number so difficult?

Perhaps it’s too soon, is what he tells himself. It hasn’t even been a full day since the end of your date, calling now probably makes him look desperate.

Should he message you? Tell you that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you all day? Ugh, no… that seems extremely forward for someone he’s only been on a single date with, regardless of if it’s the truth.

There’s never been anyone whom he’s connected with enough to warrant a second date, let alone have him promising to call. He’s completely out of his depth, drowning in a sea of anxiety and no one has taught him how to swim.

Bucky knows he’s overthinking, but you make it hard to think clearly. You have his brain short circuiting, reforming synapses so that all his thoughts are rerouted to the same thing: you.

Turning his phone off, he sets it down beside him. Just because he isn’t calling straight away, doesn’t mean he won’t at all. It’s probably better to wait and not seem super eager.

Or is that counterintuitive? If you enjoy someone’s company, should you let them know so you can see them again as soon as possible?

Fuck, why is this such a daunting task? He’s never had an issue with talking or flirting with anyone before, it seems to come naturally to him. And yet the thought that he’ll say the wrong thing, and fuck up whatever it is between the two of you is making his stomach churn with prickling nerves he’s never experienced before.

Perhaps he’ll find the courage to call tomorrow.

* * *

“You seem distracted, what’s on your mind?” The familiar voice from the driver's seat of the ambulance pulls Bucky from his daydream.

You, is what Bucky thinks. You are constantly on his mind. Him and his best friend Steve are half an hour into their shift and you have not left the forefront of his mind in that entire time.

It’s like he’s in a trance.

“There’s this girl from the hospital…” Bucky trails off, unsure how to articulate exactly how you’ve bewitched him since meeting not even a week ago.

The night before last wasn’t just another hookup. At least, not to him.

“I’m gonna need a little more information than that Buck, there’s been quite a few girls of yours, especially from the hospital.” Steve laughs, but Bucky’s chest tightens at the insinuation that you’re just another fling, even though Steve doesn’t know any better.

“Two nights ago we went on a date, it ended up back at her place.” This is probably not news to Steve - he’s heard many stories about Bucky’s one night stands which would have started exactly like this. But there is one huge difference this time around. “And then I told her I’d call.”

“You’re thinking about a second date with her? She must be something special.” Bucky chuckles under his breath. Yeah, you really are something special. So fucking special.

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, funny, witty. When she was treating that little girl from the train derailment she was so good with her, kind and patient. I don’t know how to describe it, we just click. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to feel more than physical attraction for someone but with her it just happens, I can’t stop myself.”

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but Bucky’s already addicted to you. He’s only had one fix, but he’s already showing symptoms of withdrawal. Every second apart feels like an hour, craving your company and the rapture firing in every neuron of his body when you’re in his presence.

“Look at you actually falling for someone.” Steve teases, without even knowing the full extent of how enthralled Bucky is with you. “So when are you seeing her again?”

Silence fills the front seat of the ambulance when Bucky can’t answer the question.

“Bucky, you have to see her again! Listen to how you’re talking about her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually speak about wanting to see someone again. You need to call her.” Steve stops at a red light and looks over to Bucky in the passenger seat. His best friend knows him better than perhaps he knows himself but doesn’t have the same obstacle with letting people in as Bucky does.

“That’s easier said than done.” Bucky can’t mask the dejected tone in his voice, and Steve recognises the crestfallen hang of his head, knowing exactly what he means without voicing it aloud.

“I know you've been through a lot in your life Buck, you’ve built walls up to prevent any more heartbreak…” Steve starts, but Bucky doesn’t need yet another reminder of his tragic backstory.

“Alright Mr I minored in psychology, I get your point. I’m damaged goods and don’t let people get close to me.”

“It’s just a second date, Buck, you aren’t asking for her hand in marriage. Just see where it goes.” Steve makes it sound so easy. Most people wouldn’t get so stressed about something they would consider as minor as a second date, yet Bucky feels like he’s about to expose the most intimate parts of his soul to someone for the first time.

“But I don’t want to hurt her. I know nothing about dating or being in a relationship.” Bucky pauses - the fact that he’s even considering something as substantial as a relationship with you punches him in the gut. He’s never wanted that with someone before. “And I don’t want to get hurt myself.” Because all Bucky has known is relationships breaking down. To him romantic relationships are synonymous with pain and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

“You’ll never know if you never try. I know you think letting someone in will lead to heartbreak, but what if it’s the opposite? What if by letting this person into your heart you finally find love and contentment?” Bucky has never allowed himself to imagine a life where that is a possibility - opening himself up to that prospect sounds like a recipe for more suffering. Besides, he’s been damaged goods for a long time, he’s sure there’s no one who would want to put up with him anyway.

“You really are a hopeless romantic.” Bucky comments, trying to avoid the questions Steve is raising, and divert the topic of their conversation.

“I want you to be happy, Buck. You’ve never afforded yourself that courtesy.”

Though his experience screams at him to run in the opposite direction, that this would be a horrible decision leading to further pain, Bucky finds it hard to believe someone as sweet and good-natured as yourself would ever hurt him intentionally. Even if there is only a slim chance that he doesn’t completely fuck this up, given Bucky cannot stop thinking about you, he supposes it’s worth a shot calling you.

“Well, maybe it’s finally time I do.” Bucky mutters under his breath.

* * *

You’ve been checking your phone periodically throughout the day to se if you have any new notifications from Bucky, but each time your phone lights up, a new wave of disappointment floods your chest.

You wonder if the notion of actually calling you, or simply messaging, has even crossed Bucky’s mind once since he left your place about 36 hours ago, or if he already knew it was an empty promise at the time he made it.

“Heard anything yet?” Wanda asks hopefully, but you shake your head in response. The first thing Wanda asked during your next shift together was how your date went with Bucky - between treating patients you described the picnic Bucky set up on the riverbank and (in slightly less detail) the euphoric night you shared when you made it back to your place.

“I’m stupid for actually believing he’s going to call, aren’t I?”

“…No.” Wanda offers after a brief hesitation which tells you more than the single word does. Sensing your regret in asking, she continues on. “Sweetie, only you know the connection you share, I can’t speak to that. If you feel like there’s something special there and he promised to call, then you have every right to believe him.”

Perhaps you’re being foolish, you should know better than to hang your hopes on a man who is notorious for being a fuckboy, but you really thought Bucky was being genuine when he promised to contact you. That the blissful night you shared, and the waves of ecstasy which melded into a flood of pure pleasure, meant more than just a one night stand.

Or at least it did to you.

“Just because he’s never pursued more than a first date with other people in this hospital doesn’t mean he isn’t now, or isn’t with you. Sometimes it just takes the right person, that could be you.” You take some comfort in the sincerity of her tone, but the voice in the back of your mind reminds you of what Wanda alerted you to prior to your date: no one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

“You’ve changed from giving me no hope to giving me false hope, Wan.” You joke, trying to brush off the conversation and not reveal just how heartbroken you’ll be if Bucky ghosts you, even with Wanda warning about his ways.

Internally you remind yourself that it’s only been a day and a half and to not be too mad at him, yet. Perhaps he intends to call, but hasn’t gotten around to it, though you’re pretty sure you’re only telling yourself that to stop the perpetual ache in your chest rather than truly believing it.

“He promised he would call, that’s not false hope.” Wanda advises, shooting you a look of encouragement as you both complete paperwork for your respective patients.

At that moment, the doors to the ER swing open and none other than the paramedic you were just speaking about walks in wheeling a patient.

You hate how good he looks, long chestnut hair framing his face and those dazzling blue eyes you’ve dreamed about shine from all the way across the room. He’s unfairly attractive, and he walks into a room like he knows it too.

Him and his partner consult the head nurse of the ER, who, after examining her clipboard for a moment, points towards your direction, making your stomach flip.

Steel blue eyes meet yours and for a moment your entire world stands still. The sounds of the busy ER fade away and even the presence of Wanda beside you dissolves into non-existence when his eyes find you and a smile overtakes his features. That damn cheeky smile which makes your knees weak.

He truly is infuriatingly beautiful.

“Hey.” Is all you can think to say as they approach, a lump in your throat forming which would prevent you from voicing any more words if your brain could think of any other than how strapping and handsome he looks in his uniform.

“Hi.” Bucky responds softly with a dreamy smile, eyes lingering on yours for a long beat before turning away. How could someone who looks at you with such warmth not want to see you again?

You shake the thought from your mind as your focus on the patient, a young man with scared brown eyes. You can’t afford to be distracted right now, even if you desperately want to look back at him and revel in the fondness brimming in his eyes which was so apparent during your date.

After Bucky’s equally tall, broad and handsome paramedic partner gets you up to speed on the patient's history, you get to work on taking his vitals.

“Rogers, Barnes, give us some space to work, please.” Dr Strange requests and without the chance to say another word to each other, both paramedics disappear out the corner of your periphery.

What you don’t notice is Bucky’s soft gaze on you through the glass walls of the patient room as you start your work up, believing that he had simply got back in his ambulance and out into the field.

“That’s her?” Steve asks from beside Bucky. He knows full well it must be you, he’s never seen his best friend look so enamoured with a girl, nor lost for words as when he set eyes on you, but he wants Bucky to admit it aloud.

“Yep, that’s her.” Bucky says with a pride that if Steve didn’t know any better, would suggest that her meant his girl. Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you, the corners of mouth tugging into a smile. His best friend has it bad, and he doesn’t even realise.

Steve suspects if he doesn’t remind Bucky they have a shift to get back to, he’d happily watch you work for the rest of the day.

He allows Bucky a couple more minutes of that luxury before heading back to the ambulance, knowing his best friend well enough to realise before either Bucky or yourself do, just how significant Bucky’s feelings for you are.

* * *

Bucky steps out of the shower, the warm water having rinsed the hard days work off himself.

He knows he needs to call you. Waiting any longer, especially after seeing you today, even if it were only for a brief moment, would surely only indicate disinterest. That’s so far from how he feels about you, so he decides needs to take matters into his own hands and fulfil the promise he made two nights ago.

A fresh swarm of butterflies fills his stomach. He’s actually going to do this.

He just hopes you’re after more than just another hookup. Bucky’s used to being the one only interested in sex, but if the roles are reversed this time, it’ll be his exposed heart being ripped from his chest.

No, he can’t think like that. He’s finally giving himself a chance at happiness.

Bucky reminds himself that you asked him to promise to call after your date. It’s not just him that wants this, you want him to call.

With that thought, he pulls out his phone and quickly presses on your contact, so he doesn’t chicken out, and with a shaky hand holds his phone to his ear. Bucky’s heart beats in his throat as the first ring sounds, and then skips a beat altogether when the click of you answering fills his ears.

“Bucky, you called.” He can hear the smile in your voice through the line, but what makes his heart clench is the trace of surprise he can perceive, as if you truly hadn’t expected him to call.

“I did promise to.” He reminds you, but it doesn’t entirely eliminate the bitter shame bubbling in the pit of his stomach that even though he did in fact promise, you didn’t fully believe him.

“I’m happy you did. I had a really great time the other night.”

“So did I.” Those three simple words don’t sum up just how much Bucky wholeheartedly enjoyed every second he spent with you, regardless of if that were naked in your bed or getting to know you on a picnic blanket as the sun set across the horizon, but in his anxious state he can’t find words more poetic to express it. “And I’d love to do it again if you’re up for it.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna have to think about it.” He can tell by the light tone of your voice you’re joking, but he supposes he deserves waiting for an answer considering he made you wait for his call. “Of course I’d love to go on a second date with you James.”

The combination of your words and the fact that you punctuated the sentence with his true first name sends Bucky straight to heaven. Everything about you makes him completely weak in a way he has never experienced before. All of those walls Steve seems to think Bucky has built around himself don’t appear to exist with you, instead, you’ve come into his life as easily as walking through a front door with a welcome mat out front.

“I guess I’m going to have to outdo a picnic at sunset then.” He chuckles to himself, knowing that he’s never had this problem before, but realising it’s a good problem to have.

You continue to talk well into the night, forgetting what time it is, and that you both have early shifts in the morning. None of that matters when you’re so caught up in each other.

Bucky simply enjoys the sound of your voice, and how it soothes the remaining anxiety which was swirling in his chest before calling you. He certainly isn’t hanging up first, not when talking with you has been the best part of his day.

He’s chasing happiness. And he might just find it with you.

Part 4 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv @aya-fay

[giddlygoat]

i love ur turbo/felix stuff !! what's an underrated part of their dynamic that you're passionate about? any sorts of scenarios youre fond of ?

oml. thank you for such a treat of an ask!!!!!!

aaaa, where do i start? i genuinely don’t know how to articulate most of my thoughts and headcanons so i’m just gonna go for it LAWL

firstly, i love that turbo is an immature bad boy while felix is this heart-of-gold angel. i’m a simple man, i like that juxtaposition and i like to consider how they would inspire each other to veer out of their respective comfort zones and change as people [for better or for worse]. and i especially love all of this because i think it’s pretty safe to assume they are both the other’s first delve into dating. they’re both stupid about relationships going into this, which i believe is a big part of the reason felix fell in love with turbo.

which reminds me: i don’t think turbo realized he was in love with felix. he latched onto the only sprite in the whole arcade who remained consistently tolerant of his ‘charming quirks’ and soaked up that attention like a sponge. while felix would sometimes chastise his rude behaviors, he seldom told turbo anything but what the racer wanted to hear. he was encouraging to turbo like that; thought he could foster good change with positive reinforcement [at the time, felix did not realize on all conscious levels that he was trying to fix turbo].

that reminds me. in the very beginning, turbo thought of felix as a naive innocent whom he could mess with for his own amusement. on a less cruel note, he also found himself enjoying genuine laughter around felix more than anyone else, and turbo’s perception of the handyman changed significantly once he saw the real value in their friendship. he realized that felix actually made for great company and was a lot brighter than he’d originally assumed.

that’s around the time they both started to get close. turbo discovers that being playfully mean is his go-to love language, and felix consequentially discovers that he likes a little bitchiness in a guy. it’s kind of a surprise to them both but it’s a welcome development and they each come to terms with their newfound chemistry pretty quickly. it all goes unsaid. the flirting just kinda happens, and before too long they’re letting the lines of their relationship blur.

felix is absolutely thrilled. he loves the way turbo lights up when he enters the room. he loves feeling useful and wanted to someone other than a nicelander, and he sincerely loves turbo. it’s ridiculously simple to him, and at some point he was probably even convinced that turbo was his future. there is a sliver of bliss between them before the fantasy inevitably ends. sad! oh well, there are other bad boys with intimacy issues and their golden retriever boyfriends 😊 COUGH tamora & felix COUGH

OK BUT FR turbo even. Listen okay actually no. turbo had gotten wrapped up in felix’s fantasy too. he was invested. then he thought more than 2 seconds about the prospect of felix specifically being his life partner and got scared as fuck.

i’m ngl guys, i think turbo may have found felix’s predictability and love of routine and familiarity comforting in the beginning, but he quickly realizes that he can’t hitch himself to that. i think he had considered the anticipatory lifespan of his own game early on and a little seed of doubt burrowed itself down in his chest, telling him that he could not afford to get too comfortable and loose his touch.

OKAY UHM. sorry about the incoherent wall of text before you i just have so many thoughts about them at all times. all subject to change and evolve of course. in the meantime, here are some of my notes on them:

turbo has a strong emotional attachment to his car and felix recognizes that being invited to ride in it is a huge sign of trust and vulnerability. you’d never think he was sending sappy signals by the way he offered felix to ‘take it for a spin’, but it touches felix either way.

as previously mentioned, felix has a thing for being bossed around. he vehemently denies this when turbo teases him about it. no big surprise

turbo feels out of his element in most of the romantic aspects of their relationship, finding it easier to navigate the physical aspects. this isn’t even necessarily because he doesn’t have romantic feelings for felix, he’s just allergic to emotional intimacy.

felix is the perfect opposite of turbo in that respect. no display of affection is flippant or unimportant to him: he is very deliberate in initiating anything physical

on that note, felix is extremely service oriented and prefers to dote on his partner. turbo could not be happier by all the attention, but sometimes he finds felix’s emotion and sincerity to be overwhelming. this applies to basically every aspect of their relationship

i’m trying not to make all of these about turbo but i just have to get this off my chest: yes, turbo gets off on obliterating competition. he’s not normal about winning. winning in front of his boyfriend makes him especially abnormal. being praised for his victories by said boyfriend makes him downright unusual. no further questions at this time

i have more but this is way too long as it is and i’m falling asleep sitting up so CHAPTER ONE OVER!!!!1!1

[polyklok]

Omg omg i love your writing!!! No words can describe how much I love it!

Imagine muderface with a s/o or crush that says the weirdest stuff, like some stuff that they have been through. It is so random! Like those tik toks that say "the Egyptians believed the most significant thing you could do is die" in the most randomest of situations.

Like imagine just chilling out doing nothing and y/n looks over at muderface and says "would a zombie apocalypse be a formal event? Like your buried in your best clothes?"

It woukd very so cool if you could write something for this but if you don't want to that's cool!

Just wanted to share my thoughts. No one I know watches Metalocalypse.

Thank you!!!

Have a wonderful day or night!!

(I didn't really check my grammar or spelling that well, I am sorry)

Murderface with an S/O that says ~random~ things!

“The color is actually named after the fruit.”

You baffle him daily. He never asked to be spoonfed random trivia, shower thoughts, or absurd hypothetical questions. And yet, here he was, eating it all up.

When William was first met with your verbal hijinks, he was just so, so confused. Why did you know this? Why were you telling him this?

“What?”

“Orange. Like, people just described the color as yellow-red or something before the orange fruit was spread around Europe and they got a new word for it. The color is named after the fruit.”

“…Okay???”

For a while, he thought you were trying to give him clues about something. He was just extremely suspicious of you. Like, surely there had to be a reason behind it, right? Well, no, and he soon just found it was a quirk of yours.

He was always told to shut up whenever he tried to pipe in or had an interesting fact to share, so you defying one of the fundamental rules of his life is a bit jarring.

As he grows closer and more comfortable to you, he gets used to your pondering and even begins to consider them. Maybe you have a point?

“What’s the minimum amount of ducks do you think it would take to fully kill an adult rhino?”

“I don’t fuchkin’ know. Probably a schit ton.”

“I bet, like, five. They’d just swarm him.”

“You are scho wrong. He’d schtomp them all to a pashte.”

Well now he’s gonna stay awake all night thinking about it. He can’t decide if you’re the stupidest person he’s ever met or the smartest. Either way, he gets a little flustered when facing the seemingly infinite expanse of your mind.

After a while, he begins to pick up your habit. In his own Murderface-way, of course. He had a pretty obvious interest in things like car mechanics and war history, but now he’s more willing to share all of what he knows with you. He’s really excited that someone finally seems interested in what he has to say, no matter how meaningless it is.

And once that door is open, he becomes more willing to open up on a deeper level. Even though he’s a dumbass, he does have a depth of intelligence, even if he isn’t great at articulating it. Be patient and you’ll get some fascinating conversation from him.

“Even if there isch a God…like, what the fuck, man?! You juscht gonna leave us all down here to suffer and schit? I might as well ignore you juscht to schpite you! What a dick move.”

William never realized how valuable it was to him just to be listened to. Simply talking to you slowly becomes one of the better parts of his day, everyday.

It takes a lot for Murderface to love and it takes even more to love him back. But the effort is well worth it with these types of riveting discussions;

“You have to fight a bug that’s 100 times its original size and you get one weapon from the medieval era. What is your bug and what’s your weapon?”

“Easchy. Butterfly, Croschbow. One arrow for each wing. Instant win.”

[sereinlikessleep]

Little rant about Grusha because I had time

So uh listen to my ramblings I had nothing better to do and I’m bad at articulating my points and thoughts 😭 ok cool? Cool

Rant about Grusha because I have nothing better to do. So like I’ve been noticing a lot of people are dissatisfied with Grusha’s injury and it’s been bothering me a tad because the main reason is that it isn’t lining up with their head canons or the severity isn’t enough. That’s fine feel that way but people are treating it like Grusha’s being dramatic and while I agree the little shite can be dramatic at times with all of his ice puns he’s not wrong. As someone who has a former athletic background and has dabbled in snowboarding a bit and has multiple people around me who do snowboarding on the regular I feel qualified to give my 2 cents on the topic. So based on the anime Grusha has a leg injury and as someone who has and has a family with a loooooong history of knee injuries it isn’t a small thing. When your sport requires balance the knees are crucial, while I sustained a minor knee injury for pushing myself too hard in running I have family and friends who had to go through literal years of physical therapy and muscle training and they still can’t achieve the same results they had before and after injury. And that’s why this injury is so big for Grusha, it’s been well established that this man is a perfectionist and cares about results more than anything else. (IE why he quit snowboarding and failed Liko) I also don’t think people understand how fast snowboarding is, a turn that Grusha took at the speed he was going (average snow boarders go 30-40 mph since Grusha was at a pro comp we can assume he was going at least 50-65 mph) and the fact that it was his leg got hurt likely meant he fell feet first or landed on his knees which makes the likelihood that he broke his leg even higher. A close friend of mine was snowboarding and tripped while she was doing it and she’s not pro, she was doing it casually but she landed so hard that she cracked her helmet into 2 pieces and would’ve died if she wasn’t wearing it. Lesson take away is that snowboarding is dangerous and Grusha is very lucky he only ended up with the injury he has now. 

Now comes the hard part after a sports injury, physical therapy. A broken leg is going to require months of physical therapy at the least and knowing Grusha and how closely his identity as a snowboarder was this was probably hell for him and when he was finally cleared to go back he can’t get the same results he used to get. I’ve seen this happen, someone can’t get the results they used to and because you’re just trapped in this cycle of going from the best to only mediocre and you can only go as far as mediocre. For someone who was once considered the 2nd best snowboarder in the world this has to hurt. I didn’t mention it but even after physical therapy you still have to be careful because now you’re more at risk of re-injuring that part of your body. My cousin used to be good at basketball but she had a knee injury and had to quit because she couldn’t keep up and she was always close of injuring her knee again. For someone who likely did snowboarding almost 24/7 much of Grusha’s identity was intertwined with the sport not being able to return to his glory days is world shattering. Now he has to find something else to do, and pokemon battling was that next thing, he obviously threw himself into it with the same and possibly more effort than snowboarding because this is the one thing he has left and cannot let it go. So forgive him if he sounds dramatic or his injury wasn’t as sever as you expected it to be just know that Grusha is a perfectionist who values results more than anything else, snowboarding is dangerous, injuries suck and can last long times and be career ending. Thank you for coming to my ted talk :3

[hannahssimblr]

I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy. 

“How did it go?” I say. 

“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”

“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”

“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”

She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”

“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”

“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”

“I think so.”

“What if we don’t get in?”

“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Something else will work out, right?”

“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car. 

The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows. 

“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.

This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that. 

“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”

“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”

“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”

I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further. 

“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”

“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”

“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”

“Money? Money is not an issue.”

“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”

“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”

And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[beezusvreeland]

dear reader - chapter 8

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 8

Miguel tried to make as little noise as possible while he moved through the kitchen trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. You were asleep on the couch, mouth slightly opened and body curled to the side. Before getting up from the floor, Miguel spent a few minutes observing your sleepy figure breathing in and out. He was mesmerized by how relaxed you looked. It was so rare to see you like this. Always the one taking care of everything and everyone, including him. How was Miguel realizing that just now? The two of you had been friends for so long. 

In fact, your restlessness had been something Miguel and the boys regularly used to tease and poke fun at you. “Just relax, darling”, Hobie would say, and they would go on insinuating that having a more active sex life could make things better for you. You would roll your eyes at them and say: “I’m not taking advice from a bunch of manwhores. Except you, Pav, you are a gentleman”. 

Sometimes Miguel would keep at it, just to see how far he could go, what it would take for you to break. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he just got a kick out of watching you, always so proper and poised, losing your composure. Your cheeks turning red, lips pouting and your speech getting faster and confusing the more bothered you felt. It was funny then. 

But things have changed since Miguel started reading your column. Or rather, his perception of you. There was so much more to you. It was fascinating to learn more about the way you saw the world, with so many nuances and big feelings and the way you were able to express it through your writing. How could one be so sensitive and articulate at the same time? If the therapy sessions with doctor Octavius taught him anything, it was the fact that discussing feelings and analyzing his own memories and actions was extremely hard. Probably one of the hardest things Miguel has ever done.

In his science and objectivity brain, he thought therapy would be like any other doctor’s appointment: get in, talk about what’s wrong, get a prescription and get out. Doctor Octavius very patiently explained that his practice worked with a different approach. 

“Our process isn’t fast or linear. I can’t tell you how long it will take, it’s different for each patient. Some people come in for a few sessions and feel like that’s enough, others have been in therapy for their entire lives”, the doctor explained. “What I can tell you with certainty is that this is a safe space for you to express yourself. It’s an hour of the week all to yourself, without phones, notifications or other people’s demands. And you are free to leave and never come back if you feel that this method doesn’t make sense to you. But I hope you at least give our dynamic a chance.”

He did. There were only a handful of people in his life that he actually liked and doctor Octavius was becoming one of them. Also, Miguel didn’t have any more energy to try and find someone new. That’s why Lyla would work with him for the rest of his life, if it was up to him. She just got it. And he really appreciated that.

For the first time in his life, he was revisiting his childhood. Miguel and his younger brother, Gabriel, were raised by a single mother who overworked herself to get food on the table. There wasn’t time to discuss emotions, anything other than survival felt trivial. She did the best she could, he knew that now. But when he won his first science fair, in second grade, the young boy became addicted to the attention and praise he got from classmates and adults. Over the years, Miguel realized that if he kept focused on school, winning scholarship after scholarship, things would be better, there were so many other opportunities out there. 

And he got them, while distancing himself from his origins, reinventing himself. Now that he achieved the things he wanted the most, like the cars, the house in an expensive neighborhood and the big office with a leather couch, it all just felt…empty. 

“Miguel?”

You enter the kitchen with a yawn, scratching your eyes. The power was still out and the house was poorly lit by the moon and a big flashlight Miguel found in his basement. 

“Gosh, that was one hell of a nap”, you stretched your arms up. “It might enter my top 3 list of best naps I’ve ever had.”

“I can tell by the drool on your mouth.”

Your hand immediately went to your mouth. There was nothing there. 

“Ha-ha.”

“That was too easy”, Miguel grinned, pleased with how rested you looked and that this interaction felt more like the ones the two of you used to have. It was familiar, comforting even. Like the scent of the vanilla soap his mom used to wear or the two friendly slaps Hobie would give his back every time they met. 

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. 

“What are we having for dinner?”

“Cheese, bread and olives”, he said. “Don’t look at me like that, without electricity the options were very limited.”

“I’m honestly shocked that you actually eat bread and cheese. Doesn’t that offend your gym diet or whatever?”

“We all have guilty pleasures, cariño, mine happen to be carbs and Gossip Girl.”

Your lack of response alerted Miguel of what he had just said. Nobody knew about his recent obsession with the show beyond Lyla. What if you somehow connected the dots that he started watching it after reading your column? What if you actually found out he read your column? He wasn’t supposed to know that you were the one behind “Dear reader”. 

“Wait, what?”, a smile took over your face. “Did I just hear it right?”

His body relaxed with your amusement. Maybe it would be better for him just to admit and run with it. 

“I hate Serena van der Woodsen”, Miguel declared. 

“I don’t even know how to react to this revelation”, you leaned on the counter for support, expression still stunned and amused. “How did this even happen?”

“She slept with her best friend’s boyfriend, disappeared, then came back like nothing happened, always runs away from conflict and every single time she speaks like talking to other people was exhausting and…”

“Okay, obviously there is a lot to unpack here”, you grabbed the cheeseboard on top of the counter and gave it to Miguel, who started to cut the cheese. “How do you even know what Gossip Girl is?”

He freezed for a second.

“Did Lyla put you to it?”, you chuckled. “What can’t she do?” 

“Sí…it was Lyla. I lost a bet”, it was the best he could come up with at that moment.

You nodded, smirking. 

“So you hate Serena, huh? Who else do you hate?”

Miguel put the knife on the sink and turned to you.

“Who don’t I hate? They’re terrible, all of them, Chuck, Dan, Vanessa, the parents…”

You laughed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. 

“That’s what makes them so entertaining, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, you got a point, cariño”, he stopped for a moment and added: “I do like Dorota, though”. 

“Blair’s maid?”

“She is not just a maid, she is basically a mother figure for Blair.”

“Dorota is also in most of Blair’s schemes…”

“Nuh-uh, cariño. Most times she tries to put some sense in that girl’s head.”

You frowned your brows, smiling. 

“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re actually having. When did you go soft, mr. O’Hara?”

“I’m not soft.”

“Uh, yes you are. You’re a big soft softie, defending characters of a TV show made for teens that ended a decade ago”, you mocked.

Miguel gave you a serious look. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, my friend”, you pretended to lock your mouth with an imaginary key. 

Opening it again with the same imaginary key, you added: “But in case I’m ever offered a lot of money to sell any of your secrets to a corporate spy, this is the one I’m going to choose”.

“I forgot you started hallucinating when you get hungry, cariño.”

“Just think about it, they’ll think they’re stealing sensitive data from your research at Alchemax, but it’s actually just a sheet ranking the Gossip Girl characters you hate from most to least hated.”

“Why can’t you just be angry when hungry like most people?”

“It’s a brilliant plan, you’ll be thanking me someday. Hopefully at the IgNobel ceremony. You’ll have to take me to that, by the way.”

“You know it’s the Nobel prize, right?”

“Yes yes, I’m not stupid, I’m just hungry”, you give his shoulder a playful slap. “The IgNobel is another science award, but for more…unusual findings. Studies about the brain chemistry of people who see Jesus on toasts or a theory that humans developed beards to protect themselves from getting punched on the face?

“Cariño, Jesus…”

“Do you see him on toast too?”

“Enough weird science, let’s eat.”

“I’ll send you the link, it happens every year and it’s actually really funny. I’m sure Alchemax could send some stuff for consideration.”

Miguel actually laughs at that. He pretended to hate your energy bursts, but he loved it. You were a sweet drunk and a funny hungry person. 

“You know what? I might actually look into it.”

Miguel brought the cheeseboard to the living room and opened a red wine that, judging by the label, was probably very expensive. You sat on the floor and toasted, then started eating. 

It felt nice. Just to be there eating good food with you and enjoying a comfortable silence. And you looked so pretty with your new haircut and eyes closed while savoring the meal…

A loud sound made the two of you jump. An electronic song started playing from somewhere in the room.

“Shit, it’s my phone”, you got up to find it in your purse.

When you did, you looked at the screen and smiled. 

“I have to take this, I’ll be right back”, you said, going to the next room. 

The little bubble you lived in for a few hours burst. Miguel thought it was a little weird, you had a tendency to forget your phone completely while spending quality time with your friends. Maybe it was a work thing or your family checking in with you after the storm. 

It had been a few minutes since you left when he started to feel uneasy. He got his phone from his pocket. A few texts in the friends’ group chat and one from Lyla:

ARE YOU ALIVE??????!

Sí, he answered, knowing that she hated monosyllabic answers. 

But it had been ten minutes then and he had reorganized the cheese on the board, drank more wine and stretched his body and you still hadn’t come back.

I’m at my place with y/n.

I KNEW IT, SHE IS THE ONE YOU’VE BEEN PINING FOR!!! AAAA

No, just friends

OH, PLEASE, MIGUEL, IF I WERE STUPID YOU WOULDN’T HAVE HIRED ME

Qué

UGH REALLY?

PENDEJO

Don’t use my language against me

OH I WILL IF THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU LISTEN TO REASON

…

YOU CAN’T JUST THROW THE INFO THAT YOU’RE TOGETHER AND LEAVE ME HERE

Just friends

UGH

IS SHE NEXT TO YOU RIGHT NOW?

No, she’s been on the phone 

It’s been almost 15 minutes now

SHIT

What’s that supposed to mean? 

???

Lyla???

????????

Damn it, Lyla!!!! 

SHE PROBABLY HAS A BOYFRIEND AND I’M GUESSING IT ISN’T YOU

Nonsense

FOR THE FIRST TIME YOU’LL HAVE TO WORK FOR IT

IN THE DATING DEPARTMENT

…

KEEP ME INFORMED 

***

Dear reader,

Intimacy can mean different things for each person. It’s something that, as women, we start building with one another since childhood. We all remember our very best friends, who we shared moments and secrets that we remember to this day. Or that one girl in middle school that we were friends with for only a few months that might as well have been years, because it caused a huge impact on us. They taught me how to be vulnerable and resilient. In many ways, those friendships were my first loves. 

Recently, my editor sent me an infographic with data about you, dear readers. Nothing creepy, just things like age range and general location, you know, information every website collects. I must say, I was surprised to find that 30% of you identify as male. It didn't occur to me that this space would be of interest to you, but I’m glad it is.

Talking about intimacy reminds me of this one guy I was friendly with in college. We met in a class we had together and started talking, which evolved to texting. Our conversations revolved around homework and a sitcom we both watched. To me, it wasn’t something too deep. But to him, it was. He would bring that show up all the time, as if by itself, our one shared interest made us closer than we actually were. Like that was enough for me to fall for him, when he was actually being sort of annoying and creeping me out. 

It never occurred to him to ask questions about me or my other interests. It was all about him and his perception, which was more of a fantasy than anything. No wonder so many women are frustrated in their relationships with men: they can’t match the intimacy we’ve built with each other.

However, things have been changing and women are no longer accepting to be alone in their relationships. I know I’m not. So male readers, if you take anything from this column, I hope it is this: open yourselves up, look beyond yourselves and catch up. We’ve been doing the hard work for a very long time.

That’s it for today. Next week, I’ll be answering a few of your questions, make sure to write to me in the box below. The authors shall remain anonymous and, the hate mail, ignored. 

Until then, never take advice from someone who’s falling apart. 

Love,

The writer

***

You came back to the living room to find Miguel playing a game on his phone. He didn’t look up to you.

“Sorry I took so long, I lost track of time”, you said sitting back on the floor and taking a sip of your glass of wine. 

“It’s alright”, Miguel put his phone away. “Was it work?”

“No”, you giggled. “It was Matt, he was checking if was okay after the storm.”

“Matt?”

Miguel had a confused expression on his face, which, by experience, you knew to be fake. He had been there when Foggy talked about your first date with Matt. Why he was pretending like he didn’t know, you had no idea.

“This guy I’m seeing. You know, Foggy’s friend? The lawyer?”

“Ah, right.”

“Things have been going really well.”

Miguel didn’t say a thing, filling his mouth with cheese instead. 

“He asked me to go to this fancy auction gala with him as his date. I’m excited for it.”

“Sounds like a swell guy.”

“He is.”

“A lawyer, huh? Which firm does he work in?”

“He has his own, actually.”

“Mmm.”

“Mig, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing, I’m just eating.”

“You looked less than impressed with what I just told you.”

“How was I supposed to react, cariño?”, he sounded annoyed. As much as you told yourself that you were over him, his tone took you back to the worst days of your infatuation with him, when no matter how much you tried to impress him, he would always end up taking somebody else home. 

But the thing is, you were no longer that girl. No matter how hurt you were or how much you liked Miguel, you weren’t taking shit from anyone anymore. 

“You were supposed to be happy for me.” 

Your delivery was calm and serious, which you could see threw Miguel off. “I have an actual shot at love and someone great who’s willing to give it to me. This never happened to me before. I never felt worthy of it”, you took a deep breath. “Why can’t you root for me like I’ve always rooted for you?”

Looking at Miguel, you didn’t find the big hot shot scientist, but rather just a guy who had no idea of what he was doing. 

You got up and went to the bathroom, well aware that you couldn’t be there with him anymore. You couldn’t go backwards and fall apart when Miguel didn’t think highly of you. No matter how much you tried, it just wasn’t going to happen. 

You washed your face and threw some water on your neck to relieve some of the tension. When you opened the door, Miguel was waiting for you. 

“Miguel…”

“I know, I know, cariño, please, just listen to me?”, he asked and you rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. Of course I’m rooting for you…I guess I’m just protective of you and you haven’t had many boyfriends, so we never really had to go through this…What I’m saying is, I don’t know the guy, so I was suspicious and I shouldn’t be.”

“I’m a big girl, Miguel. I can handle myself”, sensing he was going to interrupt, you continue. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t use that tone with me ever again. Do you understand?”

“Sí, cariño, lo siento”, he nodded. 

[yes, honey, I’m sorry]

“And if not knowing Matt bothers you so much, I’ll bring him to the bar one of these days and introduce you two.”

“Of course.”

You were emotionally drained. It was like having to explain very basic notions regarding people’s feelings to a big man child. In spite of it, you were proud of yourself for standing your ground and demanding the level of care and respect you deserved. A few months ago that would’ve been impossible.

“Cariño”, Miguel called, his big brown eyes filled with regret. “I just wanted to tell you I…”

He was interrupted by a loud noise, followed by people cheering on the street. The lights were back on.

______________________________________________________________

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[seeingteacupsindragons]

Commenting on Meta: Quick-Start Guide

Inspired by a convo with @hergan416, I realized that while meta writers (me, at least) do still like comments/feedback on their writing, a lot of people probably don’t know how to respond to it very well. Responding to fiction can be easier.

But here’s a cheat sheet for, “Things I Like to Hear About” on my meta writing. I can’t guarantee all meta writers will agree, but I think at least a fair amount of it also applies.

This is not meant to be an all-inclusive list, but to give you ideas of where to start if this is a thing you’d like to do more of this, and maybe some general guidance on how to approach it.

This is divided into three categories: General Comments, If You Agree With the Meta, and If You Disagree With the Meta.

General:

Meta writers typically use different writing techniques than fiction writers, but they do still use them. A lot of it will be in the persuasive or rhetorical category which people are less familiar with, but if you notice them: say it!

Any comments about writing style/voice. Personally, I mix a lot of creative techniques in mine, and there are jokes and asides in there. If they made you laugh: tell me, I wanna know! If a turn of phrase haunts you or really hit you well: let us know!

Things like tone: some meta writers are more clickbait-y or aggressive, some are more wishy-washy, some more authoritative, some more authoritarian—and all of that impacts how it’s received. They might be putting a lot of effort into it.

What is the meta writer’s general approach to meta/analysis/fiction—stuff about that!

Anything you notice that seems like it took a lot of time or effort. They will appreciate you noticed!

Agree:

"I never put those together!"

"I've never seen it that way before.”

“I've never been able to put my finger on this and now it makes sense"

“I’ve never been able to articulate it”

“This would be interesting to explore in fic.”

“I wonder if this could tie into XYZ, too…”

“I wonder where the series might go with this.”

"This also has XYZ implications, too!”

“This is a similar concept I saw somewhere else"

“I really like the way this part of the story was written because XYZ”

“This is well put together because…”

Disagree:

Not all meta writers are gonna want these comments, but personally, I’m okay with them…in some circumstances. If it feels like you’re writing your own meta post, then…a little weird. If you’re opposed to my approach in general, okay, that’s frustrating. But you know what I do like?

Questions about how I got there!

“I’ve always seen it as ABC because of XYZ.”

“How do you think XYZ factors into this?”

“Do you think XYZ changes this?”

“XYZ is what I made of that.”

Stuff like that. Usually I can comment back on that and have a discussion. It’s totally possible we both have valid and yet different takes and both readings are valid! There’s a conversation to be had here!

I'm totally happy to discuss other valid readings and talk about what different readings add and why we might prefer one or the other!

The Most Favorite Comments I get on writing meta tend to be:

Anything about how this changed how you read or write, or think about reading or think about writing/writers

Anything about taking the time to sit down with stuff I write—in this world of infinite scrolling and quick bites, knowing I can entice someone into stopping that for a few minutes is better than gold

Anything about how you got more excited about writing/reading

Anything about what it makes you think of me as a fiction author (I mean…hey, I’m a person and a writer, too)

Anything about how this made reading/writing different or more fun for you

Anything about sharing my meta to discuss with other people

Anything about it making you love the media more

In Conclusion:

There’s lots of ways to interact with your meta writers, and they probably want you to.

[xdreamie]

I get frustrated a bit a lot on the age dynamic of George and Caiti.

Like on how they should reacted. And the groups as a whole. Because let’s call it Caiti group (ages 18-20?21?) and George group (ages 22-30) for the heck of it.

George was a normal person till Covid to a point. College student etc. A British university person in a country where people can be drinking legally since 18. Which Caiti is to a situation.

He is hanging out with people of similar age all the time- to his age not hers. And it’s an atmosphere that grows its own unsaid rules, acts and what’s acceptable and what’s not.

George in this situation that he has -hanging in a hotel with people not in front of cameras where he has to make a persona etc etc assumes he can cuddle and touch someone around the waist without asking because as far as he’s been acting and told around other people- as he says is a norm TO HIM that’s been always ok. He’s never interacted with someone tell him hey don’t touch me or if he has he didn’t continue.

Then come Caitis group who basically follow the only person in Georges group age range that kind of knows the rules of how they act and they are in a new situation. Caiti is in a new situation.

They have a chance of testing and seeing how they interact with the situation. They are the ones entering an atmosphere with already established rules that they have to learn and figure out if they can follow or have to modify to stay in that situation.

They are completely valid in hating how they interact after but they chose to stick to that situation.

As they say Dream was asked does George realize she’s 18 egc and him saying I don’t see the issue is because in that atmosphere IT ISNT AN ISSUE. the unsaid rules that have developed aren’t he’s trying to fc her basically. The unsaid rules say they are cuddling and doing drunk people stuff.

And people are right that she’s valid in how she feels of her age and his being weird. But he thought at the time she was of his age range group that knows the unsaid rules. She never said anything. This is correct.

She didn’t say anything about the unsaid rules and cues already established in the situation she went into.

She can create her own set of rules and even create future atmospheres that have unsaid rules that everyone follows but can’t condemn a different atmosphere of ,again an age range that she wasn’t actually ready to interact with that she entered and found out she doesn’t like.

This entire situation is her evaluating and discovering lots of stuff she didn’t like. She didn’t. But she didn’t articulate. I’m gonna assume if she did say he don’t touch me or don’t cuddle I’m not okay with that- for that night or for future times someone new like her age come to the atmosphere/situation the unsaid rule will change to asking if they are okay with that unsaid rule. Like George says. He will think more of his actions in this situation now.

Her age group or people are saying in their situation are saying when they drink or hang out a person has to ask and be verbal on how they interact. Someone joining their atmosphere may realize oh I don’t like having to ask to sit on a couch. Cuddle, or touching a waist because I work better with reading body language, and having unsaid consent for different things that happen. But that person will just leave and won’t condemn how “they all ask for every damn movement” because THEY went into a new situation and learned their rules and decided actually I don’t like this place, have a fun time but I probably won’t join you again.

Because almost NOTHING is black and white. It’s like how one says pop and soda. It’s weird to those that say pop know others say soda but it’s different custom to the same item. But there’s not one universal word for soda. There are synonyms.

He is hanging out with people of similar age all the time- to his age not hers. And it’s an atmosphere that grows its own unsaid rules, acts and what’s acceptable and what’s not.

yeah that’s what i’m been thinking shouting this situation. people are acting like george is in an atmosphere that he shouldn’t be in, when really it’s caiti that is. her friends brought her to a party to drink with 20+ year olds so i completely understand why george thought she would’ve been older.

like you said, she obviously can and should have her own boundaries in situations like this but since everyone was cuddling (a detail she left out the first time), it seemed like the atmosphere they were in was not one she was comfortable with. which is completely valid! but putting yourself in that situation, figuring out that you’re uncomfortable, and not telling anyone, especially not the person making you uncomfortable, does not mean you were assaulted. it means you were in over your head and regret what happened.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I Am Blackened Bones (Part 30)

It is strange to see her again. The real Azula. The Azula that he has always known.

It is stranger still to talk to her again. Without the spirit to intervene. 

And strangest yet to see the Azula that he has always known with her rigid, stiff posture and her well-articulated speaking patterns. But at the same time see someone else, with a more welcoming aura and a twinkle of curiosity in her eye—he can see it every time she spots one of the Fire Nation’s newer innovations, a building with a different material make, a new type of machine, newer forms of firebending…

“What do you think?”

Azula gives the street another up and down glance. “It’s different.” She replies. “That building wasn’t there before. And those statutes.” 

He wonders if it stings at all for her to see that there isn’t one of her standing near the other golden likenesses of he and his friends. If it does she makes no mention of it. “I can probably have them make one of you…”

“Huh?” 

“The statues. I could have one made…”

“What for?” 

“What do you mean? To commemorate your memory…”

“I’m still alive.”

“Your legacy.” He corrects. 

“I’m still making that?” She tilts her head. 

He almost laughs. He can’t believe that enough time has passed for him to forget that she has such a blunt manner of speaking. That she thinks so differently than the way he does. He holds that laugh back lest she get the wrong idea. 

“At any rate, statues are creepy. I don’t understand the appeal.”

“How so?”

“Why do people enjoy staring at their own faces so much? It’s uncanny. That barely even looks like you.” She pauses. “Well it does but there is something off about it. Something that isn’t quite right. That doesn’t bother you?”

Zuko shakes his head. “I never really saw it that way. I think that it’s a nice gesture of respect. A way to remember my accomplishments.”

“You can’t just remember them in your own brain?” She pauses. Before he can speak she adds, “I suppose that I am the wrong person to speak about remembering things that are important.” She pauses again. “From a historical standpoint I suppose that means of commemoration are useful.” She nods more to herself than him. “I’d rather just have a my accomplishments inscribed and then that scroll can hang in a pretty little frame on a wall somewhere.”

“What about portraits?” He asks. “You never minded those.”

“As far as you were aware. I don’t like having to sit for them; there are better uses for my time. Especially since I don’t look at them often.” She sighs. “But it would be quite bizarre if there isn’t a face to put to inscribed stories. I should probably go for an updated portrait, lest future historians think that I died as a child.”

“But no statues?”

“If you erect a statue of me I will personally see to it that it is taken down. If I want to look at my face I will do so in a reflection in a pond as nature had intended.” 

“You have a mirror at home… you’re joking right now.” He states. “You made a joke?”

“I am capable of doing that now and again, yes.” She replies. “I was not, however, joking about getting rid of any statute that resembles me.” 

This isn’t the way that he imagined that his first conversation with her since her arrival would go. Frankly he had imagined stress. He had imagined shouting and scowls and maybe tears. He hadn’t imagined jokes and laughing. He hadn’t imagined feeling a flutter of joy upon seeing her curiously observing the town that she had been deprived of for too long.

And he realizes that he doesn't need an apology just yet. Not vocally, anyways. She has her own way about apologizing. A way that makes her feel safe and he supposes that he shouldn’t push her to do it his way.

It is rather nice talking to her now that father isn’t whispering in her ear.

Now that father isn’t whispering in his ear.

Now that she has had at least a little bit of time to become Azula instead of just an extension of their father. He supposes that he should share this with Mai. Ask her to be patient with Azula. She’ll find the words eventually. Right now, her ability to joke with him and speak mundanely is good enough.

“Are you ready for your homecoming ceremony tonight?” He asks. “I figured that while we were here we can find something new for you to wear.” 

Azula shrugs. “It’s just a homecoming ceremony, there isn’t too much to worry about.” 

He knows that she is lying. If only because his homecoming after three years had been one of the most stressful moments of his life. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I saw this one hair piece that I thought that you’d like.”

“Alright.” 

.oOo.

Azula smooths her hand down the front of her silks. And she is decorated under layers and layers of it. Pretty red and gold fabrics in varying patterns that drape her arms and flow out and voluminously from beneath the golden sash a her hip. A large ruby with a gold filigree frame pins it in place. 

She hadn’t realized just how long her hair had grown until a team of servants, mostly new faces but one or two that she recognizes, begin pilling it up and fixing it in place with ribbons and hair sticks. The style is quite elaborate, more so than she is used to. And they assure her that they will have it styled twice as elegantly—with hair sticks with dangling crystals and dragon accents and golden hair combs—when it comes time to reinstate her title and place a crown back on her head. She can only imagine what the robes will look like then. There will probably be enough layers and components to make walking a challenge. 

They promise the same of her makeup. Of which they currently tint her lips with. The look is quite simple, they wing her eyeliner the way that she likes and add a touch of red to make it pop. The pat color onto her cheeks. They insist that she has grown quite pale since her trip to the Water Tribe and that they need to add some sunlight back to her complexion. 

It is more lavish than she had been dressed in a very long time, she had forgotten that these dresses make her feel uncomfortable. As terribly as she had missed her spa and the pampering that came with it, she very much does not enjoy the heavy robes. 

It shouldn’t be so hard, Lo and Li will do the talking for her. All she has to do is stand and look poised and presentable. Has to make it look as though she had been through nothing extraordinary.

It is a rather dull affair in spite of the pomp. Lo and Li are enthusiastic and speak with life in their voices but tend to draw speeches out just long enough for the excitement to start to wane. Azula looks down upon the crowd. It is more colorful with a dotting of blue and green with a field of red. It isn’t just her own people that welcome her back home. And maybe some people in the crows are also being welcomed home, for some of them this very well could be their first time standing in Royal Plaza. Their first time seeing Fire Nation royalty in person. 

Everything is so different now. She has been gone for so long. 

But she thinks that she is finally ready to be back. 

Yes, looking down upon the crowd, she thinks that she is. 

If an entire nation can change and change so beautifully then so can she. 

Lo and Li fall silent and revel fills the plaza. Cheers. Claps. Lively chatter. 

Her nation welcomes her with more warmth than the Fire Nation had ever had in the past. She finds herself smiling if only slightly. 

“Welcome home, Azula.” Zuko drapes his arm around her neck. 

“Thank you.” 

He holds his arms out and she sighs. “Fine. Once. Just this once.” He gives her a small squeeze. Just a quick little hug. She supposes that she didn’t hate it. The crowd certainly didn’t. Their claps begin a new. And that is how she knows the long time citizens from the newcomers; a good many of them had probably been waiting for a good long while to see the royal family whole and undivided. 

Whole and undivided like herself. 

.oOo.

“How do I look, Katara?”

“I told you that…”

“I look great.” Azula finishes. “But are you just saying that to get me to relax and move on or do you actually mean it. I don’t enjoy it when people say things just to spare my feelings.” Maybe it is comparison that does her in; she had been dressed so lavishly the night before that the outfit that she has picked for herself feels frumpy and dull. Her hair, loose and unstyled save for the brush she had let Katara run through it, falls to her hips. At least it looks nice.

“While I am very much hoping that we can move on with this, I also actually do mean it. You’ve always been really good at dressing yourself and taking care of yourself.”

“But I was in a jungle for years.” Moreover she was crawling around on all fours, covered in fire for a good portion of those years. She imagines that at least one or two crucial details about Caldera city fashion, she certainly isn’t up to date on the latest styles in Caldera City. Frankly she thinks that she has stuck too rigidly to the way that she used to dress. 

Katara pulls her in and kisses her on the cheek. “We’re having a double date with Zuko and Mai, you’re not making a big speech.”

Azula grimaces. “Not yet.” She is almost angry that she is so nervous. She has never had a problem with speeches and public appearances in the past. 

She had always been so deeply integrated in societies norms, had always been prepped and coached on exactly what to say, what people wanted to hear. Her words were seldom her own and now they want her to, in a sense, speak from the heart. 

Katara massages her shoulders. “You’re getting really tense again; don’t think about that right now.”

“But this speech is going to be a very pivotal one. It is going to shape how everyone views me going forward.” And she is going to need one mighty eloquent, competent, and pretty speech if she is going to undo the damage done to her reputation on the day of the comet.

“They seemed perfectly happy with you during your homecoming ceremony. And besides you have two whole weeks to prepare. One thing at a time, okay.” She offers Azula’s shoulders a firm squeeze. “Tonight let’s get through dinner and making up with Mai.”

Azula cringes.

Making up with Mai…

The prospect is thrice as intimidating as the prospect of making a re-coronation speech. At least she has some framework for what a good speech will sound like.

“You’re going to do fine. Tonight and during your coronation speech.” Katara promises. “Now let’s head out. I know that you like to be punctual.” In a grumble she adds. “And by that you usually mean at least an hour early.”

She does indeed. “I would like to leave ample time in case I see something that catches my eye. Caldera has changed so much.” 

“Are you admitting that you might get distracted?”

“I am admitting that it would only be proper to adequate re-familiarize myself with the city that I rule over…but yes perhaps there might be one or two things that I simply find fascinating.”

Katara flashes her a smile. “Alright then. Fair enough.”

They will probably still arrive an hour early. She had accounted for that.

.oOo.

She hasn’t been to this restaurant since she was a child. It had been her favorite at some point or another. It was always a delight when they handed her the ingredients and let her do some of the cooking. Not that she was particularly good at it. Mostly she liked watching the flames dance. Zuzu’s meals alway came out burnt. Hers did too…probably worse. And so it was up to mother and father to make an edible meal. Most of the time father burned his food too and they were one torched chunk of hippo-cow meat away from calling their chef back to do all of the work.

Mother was good at cooking…

Azula wraps her arms around herself. She is starting to wish that she and Katara hadn’t arrived first. Starting to wish that she had let herself get more distracted. Or that the two of them should have joined Mai and Zuko at the botanical garden but she needed the time to get dressed. Needed time to prepare herself to see her former friend. It is admittedly overwhelming to do, having just gone through her homecoming ceremony and the accompanying dinner the night before. Not that she isn’t pleased to be having plenty of fine Fire Nation cuisine again with all of the spices and all of the richer flavors. It tastes like home. It tastes like normalcy. It is nice to have at least a touch of that after so very long.

Just when Azula is getting comfortable, the figures of Mai and Zuko appear in the doorway. Azula finds herself relieved to know that Mai hasn’t changed all that much. Her hair is longer but she hasn’t changed the way that she puts it up and her bangs are cut exactly the same way. She still has the same somewhat downcast gaze. But she is taller now, much taller. Taller than Zuko even. And she wears dark lipstick. She stands with her hands in her pockets and her lips pressed together. 

“So you got yourself turned into some type of spirit.” Mai says in a way of a greeting. Azula swears that there is a hint of humor in her voice. “That must be quite a story.” 

Azula thinks for a moment. “I don’t remember it all too well.” She thinks that she may never recall all of the details. And maybe that is for the best. Maybe she isn’t supposed to know exactly who or what had put the spirit curse on her. She can’t imagine that the memory would be all too friendly. “Just that it had been storming one night and I came by this old, abandoned temple. It had a spirit protecting it…or it could be that the temple was made for that spirit. Either which way it wanted an offering of some sort for intruding in its temple. I didn’t have anything to give…” She trails off. 

“And…?”

Azula shrugs. “And then a blank space where a memory should be. I think that I had argued with the Spirit. Possibly.” 

Zuko pulls out a chair. “How was your walk?”

“I found this shop that sells little handmade dragon egg sculptures…”

“I thought that you said that you didn’t like…”

“Statutes, Zuzu. Those are unsettling. Sculptures are fine. Especially the egg shaped ones that would make for a very lovely homecoming gift.” She reaches for her tongs as their server places raw ingredients on the table. At its center is a somewhat large pit full of coals. “I understand that you enjoy honor…”

“I do not talk about honor that much.”

“...So I invite you to do the honor of lighting our cooking fire.”

“I haven’t seen you firebend in ages, you can light the fire, the blue would create a nice ambiance.”

“Yes. About that…” 

“Your fire is orange now?” Mai frowns slightly. 

Azula ignites the coals in a brillant flare of white.

“When did that happen?” Mai asks. 

“When I merged with the fire spirit.” This, of course requires a lengthy explanation that she gives while the four of them fight to make an at least semi-appetizing looking meal.

“I think that your fire is too hot, Azula.” Katara frowns. 

“That or you aren’t a good chef.”

“I have never burnt a single meal in my life! Not until now!” She insists. 

Azula rolls her eyes. “Alright, fine.” She snuffs her own flames and gestures for Zuko to set the pit ablaze once more. “But don’t blame the spices when you still can’t create a good meal.”

“Some of these Fire Nation dishes are more complicated then what I’m used to cooking.” Katara insists. 

“We’re going to be eating poorly tonight, aren’t we?” Zuko grumbles.  

“So, why Katara?” Mai asks. “I never imagined that the two of you would get on so well.” 

“Katara can tell you that one. My throat is growing sore. Unlike Katara’s brother, sometimes I get tired of talking.” By the end of Katara’s recanting of their adventure, she finds herself picking at her plate with slightly pinkened cheeks. 

Zuko’s mouth hangs agape so it is up to Mai to confirm, “so the two of you are…dating?

Azula nods. 

“Good luck.” Mai mutters. 

“Who are you wishing luck to, Mai? And why would Katara need it?”

“And good luck to you, Mai. That whole family is a handful.”

“Trust me. I know.” 

They are laughing. All four of them are laughing. She had never imagined that she would be laughing with Mai again. With Mai and Zuzu. To be frank, there had been a time when she didn’t think that she would be able to laugh or smile again. Let alone, mostly untroubled. Maybe next time TyLee will be sitting with them too. Katara cups her hand over Azula’s.

They never do make an edible looking meal.

[shsl-writer]

sorry for accidentally dming you this but I find you very interesting and got too excited and pressed the wrong button and stuff so uh yeah

Opinions on Kiyo? (I’m very very normal about Kiyo and definitely relate to him to a average degree)

Heslo! Don’t worry, I totally get it, I’m horrific with technology. I’m just glad you wanted to talk!

Kiyo! God, I adore Kiyo. I haven’t gotten to the third game yet but I’ve watched all the ftes and am obviously pretty deeply entrenched in fandom stuff so I know a good deal about him, he’s genuinely one of my favorite Danganronpa characters.

To me Kiyo reads as an abused person who hasn’t yet realized they’ve been abused. Other people can probably articulate it better than me but from what I’ve seen his Sister has dictated most everything about him from his clothes to his interests. Everything he does is for her and from the sounds of it this is still the case years after her death, that’s how deeply she’s influenced (and manipulated) him. I’m assuming that his parents were either absent or not there entirely which is why she had so much control over him. It makes me so angry about what they did to him in the 3rd trial not only because Kiyo’s character was then completely villainized but because it’s an absolutely disgusting way to paint someone who’s so clearly been abused. There’s a difference between recognizing that a character doesn’t realize they’ve been mistreated and writing them to be a goddamn serial killer (Danganronpa has a history of turning heavily traumatized characters ‘evil’ tho, just look at Toko and Syo).

Anyway, I also think Kiyo is super autistic. So many of his sprites are self-soothing positions (which could also be related to the abuse but yunno), he’s covered pretty much head to toe which could be to protect from sensory issues, and most importantly: this man infodumps like no one’s fucking business. It’s kinda all he talks about unless prompted otherwise? And there’s implication he doesn’t have a lot of control over it because he’ll cut himself off sometimes realizing he’d been talking for too long and dominating the conversation. All of his ftes with Shuichi are about essentially acting as a teacher for different anthropological subjects. That is a special interest, you can’t convince me otherwise.

Overall I think Kiyo is just a really tragic character who was completely fucked over by the writing. As someone ND myself I find him so fucking relatable. He’s seen as weird and typically keeps to himself and has a hard time holding a normal conversation. He keeps trying to just stay in the background and observe but not only does his stature make that difficult he’s also got so much to say, so much knowledge he wants to share, and he just wants someone who will listen. I hold him so dear to my heart <33

[leclerced]

Lando having girlfriend that’s super smart? It would be hilarious. At first when he talks about it everyone is like 👍 amazing but we know that almost anyone can be genius compared to you. But then they’re doing some sort of challenge (can be with Quadrant or with drivers or whatever) and there’s some algebra thrown in there and Lando’s girl just does it in like a minute. That’s something. Then they meet at Lando’s or he’s streaming and she’s studying in the background and everyone is so confused because what the hell does she do there??? Is it chemistry or maths or physics or what. She tells them about it and they are lost after “oh I can explain it to you guys” the rest is gibberish in their ears. Then she’s citing Shakespeare or Bulgakov and everyone believes Lando. But there’s more important question to ask that bothers them “how did he pull her and did she fall on her head really hard when she agreed on dating?”

this is so cute i love them being like “lando thinks she’s smart so she’s probably just better at making choices than he is” and instead it’s “she’s getting two degrees at once and still coming to visit lando at races when she has time.”

a challenge would be so funny like imagine just a trivia game and she answers every single question. they have to ring a bell to answer and she’d be ringing before they’re done asking the question. everyone is confused why she knows so much about everything and she’s just like “wdym? you don’t know the exact date this obscure historical thing happened?”

imagine max and oscar coming over to hang and she’s studying so they’re trying to help her by reading flashcards but they can’t pronounce the big technical words. she’d be answering the questions while they’re still trying to pronounce the name of some chemical. or she like finishes the question with perfect pronunciation and gives the right answer, another word they can’t pronounce, and they’re so amazed.

she turns into the grids personal google when they realize she knows a little bit about everything, like someone offhand asks something stupid and everyone is making fun of him and she’s like “no actually thats a great question! i think about it all the time and the answer is-” and everyone shuts up and listens bc she articulates everything so well and can take a complex topic and simplify it for them. she’ll bring race logic in sometimes when explaining stuff. anytime someone has a question they’re finding her to ask bc google will give a complex answer and she’ll dumb it down. she’s the settler of many debates and arguments bc they think she’s the smartest.

she’s sitting at the pit walls during races and is practically an engineer just from absorbing all the info while she watches them work. maybe shes in school to be an engineer or mechanic but when lando told them she’s still in school he didn’t say what for and they think like lando would be dating a nurse or something like that bc it seems his type. then they meet her at a race, they see her in the mclaren garage and she’s in mclaren gear talking ab the car with them so they think she’s a mclaren employee and some of the guys would probably be texting each other like “hey there’s a new cute mclaren engineer have you seen her??” until lando introduces her as his girlfriend and ppl are like wait she doesn’t work for mclaren? how does she know so much ab the car? and lando’s just annoyed bc no one believed him that his girlfriend was a genius.

she’d be besties w the mechanics and engineers and they help her study bc they understand her coursework. sometimes she’ll know what’s wrong with lando’s car but not say anything bc she’s not qualified for it and doesn’t work for them so they wouldn’t listen to her if she did so she sits quietly while they try and figure it out. eventually they get it and lando would have noticed the way she went quiet and just watched and know she’s thinking about how to fix his car and he’s just like “wow my girlfriend is so smart i love her so much.” her getting hired after graduating and working on lando’s team. iconic.

no one gets how they started dating or even met until they all go to a club after a race and after a single shot she loses any and all brain cells she ever had. everyone realizes they must have met at a club bc there’s no other way the super genius and lando could have ever met that would make sense.

[amuseoffyre]

For the past fortnight, work has been getting in the way of me doing fandom related stuff, but it’s also given me a lot more time to turn over “working class northern Izzy Hands” in my brain.

There have been some fab posts going around with the analysis of Izzy in the context of the social history and what it meant for him and the more I thought about them, the more I recognised him in my dad’s side of the family.

I’ll foreword this with a note that this is entirely based on my lived experience around northern blokes of a certain generation. I have no idea what things are like now, but back when I was a wee bit of a thing, this seemed to be the norm.

A big thing about the north of England is that it’s where a lot of industry was based: glassworks, steelworks, collieries, mines of all kinds, shipbuilding. Whole cities sprang up there based around manual labour and manufacture and trade. There was a history of graft and everyone was expected to do their share and pull their weight. (“Your lots days of sitting around doing fuck all are over”)

There was also a certain pride in that work. Yes, it was hard and yes it could probably kill you, but by god you were good at it. And even moreso if you’d managed to make your way up to be in a position that earned you some modicum of respect and authority. Or even just survived that long. (“My name is First Mate Hands or God as far as you’re concerned”)

There was also a very definite pecking order, whether in social circles or work circles. You couldn’t just swan in and expect to be accepted and respected. You had to earn any respect you got and demanding it was a guarantee you wouldn’t get it. (“Pirates my arse”)

I’ve mentioned before on the post I linked further up about literacy and education. For the longest time, literacy in the north was very low because the majority of people left school early because they had to work. It wasn’t an option to stay on and get an education. If you had stayed in school, then you weren’t working and if you weren’t working, your family may not be eating.

There used to be a vibe of Proper Jobs (ie. manual labour of some kind) versus Soft Jobs (clerking, secretary etc). There were careers such as doctor and lawyer that did get considered Proper Jobs, but for the pencil pushers and the paperwork monkeys scurrying around and making notes, they were doing Soft Jobs.

All of these factors are very clearly in play in the scenes between Izzy and Lucius in episode 5. Here’s a lazy and disrespectful younger man whose entire job on the ship is a Soft Job. He gets to fanny about, writing things down, while everyone else has to do manual labour, and then he disrespects someone who is accustomed to a certain level of authority and respect, someone who has clawed his way up through the ranks.

He’s absolutely dead centre in a ven diagram of Things That Will Annoy Izzy Hands. Even more so since Izzy can’t do anything to Stede for fear of crossing Blackbeard, but this guy? Oh, this guy he can take out his frustrations on.

It explains why Izzy’s ire is focused on him, even though Wee John was having a nap and Black Pete was slacking off just as much. Both of those characters are manual workers (to a given degree, “bottom of the barrel”, after all) but the boy writing the journal, who clearly thinks he’s better than Izzy? Well, there’s someone who needs to learn his place.

(I still have Thoughts on the ‘ooooh daddy’ moment, but I have little brain left to articulate them just now)

And while I was going down that road, my brain took a sharp turn into the realisation of why Izzy dresses the way he does as well. Like the rest of Blackbeard’s crew, he’s in the black/leather combination but unlike them, he is covered from collar to cuffs, neck to toe. Some of it’s worn and repaired, but it’s an outfit that would be seen as Respectable even beyond the pirate world: a full shirt with cravat and a waistcoat on top.

Why would he choose to be so formally dressed? Because “I was honoured to work for the legendary Blackbeard”. It comes back to the pride in his work. He’s First Mate. He’s the second-in-command on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. He has worked bloody hard and survived many things to reach this point. He is representing something both to himself and to the world.

It’s about status: he stands out among the crew, so there’s no question that he’s in charge with his formal clothing. But he also stands out when we see him around other pirates. The only other pirates we see who dress to impress to this degree are Stede and Spanish Jackie. “Make people feel underdressed and suddenly you’re the one in charge” can be applied to all three of them. And it cracks me up knowing how much Izzy would hate that.

All of this is also the reason I’m pretty sure there will be an arc in the coming season when Stede does actually earn some little grudging respect from Izzy. Stede earning his place, doing the work and proving himself feels like it will be a vital cog in the story. Izzy will still deplore him, because he’s a creature of habit and routine, but I feel like there will be at least a grudging “...fine. You’re not a totally useless fucker”, which is high praise indeed.

Now, though, it’s midnight and I’m listing sideways. I shall no doubt have more thoughts, but for now, this will do.

[jinxhallows]

I searched it but couldn't find anything about it, but why are you only including 5 member for kinktober?

ayee thanks for stopping by to ask! nobody has ever asked so I never explained 😂 so I got into writing in this fandom like about a year and a half ago and had no idea what I was doing and kinda just spat some shit out (that I now absolutely hate lmfao 100 follower special, anyone? That fluff was garbage IMO)

I don’t write Felix often/at all because I can’t quite understand his personality enough to feel I can articulate him authentically in writing yet. Also he’s kind of juvenile in a way that reminds me of a younger sibling, making it tough to slut him out. I’m always so impressed by smut Felix writers. They capture him well! I know something freaky is lying under that golden exterior. But I’m working on it! I write about him in my other two full length fics but unfortunately, I don’t think my portrayal of him is very accurate at all. But I keep going because well, it’s already started lol.

I don’t write Seungmin yet because I’m still learning about him and his likes/dislikes and mannerisms and personality. He’s the one I know the least about. All I know is that folx call him a puppy. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak as much as I have in the recent chuseok specials. I know he’s a little terror though, lol, unsure of the origins of it though.

I don’t write IN for the same reasons as above, but lately, he’s been portrayed in a way that’s making me consider roping him in the future into something fun. Someone who met him in person said he seemed the most masculine and adult out of all the members! Surprise surprise! The baby bread shit was off putting. I was like, I’m not slutting out someone with the nickname “baby bread”; but my mind is changing, and fast lol.

-

Why do I write the fellas I write? Aka my “starting team”?

I’m most comfortable writing Chan, he’s closest to me in age and I watch him enough to know his mannerisms and personality. Down to little things like his obsession with space, the way he laughs through his teeth, and his lopsided smile when he’s being a dork. Chan doesn’t like coffee, so in one of my imagines, I made it a point to state the reader was making coffee for herself. If I read someone who has Chan drinking coffee I’d assume they either took creative liberty or have no idea that this man does not fuck with coffee lol. Fun fact: add “yeah?” To the end of a question/statement and it immediately rings Chan’s voice in your mind, doesn’t it? “Guess you’ve got a lot to think about then, yeah?” “How about we head on out to the bar, yeah?”Those details really can make/break someone’s immersion!

Next comes Hyunjin. Hyunjin was difficult for me to write at first, his personality is so multi faceted and not much like his stage persona at all, which is quite powerful! But the algorithm started forcing him onto me in candid situations and I began to understand his nuances too. I grasped an understanding of his micro expressions and mannerisms enough to feel confident writing him.

Third is Lino! I swore against writing Lino because he was such a mystery to me! I later found a video of him being weird and his quirky personality and deadpan affect when saying certain things. He reminds me of some of my closest friends. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t give Lino enough depth! I’m an experienced Scorpio wrangler, and I know he’s got some intense depths to that ocean that can be portrayed so much better. Working on it!

Fourth favorite is Jisung. I use Jisung for light hearted things and comic relief. I almost never write angst Jisung. I probably could, and probably will one day! But for now, I’ve only candidly seen him happy and funny, it’s sometimes hard to even write him in smut because I can’t see him taking much of anything seriously. I know he has bad anxiety and other various mental health concerns, so he’s not all rainbows and butterflies but he doesn’t seem to let folx in on that side of him often, if at all, so it’s difficult to imagine for me right now, so for him, I keep it light.

Fifth newest favorite is Changbin. Changbin is still a little confusing to me but I can at least pinpoint his manner of speech, he can be quite aggressive quite suddenly, in a playful manner. I’m still not too great on describing his mannerisms in literature, but I’ve grown comfortable enough to experiment with him for Kinktober.

-

So you see, my cool beautiful anon, it’s just a matter of time until I work my way down to the rest of the members :) at first, I swore I’d only write Chan, and then it exploded into five. I’m certain by next year’s kinktober, all eight members will be rightfully represented :)

[smallraindrops-blog]

Some wmftd and hades 2 rambles I wanted to share:

Possible Hades 2 Spoilers !

Hypnos with long hair makes me imagine y/n learning how to braid his hair to make it a bit more manageable

Also I feel like seeing hypnos with his long hair would make y/n want to try growing out his beard (achilles sheds a tear when he sees it bc his son now looks like his pa)

Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage reminds me of y/n and hypnos in the pirate au

The amount of angst you could get if hypnos actually does fall into a sleeping coma in the second game 💀 (reminds me a lot of the part closer to the end of wmftd)

I wonder if achilles and patroclus will ever meet odysseus in the second game (how would y/n act if he met him lol)

Imagine y/n and hypnos babysitting baby melinoe when zagreus goes on his runs 🥹 (maybe that would spark their desire for their own children ?)

The wmftd brainrot is getting stronger every day, but I'm glad I stumbled upon this blog <3

AHHHH i love these, legit making me feral rn. Same on the brainrot, my friend. I’m happy you found this blog too <3

Placing my replies and a little short story under the readmore. <3

Y/N would definitely braid Hypnos�� hair for him. Also he wouldn’t be able to cope with how pretty Hypnos is with long hair. Like he totally gets tongue tied just looking at him. He is so fucking pretty.help.

OH AND THE BEARD

I actually hc that Y/N rocked a short beard while working as a fisherman. He was shaved by the time he died because beards are often used as a grapple point during fights so he knew better than to have one.

Until they showed us Skelly I wasn’t sure if Shades could change their form like growing their hair but it looks like they can. (If Skelly counts as a shade, I am not certain where the lines between shades and undead are drawn.) 

But anyway, yeah. Funny enough, I was wondering how to show how time passed for Y/N and was considering having him grow a beard anyway lol.

Achilles would love seeing his son with a beard, Pat too. They would probably joke about him actually being a long-long family member that Pat didn’t know about.

However if I think what happens in Hades 2 actually happens, Y/N will grow the beard while apart from Hypnos. (Thanks depression! 👍)

I haven't talked about it yet but I suspect that Y/N and Hypnos will end up losing each other during the chaos and he is either trapped, helping Hermes or otherwise unable to find Hypnos. He has no clue where Hypnos is and just wants to find him.

Looked up the song, and dude that is immediately going on the playlist. Thank you for introducing me to them.

yeah, def. I’m willing to bet the Hades dev.team had their reasons for Hypnos being comatose. What I hope is that Melinoe still likes Hypnos after he wakes up ( bonus point for everyone if she actually thinks he is the funniest person around)

I hope those met up! It would be like running into that one coworker you dislike while in the dairy section at the grocery store and they won’t shut up and leave you alone. ( i love all three of them, those adorable old war criminals <3)

AHHH. Baby Melinoe!

Baby Melinoe is baby fever on crack, i adore her and will happily fight an undead army for her.

I personally think Hypnos is someone who always wanted kids, especially since he is kinda a big kid himself and would be one of those parents who could play all kinds of silly games with their kids.

Kids were kinda never on Y/N’s radar. There was his own trauma, the war then being on the run. Maybe in a lavender marriage, he might have a kid or two but it wasn’t something he seeked out. Seeing how happy it made Hypnos definitely planted the seed for him. I like to think Y/N would actually be a natural parent with kids.

I can’t articulate my level of love for her so here you go, a wholesome short for making past my rambling lol 

(The short)

The news of Princess Melinoe’s arrival was a welcome one in the house of Hades. It was as if the whole house had transformed around the little princess, there was a warmth, a sense of love, to the house that wasn’t there before.

You were going over the newly increased list of security measures that Master Hades demanded and Queen Persephone had politely requested. You had implemented countless measures leading up to the birth and more afterward but there was always more work to be done.

“Oh look who I found, Princess!” Hypnos’ voice reached your ears and you looked up to see Hypnos grinning at you, the aforementioned Princess Melinoe in his arms. At your questioning glance, Hypnos explained that he was on babysitting duty. 

“Besides, I am way more fun than your older brother, huh?” Hypnos cooed at baby Melinoe, tickling under her chin. The baby girl cooed back in delighted, high pitch sounds that only a newborn could make, little bubbles forming her lips and down her chin.

Normally Hypnos was extremely fussy about his cloak but grabbing an edge of it, he just wiped Melinoe’s drool away without complaint, his smile never fading.

Then, he lifted an expected brow at you. You looked at the baby in Hypnos’ arms, happily blabbering away. You never been around kids, not really. You weren’t sure if the little princess could even see past her small nose. 

She looked tiny and precious. And very, very fragile.

Hypnos laughed quietly. “She isn’t scary, dearest. You can tell her ‘hello’.”

”Hello.” You told her. Her eyes widen, staring up at you with wide mismatched irises. As if she was realizing you were right there. She blinked slowly. 

”Try giving her your finger.” Hypnos encouraged, and after a moment of hesitation, you obeyed.

Princess Melinoe grabbed at your finger with considerable strength and simply held on, staring at you with a surprisingly serious expression, blabbering away in nonsense. 

You made the appropriate noises like you could understand her and repeated, ‘indeed, Princess.’ along with ‘you are definitely much smarter than your brother.’

A smile formed on your face without you noticing.

You didn’t see the soft way Hypnos glanced at you, realizing the quiet hope that was forming in his chest. When it was time for Hypnos to return Princess Melinoe to her mother, you didn’t know that Hypnos was already putting together a conversation to have with you later.

You never knew.