#if you have seen this snippet let me know and i will post a different snippet

[oh-no-its-bird]

I'm having. So many Uchiha Houhua thoughts. Like I know so much of his existence is geared towards survival but. The hc of Uchiha's use of war fans,I have to wonder if he ever finds him half heartedly fiddling with a delicate seeming Tessen, remebering an old friend now far gone, just as razor edged and yet still missed.

And it may be my own fondness for the concept of a spider summons but so much of spider behavior is "Please Leave Me Alone" which is very on brand for Houhua. Camouflage and careful, delicate and yet still so dangerous, setting invisible webs between leaves and waiting for the worse predators to pass. (Also using spider venom to fuck with his heartrate for the possum jutsu maybe?)

The entire concept is so delightful and I'm very thankful to have seen all your little tidbits on it

YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU SENT ME A STRAWPAGE I JUST SAW IT LAST NIGHT BUT FELL ASLEEP BEFORE I COULD COPY PASTE IT TO REPLY TO HERE!!!!!!!!!!!

Omg hi funny seeing you here (<- batting my eyelashes, twirling my hair)

Anyways I love this, actually. Like, a lot.

Ough,, Houhua unable to look at war fans without thinking about both SY and SQQ,,,

I think it's actually especially fun to think ab like. The difference in fighting style between (Japanese) Uchiha styled war fan techniques and (Chinese) Cang Qiong Sect war fan techniques. Not even counting the much more specific Qing Jing Peak style of fan techniques.

That also goes double for sword techniques, especially considering the plans for Houhua to go into sword smithing.

Houhua has literal decades of the Cang Qiong sect sword style engraved into his fucking bones. Into his soul, even, if you consider the whole 'cultivators swords are usually tied to their spirits in some way' thing.

He's going to have the worst time trying to switch to Uchiha sword styles-- though I think the sharingan + the unfamiliar, tiny body without all the muscle memory of his past life will help him at least get his footing

,, Hey, is muscle memory held in the actual muscle or is it held in the brain? That's a thought.

ALSO. THE SPIDERS.

I. I cant lie to u, you are making an amazing argument rn for him having a spider summons. I love the idea sm, I am now faced w the ultimate dilemma of choosing between a spider contract or a rat contract.

On one hand, they both carry undertones of like 'there might be a bit more to see here than just a coward' bc of the associated (mostly negative) connotations of rats and spiders both being like, underhanded, sneaky, that sort of thing. But the spider tho,,, ough,, it also shows a side of implied manipulation that might be fun just from the angle of like.

Yeah you'd expect him to have some sort of rodent contract but hes actually been designated spider coded by the universe, actually.

I forget if I posted this snippet yet or if I only posted it on the discord but take this really quick:

So like. This moment, where Kabuto bets Houhua will get some form of rodent contract (for obvious reasons) while Hana bets he gets a fucking worm. But now make it even funnier bc they're both wrong and he got a spider contract.

This could also maybe play interesting into Houhua and Kabuto's sort of ongoing quiet squinting in eachothers direction as they both go 'this guy isnt as simple as he seems...' as Kabuto mentally recalculates some of Houhua's behavior

This also can just bring out a pretty fun "hey so lets talk about in universe stereotypes and associations when it comes to summoning animals" which I just think is fun. Like, culturally, what does it mean to have a contracted animal? Do some people treat it like they might astrology personality tests? Do some people think its just nonsense and pure luck or not that deep?

For some people it probably isn't that deep, while for others (specifically those who might come from families who always have the same contract, or others who sign blank contracts where they really are sent to an animal that matches them best) it really is a good way to try and analyze them

And like. Where does that leave Houhua?

This could also just be fun for when he interacts w Orochimaru, who fucking hates bugs (insert my own personal favorite hc here that he hates them largely in part due to the many times he was stuck inside his own rotting body, infested with bugs)

And like, Houhua and Orochimaru will inevitably interact, though I'm not 100% sure on how it goes just yet. But like. Houhua having a spider contract and Orochimaru coincidentally hating spiders. Could be funny.

PLUS YOU'RE SO RIGHT FOR LIKE. SPIDER VENOM POSSIBLY PLAYING INTO HIS PLAYING DEAD ACT. UR SO SMART FOR THAT.

Anyways. Yeah ok I think spider contract Houhua would go pretty hard for multiple reasons. Give him a big fluffy spider with big ol eyes.

Houhua can maybe get another contract further down the line and then get the rodents he deserves.

Im so glad that you've been enjoying the SQH in naruto au nonsense I've been pumping out!! I'm like. Halfwayish done with chapter one but it keeps getting longer. I'll get there eventually.

I really need to update my tumblr vault with all the recent additions to the au but want to update it when I post the actual fic so I can link the fic to the chapter, so I'm holding off on that

Anyways, thank you for your ask!!

[kirythestitchwitch]

for the fic writer asks, 6, 11, 25 & 29

have a wonderful day <3

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Oh my god, SO many. So so so many. I could not list even a small portion, we would be here all day. And not even in this fandom, I have other fandoms that i lovingly go back to occasionally and just go through my faves from time to time just to experience the feels again. I am a HUGE rereader. Once a fic makes it into my rotation it stays there.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

Answered that one here, basically lol.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Are we talking like "This isn't working and I don't like it dsjafhah!" upset or like "They're sad and it's horrible waaaaah!" upset? Bc i am number 1 at least once a week lmao. And yes, i am currently avoiding the part of Stellar Flare i have to write bc they are having an argument and i don't like it and it's making me sad but it's needed for the Plot! I really need to get over it and write it bc it has been a YEAR since i posted the first chapter to that fic and not that more than five people are interested in that fic (this is not me being self-deprecating, this is just me being aware that scifi isn't really this fandom's jam it's fine) it's fun and i get to play with Tropes.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

I don't really write things i don't plan to post, and i rarely end up cutting more than a paragraph or two. How about a snippet that is so far in the future that it has nothing to support it?

Necromancer!Caroline:

"A doppelgänger, you let a doppelgänger get the drop on you?" Caroline crossed her arms, cocking a hip for emphasis as she stared down Kol’s ghostly visage.

"Caroline, darling! I always knew I'd end up in your capable hands." He waggled his eyebrows with a leer and she huffed.

"Don't try to change the subject. A doppelgänger, really?"

A disgruntled look flashed across his translucent face. "Did anyone happen to mention, while they were speaking ill of the dead, that there was a hunter there?" He glared at his brother, who's intense expression from before had been wiped clear.

Instead, Klaus lips held a veneer of a smile over several lifetimes of annoyance. "The hunter was seventeen, Caroline."

"A teenager? Kol, that's just embarrassing."

Indignation was rising in his face, and if he'd had any other color to the soft green glow of his form, he'd probably be flushed. "He had a little spray thingy, with vervain water," Kol whined, miming pulling a trigger. 

Caroline stared. "A squirt gun?"

Kol's lips twisted a little in thought. "Maybe? Came out of the sink, with a hose."

There was a pause, and then Caroline practically yelled, "A spray faucet? You got yourself killed because a kid too young to vote turned a spray faucet on you?"

"I was trying to avert an apocalypse!" he said indignantly, "I had a lot going on that day."

"I'm going to bring you back again just to kill you myself," she muttered threateningly.

[willowpains]

introducing…

latina actress reader!

mexican to be exact, born and raised. sings and dances, but has decided to focus all her efforts into acting and breaking through Hollywood, fighting closed doors due to her nationality, always with a good attitude and ready to work her ass off to achieve her dreams to be the next it girl and big thing around the world.

she’s…

big hearted. soft. sensitive. hardworking. multilingual. singer. dancer. warm. family girl. fangirl. super friendly. the one that makes everyone feel included. a listener and big yapper around the people she trusts. a bit shy at first. loves a good party. cinephile. tequila lover.

loves…

going out with her friends and fellow costars. traveling back home whenever she can. the beach. taking photos of everyone and everything. speaking spanish in front of people that don’t understand. doing karaoke. her dog. reggaeton. doing tiktok dances. reading romance and fantasy. going to the movies at night. posting photo dumps on instagram. doing pranks. her mexican food. makeup. her alone time.

can’t stand…

horror movies. people that don’t love animals. over bearing and noisy paparazzi and press. liars. smoking and cigarettes. loud chewing. small spaces. rats. not wearing perfume. losing her favorite lip gloss. online spoilers. missing out on stuff. people talking on the movie theater.

wikipedia…

-her first big role outside of her country was as a pogue, with a trope of slow burn enemies to lovers with Drew Starkey’s character, and member of the main friend group in the highly acclaimed Netflix series Outer Banks, still ongoing now with a just released season 4.

-she was casted and is part of the wrapped up and upcoming movie: Wake Up Dead Man, sequel to the famous murder mystery movie Knives Out.

-uploads covers and snippets of originals songs on her YouTube channel, as well as see social media accounts such as TikTok and Instagram.

-had a big role besides actor Jacob Elordi in last years hit project Saltburn, making it one of her biggest movies in her repertoire to this day.

-she was seen attending a Niall Horan concert previously in the year, and was brought up on stage by the artist to sing a duet, as she claimed one of her favorite songs, “You could start a cult” during the show.

-she is rumored to take part in the role of Susan Pevensie in upcoming Narnia Series directed by Greta Gerwig, nothing has been confirmed yet but both the actress and the director have been hinting at it in different interviews and events.

loading more…🎥🎞️🎬🍿

***

I am so freaking excited about this concept that I came up with! I had been wanting to continue writing for drew and this idea just landed on my lap didn’t it? *wink wink*

I have so many plans for this universe with mexican/latina actress reader, from moodboards, blurbs, headcanons, specific scenarios, sooooo so much! if you have any questions, things you wanna request or know about reader please feel free to ask or let me know, you’ll be feeding into my motivation to write more about her and drew and the rest of the obx cast<3

credits and inspiration to all the writers out here that come up with these concepts of ___ reader! if ate up most of them and I think they’re creative and amazing af

about time my writer personality came back, and as always, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any grammar or writing errors there may be!

stay tuned👀

[cheynovak]

TikTok Trouble

Jensen Ackles x Y/N f/reader girlfriend

English isn't my first language.

Did not proof read, mistakes are possible

This amazing idea/ request is from @deanwinchestersgirl8734

'Hi do you think when you get time you could do a story about Jensen finding out his wife or girlfriend reader was making secret TikTok videos about him and his characters and liking others videos on TikTok lol"

Please do not copy my work. likes/sharing/comments are appreciated

The roaring energy of the convention was intoxicating. Jensen was seated on stage alongside Jared, basking in the enthusiastic chatter of their fans. As the Q&A portion unfolded, Jensen caught snippets of laughter and whispers among the audience that left him curious.

A fan with a devilish grin stepped up to the mic, clutching their phone.

“Hi Jensen, hi Jared!” they beamed. “Okay, this is a little different. So Jensen, have you seen Y/N’s TikToks?"

The question hit Jensen like a freight train. His brows knitted together in confusion, his lips parting slightly. “Her TikToks?" he repeated. "Wait��she’s on TikTok? What…what kind of TikToks?"

Jared burst into laughter beside him, throwing his head back as if he’d been holding in the knowledge for weeks. "Oh, man, you haven’t seen them? Dude, they’re hilarious!"

Jensen’s ears flushed a faint shade of red as the fan’s grin widened.

“Um, so Y/N has been making these really fun videos about you and your characters. And also…she, uh, likes edits and stuff that people make of you. She even…” The fan trailed off with a giggle, holding their phone up. “Want me to show you one?”

Jensen leaned forward with intrigue. “You better show me now, because clearly, I’m the last to know!”

The fan swiped through their phone and played a video. On the screen, there was Y/N, subtly filming from the corner of the makeup trailer. Jensen was seated in the chair, half in-character, as the crew styled his hair.

The camera then panned dramatically to him. She overlaid a dog ear and tongue filter and captioned it with: “Who's mommy's good boy, you are! Yeah you are!"

Followed by a video of him in a hydrating mask. "Babe... What are you doing." Jensen asks jokingly "I'm batman."

"Of course babe... I support you!"

The crowd roared with laughter while Jensen’s jaw dropped. He let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my God, that woman! That…that sneaky…”

Jared, not helping in the slightest, chimed in. “Oh, wait, the best one's coming. Show him the Walker one!”

The fan gleefully skipped to another video. It was Y/N’s most recent post: on the set of Walker, where Jensen had been directing. The video began with a close-up of Jared leaning casually against a truck, all smoldering Texan charm.

“Hot damn!" Y/N narrated jokingly. Jared turned his head, raising an eyebrow, clearly aware of the filming. With a playful grin and exaggerated Texan drawl, he said, “Want to hop in my truck for a ride, sugar?”

Y/N’s laugh echoed through the video as she turned the camera so she could join in. “Hmm, I don’t know, Jared," she teased, tilting her phone to capture more of his smirk. “Think your truck can handle all this?”

Jared leaned closer to her and the camera, his grin widening. “Darlin’, my truck’s seen plenty of rough rides, but you might just be the challenge it’s been waiting for.”

The audience erupted in cheers and laughter, completely eating up the playful banter. Y/N’s laugh rang out in the video again as she panned the camera away from Jared, who was still smirking behind her.

“Nah, I’m saving my ride for that man," she quipped, and the camera panned dramatically over to Jensen, looking sharp as ever in his cowboy attire. As she got closer to him, she joked, “Save a horse, I’ll ride that cowboy," and winked at the camera.

Jensen groaned, burying his face in his hands as Jared cackled beside him. The audience was in hysterics.

“Oh my God, she’s going to be the death of me,” Jensen said, voice muffled from his hands.

“Nah, you love it,” Jared teased, clapping his shoulder. “Just admit it—she’s out there making sure you’re appreciated by the entire internet.”

Jensen straightened, his eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and faux indignation. “Yeah, well, I guess I need to have a talk with my girlfriend about sneaking around on set with her phone.”

The fan couldn’t resist adding, "She’s basically your biggest fan, though! You can’t be mad!"

Jensen smirked, folding his arms. “Oh, I’m not mad. But let’s just say, if she’s going to film me…she better be ready for some payback.”

The fans erupted in cheers, already anticipating the behind-the-scenes TikTok war that was bound to ensue.

--

Taglist -> Click here to add

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla

@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss

@muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy

@livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never

@ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf

[shiny-jr]

Literally vibrating in excitement for the Diasomnia Damnation chapter! That dorm skyrocketed to the top of my list of favorites when chapter seven of the game arrived and Sleeping Beauty has been my favorite film since I was able to speak.

The sneak peek so far is really interesting, especially since (to me at least) this MC seems a little more...innocent? Carefree? I don't really know what to call it, but this one seems less cynical than the others. Of course, this is just a snippet and could easily change, but I'm excited for it nonetheless!

Thank you very much for posting it!!!

Answering the recent damnation asks first, hope y'all don't mind. I have quite a few asks to get to eventually, but you know me, I don't like answering too many at once because I don't want to annoy anyone by flooding their dashboard. So we're limiting it to a few asks a day.

Let me admit, I have not actually played chapter seven of the game. I know, I know, I have been caught severely lacking. That is my bad. I've only seen clips, fanart, etc. So I'm basically going off photos and my own interpretation plus the main movies: Sleeping Beauty and Maleficent.

Yeah, this MC is definitely a little different from the others. I'm trying my best to make them humorous, which is proving to be difficult when I'm not a very funny person. However, here's one out of context line from the MC for y'all.

No I will not give context. You're gonna have to wait to figure out that one.

To all the Silver stans out there–– are there any Silver stans? There's gotta be. Right now we're a little under halfway done with the story, and your boy has the most pages.

Anyways, I hope this lives up to your expectations, anon! I will try my very hardest to make this a good one.

[welcometololaland]

10 things - 2024/2025 edition

happy new year, everyone! 2024 has been a year of change for me in so many different ways, and i've posted very little fic this year, mostly due to writers' block and time constraints. so, instead of doing the writing round up i thought i'd list 10 things i'm grateful for in 2024 (fandom edition) and 10 things i want to do in 2025 (also, fandom edition). please feel free to make your own if you wish! consider this an open tag 🏷️

2024 - things i'm grateful for (in fandom, in no particular order)

1. my ride or die friends who deal with my self doubt and breakdowns and (being 100% real) paranoia about situations that simply don't exist - @rmd-writes @celeritas2997 , the popcorn squad and others. wouldn't be writing without your support!

2. the writers who have trusted me to beta for them - @heartstringsduet @basilsunrise @rmd-writes i think i'm forgetting some (so sorry if so). michelle, being with you through first aid was such an amazing experience, and i feel so lucky to have seen you develop as a writer!

3. the people who have read my fics and encouraged me including the wip wednesday and seven sentence sunday tags! - i literally would not be anywhere without you. you actually give me life.

4. the friendships i've made on discord with people who just wanna know me for me and share little snippets of their lives - @reyesstrand and @heartstringsduet the little squirrel photos y'all send me are soul soothers for real! @st-elle-ar and @clottedcreamfudge and @lightningboltreader and @birdclowns for the cat pics! @howtosingit for your commentary and spoiler services 💜

5. the grace given to me by @carlos-in-glasses and @actual-sleeping-beauty - you two are so kind and encouraging and tell me all about your knitting projects even when i go missing for weeks on end. thank you for being my friends <3 and i don't even think you guys know you are both my yarn obsessed friends but you ARE.

6. everyone who has trusted me enough to collab with them on projects - the legends on never the same twice, @rmd-writes @strandnreyes. i loved working with you and i hope you had a positive experience! looking forward to more collabs in 2025.

7. the document gremlins, betas and sensitivity readers i've collected this year - @rmd-writes @strandnreyes @lightningboltreader @celeritas2997 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut ty ty ty ty some of those fics were in danger of being lost forever but we revived them!

8. @she-walked-away for making me laugh with your hilarious posts and olympia2997 who apparently doesn't exist on tumblr but leaves the most unhinged comments of all time on my fics.

9. everyone who has translated my fics or made art or gifs this year! inspired by you and in awe of you! @donghaian @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @guardian-angle22 i know there are more i'm so sorry if i've not listed you here!!!

10. everyone in the various fandoms i'm in who have created brilliant works in 2024! i am inspired by your work more than you know <3

2025 - things i want to do (in fandom, in no particular order)

1. read more, and read more broadly. expand my horizons a bit. read things that are a touch outside my go-to zones just to test the waters. read stuff by new authors!

2. spend time co-writing because that's actually my favourite thing to do. i have some things in the pipeline with a couple of people which i hope work out!

3. finish. the. damn. fic. (eurotrip). IT'S SO FREAKING CLOSE.

4. spend more time with my 2019-2021 beloveds - alex and henry. write more rwrb fic. engage in the fandom a bit more.

5. finish the ring-in 2.0 within 1 month of the LS finale (weep).

6. take one hand off the wheel with fandom relationships - my therapist tells me i need to stop trying to control how everyone feels about me and instead let people show me the kind of friendship they're interested in maintaining. scary because i think i may lose some people along the way but OH WELL WE BALL.

7. worry less about the engagement! god! i need to stop looking so much! *shakes fist at self*

8. write a little more regularly with less word count expectations.

9. learn how to be okay with smaller comments (from myself). sometimes i feel terrible if i don't write a damn essay but sometimes it stops me from reading which is horrible!

10. be a better fandom contributor than i was in 2024 - i think continuous growth is important and i'm always open to feedback (as long as it's constructive and genuine)! my mission is to always make a positive contribution and to make people feel good about themselves, and if i can even do that for one person in 2025, i think i will achieve this goal.

ty for the 2024 wrapped tags @hippolotamus @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @emsprovisions @nancys-braids @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @firenati0n @cha-melodius. you are real ones! consider this a tag back if you would like to do a 2024/2025 10 things edition.

[inexplicifics]

Hiya! I was wondering if you’d been having any luck making the Cats Among Wolves bunnies cooperate lately? If not, that’s cool. Plot bunnies are not the most cooperative creatures, but I figured I’d ask. I was also curious about what the writing process usually looks like for you if you were willing to explain it a bit. Do you tend to jump around between projects just following the inspiration, or do you write out at least a whole scene or chapter before letting yourself move around? How many times do you usually send a fic to Rose for betaing before you feel ready to release it? I always find different people’s processes so interesting.

So Cats Among Wolves is mostly not cooperating at the moment - I am weirdly low on Brain and the bunnies are not doing long-form very well just now. But here's a snippet from the Cedric & Axel fic:

Fuck, this is good, Cedric opines, sipping greedily at the soup Gaetan is holding for him. “The old Wolf knows his way around a kitchen,” Gaetan agrees, nodding. “I think I gained most of a stone the first winter I spent here.” “You needed it,” Eskel puts in. “All you Cats are too damn scrawny.” “Wolves are just absurdly big,” Gaetan sniffs. “And what are Vipers, then?” Eskel - teases. And Gaetan is grinning. Axel has never seen Gaetan so relaxed around an alpha before. Not even Cedric. But there’s not even a hint of tension in his littlest brother. He’s utterly unafraid. “Vipers are mostly perfectly normal sizes, Letho’s just special,” Gaetan says cheerfully. Letho smirks.

As to my writing process - oh gods, it's like a pogo stick. I often have eight or ten docs open, and I create a new WIP at least three times a week. (I am very easy to plotbunny. And I am surrounded by enablers.) I write until I get stuck and then I go to something else. Sometimes, if something really grabs me, I can get a whole longfic out in a week; sometimes I have to come back to it again and again until it clicks. My personal feeling is that as long as words are ending up in a row, it's all good.

I don't outline. Outlines kill fic for me. Once I've written down what's going to happen, why bother writing it again? Even for something like MBtT, I had the very loosest possible sketch of the plot and the desired relationships. I also can't estimate how long a fic is going to be to save my life. I thought MBtT was going to be 50K. I have to very deliberately keep from putting plot into things like prompt fills and flash fics, because once I've added plot, that fic isn't getting done in less than 10K.

I usually send the fic to Rose when it's completely done, and then do a pass through it once she's left comments, fixing all the plot holes she finds. Then she checks my work and I put it in the posting queue.

One thing I have found that helps me is that I color-code my docs. Blue is in progress, purple is ready for beta, and green is ready to be posted. It makes it easier for me to track things visually.

The other thing that really helps is cheer-readers. Because I try to only post finished fics, sometimes I'll start wondering if what I'm writing is really any good. Rose and Twist and Ray have all been wonderful at Encouraging me enthusiastically to keep going, and suggesting directions when I get stuck. Cheer-readers are great and I encourage writers to find them if they can.

Hope that was interesting!

[bookshopsbizarreblog]

Can we talk about how good the Moon Mining song in Midst S3E14 - Shindig is? Like, I've heard lots of songs across the various podcasts I've listened to, some of them quite good. But I have yet to encounter one that was situated in the story as masterfully as the Moon Mining song, or that conveys a fraction of the emotionality. Even without getting into story spoilers, the (at least seemingly) improvised nature of each verse, the layering of shouts and cheers and merry heckling to create a whole crowd leaning into it, the way each character expresses themself and their situation (and is expressed to us as the audience), and even just the way the song is introduced paint such a vibrant and lively setting. The entire 5-ish minutes just radiates a community coming together and having fun.

S2E4 - Weather used to be my favorite episode, as someone who has a deep love of cosmic horror and general eldritch shenans, but I've gone back to Shindig at least seven or eight times just to listen and relisten to that single song. I can't imagine not getting swept up in the revelry, and its position within the episode (and season overall) just sells it so much harder. More concrete spoilers beneath the cut.

If you haven't listened to Midst, please do. Gracious goodness, it's so good.

The entire episode is a rollercoaster of highs and lows for these characters and the community of Stationary Hill that we've gotten to love at this point. Sherman and Tzila finally arrive home, to celebration and joy. The community is barely recognizable but we've seen them band together and rebuild. And at a pinnacle of tension, after the gut punches of Hieronymus' confession to Saskia and the Vault demolition plan and Weepe's victory over Kozma, we finally get a brief break. But even that break is tainted with uncertainty and pain. Right before the song begins, we get Emmet's toast to the fallen, Sherman's uncertainty and fear of staying in Stationary Hill, all the festivities and merriment tinged bittersweet. And then the catharsis hits. It's not announced as a song. It's not a side bar where the ambiance cuts away so a tune can be inserted above the story. All we know is that Goe is getting on stage, and the narrators are saying we're missing something, but what? "That's right." "It wouldn't be a party on Midst without-" "Goe: It's time, you dang raskals!"

It's like the podcast version of show, don't tell. They could have laid out that a song was coming up. They could have even just launched into it. But by merely having uncertain build up and sudden increasing excitement and anticipation from the crowd, we get dragged along with it too. Straight from all the emotions of the previous conversations into this building energy with no clear outlet. It isn't until the cheers and diegetic voices demand "that friggin' moon tune," now that we are also fully on board, that the end point is revealed. And then it slaps.

The different methods of singing for each person, of which Saskia and Ettie (x2) and Ned (whose voice makes me understand the random background lady) stand out the most. Bets and Walter's and Tzila all representing different versions of how a kid would approach being asked to sing in front of their entire community. Sylvester and the chanting and everyone joining in on the chorus and the way each person's verse is a snippet of their life and perspective and situation and story without it being overbearing. It just. The whole thing. It screams of the close-knit Stationary Hill community, which then also pays off in another big way during the last episode.

I highly recommend listening to the song again, with headphones and the volume cranked up to get the full experience if you haven't already. I'm losing my mind over this song. If tumblr woulda let me, I would have just uploaded the full 5:19 clip I isolated, but unfortunately it wound up being too big to post. So here's the link to the time where the song specifically starts.

Thank you so much Third Person ( @midstpodcast ) for creating such a full and magical world.

[orbitariums]

christopher moltisanti x black! reader (snippet) as promised literally LAST YEAR... i know my people are still waiting on it i'm so sorry for leaving yall hanging, gays can u ever forgive me?

this is a SNIPPET of the shit i literally started last week... there's room for improvement and hopefully this will force me to finish this. also if any of y'all are also into challengers, i've got some patrick zweig and art donaldson (x black reader) fic posted and more incoming ehehehe.

anyway. set in like s3/s4, when christopher was working in an office (completely blanking on when that actually was but you'll have to forgive me i literally started this last summer (and still haven't finished the sopranos because i am notoriously slow at finishing tv shows))

cappuccino w/ extra cream | christopher moltisanti x black!reader

contains: smut, mentions of racial tension, christopher is NOT an abusive racist in this sopranosverse <3

You and Christopher Moltisanti were not a predictable match. It was only by chance that you met, while he was ordering lunch at the bodega you worked at after he had scored a hit in your neighborhood. He knew better than to come back, especially just for you, but he did. Over and over he came in, ordering a turkey and cheese on a roll with extra relish, shoving an inappropriately large tip in the tip jar just for you— just enough times until you caved in and let him take you out to dinner.

Of course, your family had a fit, and you didn’t even want to think about what Christopher went through with his crew when it came time to finally tell them about his forbidden love life. But all of the ruckus had died down, and now between the two of your crews was this unspoken, stifled agreement that they would let this union exist in peace. It was the 90s for god’s sake, and Christopher was a stubborn mule. 

Once he knew what he wanted, there was no backing down, even if it made him look like an idiot to those whom he served. And by god, did he want you. He was obsessed with you. Always wining and dining you, showing you off without shame. Of course, you two had been through your ups and downs, but Christopher treated you right. You were probably the first woman he’d treated right, the first he cared for unconditionally. No pains in sight except those he took to spoil you and cherish you beyond the diamonds and Versace pumps he gifted you. Even Paulie could respect it, along with the rest. It’s partially why they left it alone, and even smiled and shook your hand when you showed up on his arm. He thought about you every waking moment, he was positively lovestruck. 

It was a slow day at the office. Already Christopher had to reprimand Thing One and Thing Two for trying to intimidate the new guy. He was secluded now in his office, scrolling aimlessly on his chunky desktop computer when he heard a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, baby!” came your voice, tinkling like bells in his ear and positively soaring through the room from the other side of the door. 

Christopher stood up, standing straight as if he’d just downed a shot of espresso, and he had to physically resist flinging himself at the door for the sake of the guys outside who were watching him. He opened it, first looking past you and glaring at the guys who had frozen on their phones and computers, gaping at the sight of you being let into Christopher’s office. Like they’d never seen anybody before. 

“What are you jerkoffs looking at?” Christopher barked. “Get back to work!”

Immediately resumed the punching sounds of typing and the drawls of the sleazy salesmen on the phone with their poor customers. As if it were nothing, Christopher retreated back, facing you with a broad, charming smile.

“YN, baby… what are you doin’ here?” he asked, that dopey lover boy tinkle sneaking into his voice, which always did anytime he talked to you. He sounded like a completely different person— like the Chris he might have been if he weren’t born into the family he was born into. He took your arms into his hands, caressing them gently, softly smiling. “Here, come in.”

He opened the door wide enough for you to come in, glared at everyone once again when you walked past, and then closed it, clicking the door locked. Not that anyone would try to come in unannounced anyway.   

“Wanted to see you, that’s all,” you smiled, plush lips pressed against one another. “Got off work early, got you a capp and chocolate biscotti. Extra creamy, just how you like it.”

You sat down at the chair opposite his desk, setting down two coffee cups and a crinkly paper bag. Christopher felt like he was dreaming. His discontent seemed to fade away now that you were here— bright colors replaced the dull dram palette of his lonely office and he only had eyes for you. The smell of creamy espresso wafted towards him, mingling with the praline swirls of perfume that glided off of your pressure points. He was in Heaven— he was sure of it. All of his senses were overwhelmed by beauty when he was around you. 

“My girl. Always so sweet,” Christopher picked up a cup and sat down in his desk chair across from you. He pried open the lid and took a deep sniff, all the while maintaining the most tantalizing eye contact with you, both of you staring at each other with smirking smiles painted on your lips. 

“Go on, drink it,” you prompted him, unable to hide the smile from your voice. 

“What, I can’t look at you instead?” Christopher crooned back. “C’mere. Come, sit on my lap. Sitting across from me, what are you, a client?”

You shook your head, laughing at Christopher’s incessant demands to always be close to you, always be looking at you. He was always touchy-feely and lovey-dovey. His affinity for physical touch lurked not so far beyond the cold mobster exterior. You got up anyway, slinked over to him, and sat. One leg crossed over the other, the skin of one thigh sinking into the other. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his chin into your shoulder, gazing up at you. 

“Your hair looks nice,” Christopher commented, gently grabbing a handful of your fresh auburn-colored braids and stroking his hand through the gaps.

“Oh, thank you,” you snaked a hand through your hair, tilting your head so you could see Christopher better. 

“You go to that salon? Put it on my card?”

“Of course, baby. Thank you,” you smiled coyly, kissing his cheek with a loud smack.

“You just tell me anytime you need to get your hair done. With you, it’s every two weeks, but I can’t complain.”

You snickered,

“Yeah, until I make you sit there and wait for me for six hours to get some braids.”

“I dunno how you do it. You’ve got patience like nobody else,” Christopher replied, pushing some of your braids to the other side.

“We have patience like no other.”

Christopher looked down at your skirt— a tight pencil skirt that matched the brown hues of your skin and hugged your curves nicely. You matched it with a blazer and a white blouse. You looked so sexy and professional, and elegant.

“And this skirt,” Christopher continued, layering on the compliments with a renewed curiosity, the kind of curiosity that wanted to know what was under the skirt. His hands, rough and large, found their way onto your lap and your thigh. His hands, marred and toughened from his profession, felt nothing like your buttery smooth skin, but still, you found yourself melting into his touch. Your wispy lashes brushed against your cheek as your eyes fluttered slightly closed. 

“Burberry. You like it?” you bit down on your lip, giving him doe eyes as you craned your neck to coo at him. 

A deep smirk set on Christopher’s lips and his thick brows rose slightly. His hands left your body for only a moment to raise up in the air as if considering the question, then they were right back where they belonged, 

“Do I like it? I wanna fuck you with it on.”

Your mouth dropped.

“Christopher!” you enunciated each syllable, glaring back at him with twinkling, faux scandalized wide eyes. 

“What? I can’t be honest anymore?” Christopher asked, his words beginning to sound muffled as he pressed his lips against your neck ever-so-gently, but enough so that you could feel it. “I’m Catholic. Lying is a sin.”

“What’re you doing, Chris?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes amusedly. You wouldn’t keep up this facade for long, but he would play along and break down your walls. 

“You smell so fucking good,” Christopher practically inhaled your scent, his big nose pressed against the nape of your neck. “You got more of this stuff?”

You frowned slightly, remembering that you were savoring the last of it,

“I’m almost out.”

“I’ll get you more,” Christopher replied immediately. “Make that your signature scent.”

You chuckled at Christopher’s insistence, his matter-of-fact way of speaking about certain things. Not controlling, but honest about what he wanted. 

“Okay, I will,” you grinned. 

Christopher pushed away your braids so that one side of your neck was completely bare for him to continue peppering kisses upon. It was clear to you that he wanted more than just this, as sweet as it was. And you wanted it too, but not without teasing him first. 

“I want you right now,” Christopher said, a certain desperation tinged in his voice that only you could provoke. He knew he’d have you, and could have you… but still, every time, he seemed to rescind into this character of the enthralled lover boy who didn’t quite have the girl. Like he was still ordering sandwiches from the other side of the counter and telling you to keep the change. 

“Christopher! You’re at work. What if someone hears?”

Christopher snorted through his nose, 

“I don’t give a fuck. ‘Sides, only thing those jerkoffs can hear is the sound of their own 

mouth-breathing.”

You giggled, but half-heartedly, trying to catch your breath. Christopher wasn’t the only one who was defenseless in this relationship. You wouldn’t be able to guess it right away, but he had you wrapped around his finger too, right along with his Cuban ring. Everything he did positively enraptured you, even if it made him dangerous. But when you were with him, everything was swathed in the softest fabrics, and the air smelled of fresh linen and fields of flowers. None of the blood and tears that his work consisted of. 

You crumpled under his touch, easily. He knew you, mind, soul, and more presently, body. The room was silent, bar for the slightest sounds of lips against your neck and fabric swishing against itself as he eased his hand further up your thigh, pushing underneath your skirt. By now his kisses against your neck had you tilting your head back in pleasure, your lips slightly parted. You could feel the outline of his cock against your ass and wanted nothing more than to get closer. Each time you saw each other it was like you hadn’t seen each other in years, would never see each other again. The passion never dissipated. 

His hand crept further and further until it reached the side of your panties, lifting the elastic band and then letting it slap against your skin. His kisses against your neck grew deeper and traveled up to your chin, his other hand wrapped around your waist tightly. You gasped slightly at Chris’ suggestive touch.

“Christopher…” you whispered, your voice reduced to a weak shiver, lids becoming heavy. 

“What?” he responded, his breath heavy. 

“Please, I need you to touch me.”

“Where?” Christopher asked, fighting the smile that was pulling at his lips. 

“Here!” you exclaimed with desperation, grabbing his hand and pressing it against the center of your panties where there was a wet mark. 

“Oh, there,” Christopher replied, fingers pressing into you over the delicate fabric. 

“Yes, please,” you whimpered, your whole body beginning to tense up as if preparing for sweet impact. 

You were relieved when you felt him push your panties to the side and you could finally feel his fingers against your flesh, prodding at your folds as if collecting your wetness along his fingertips. 

“You’re always so wet,” he shuddered, wasting no time and pushing a thick finger into your hole, making you nearly jump out of your seat on his lap. Instead, though, you simply arched your hips up against his finger, letting out a deep exhale. “And so warm.”

“Oh!” you yelped out in pleasant shock when Christopher added another finger, fully stretching you out now and sending a buzzing vibration up your spine. 

“Thought you didn’t want anybody to hear us?” Christopher taunted you, lips hot against your ear. 

“Ugh,” you moaned, rolling your eyes. “Just—please.”

“Please what?” Christopher asked, all while quickening the pace of his fingers inside you, switching from slow, scissoring motions to a fast slam that caused you to collapse against his chest, your legs pried open. Christopher moaned to himself at the feeling of your wet slick against his fingers, the way he could feel you getting wetter as he pushed his fingers in and out of your hot entrance. 

“Please fuck me,” you whined, your voice taking on an entirely new high pitch as you jolted into the pleasure and the change of pace. 

“‘M gonna fuck you, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Christopher kept pushing his learned fingers into you, hitting your g-spot with ease. “Gonna make you take my cock.”

“M-mhm,” you gasped out. Chris wanted to see this through, but the way he was straining against his pants was killing him. It was painful not to be able to be inside of you. 

“Fuck, I’m taking this off,” he announced, and you both fumbled together to unzip your skirt and toss it onto the floor. His pants and boxers came next, along with your panties. All thrown carelessly around the room. Then he lifted you and turned you around so you were facing him, straddling him on his desk chair. You were already desperately grinding against the base of his cock, your arousal trailing up his shaft. 

“You’re such a fucking slut,” Christopher’s voice seemed to grind into a growl as he watched you roll your hips desperately against his cock. 

“Please,” you pouted, his words passing through you like a gust of wind— you hardly registered them. You were too busy grabbing at his cock and trying to 

“Why’d you really come here, huh? To get fucked?”

You hated and loved how easy it was for him to turn you into putty. 

more soon i promithhh <3 keep me on my toes yall

[wordsinhaled]

hello beloved, it's gotta be 📸 or 💘 because those are the two loves of my life! <3

hiiii alex 💕 @tumblerislovetumblerislife !!!

📸 posting a little snippet of a future chapter - maybe! - of galaxy, galaxy (won’t you be my consolation?) - model edwin/photographer charles AU, the one where they’re best friends, flatmates, mutually pining so obviously it can be seen from space, etc. i say “maybe” a future chapter because i’ve written like fifteen different variations on how they get together so this one might not even make it in, oops.

but the context for this one is that they live in a tiny, shitty flat where the heating frequently breaks and so in winter there’s a lot of platonic bed-sharing in charles’s bed so they can be warm at night.

(this one’s just a little 🤏🏻 bit smutty as well. it’s dreary out, why not.)

—

They are, as they have been so many times before, in Charles’s bed. But this time Edwin has Charles stretched out under him, purposely, and Charles isn’t making a single move to go anywhere—instead he’s grinning so brightly up at him in the low light cast by the dimmed bedside lamp and pulling Edwin closer by a handful of his shirt.

Edwin cannot even feel the cold, with how Charles is making him feel warm all over, with how Charles is looking at him like this is the only place he could ever think of being, and—this is Edwin’s best friend in the world, the best person he has ever met, the one who knows him best in every way. Now Edwin gets to kiss him. And touch him. And make him feel good, which is a privilege and a gift.

Charles Rowland should always feel good as far as Edwin is concerned; he should always wear that lovely, languid, heated expression, always give that surprised, punched-out groan that he lets out now when Edwin shifts his hips down against Charles’ for the first time and finds him similarly invested in the proceedings.

“Oh,” Edwin says, “I like that noise.”

Charles’ eyes, fixed on his face, are deep and dark, and there is an open, adoring sweetness there that Edwin cannot look away from. “Yeah?” Charles bites at his lower lip, drawing Edwin’s gaze to it, reminding Edwin that he knows, now, how Charles’ plush mouth tastes. “Well, I like what you just did,” Charles says. He reaches for Edwin’s waist, as if to urge him to repeat the movement again.

“I have to tell you—ah—” Edwin falters at the feeling of Charles’ distracting fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Charles. There is something I must admit to you—”

“Anything,” Charles agrees, watching Edwin intently, though he hasn’t stopped touching him, hasn’t stopped rucking up Edwin’s shirt, hasn’t stopped rolling his own hips up to meet Edwin’s, and god, Edwin can feel him, hot and hard through layers of denim and wool. This is what Charles, his most beloved person, is like when he is interested in someone. Interested in Edwin. Edwin thinks he might combust.

“I wanted—when we—” His own breath sounds loud in his ears. The low sound Charles makes with their every slow, firm, rocking movement against each other is tangible under Edwin’s palms as he spreads his hands over Charles’ chest. “That is,” Edwin tries, “sharing this bed with you—I sometimes wanted…”

Charles clutches harder at him, slack-mouthed with a sort of appreciative wonder. “Edwin Payne,” he says. “I fucking love you, mate.” And then he is letting go of Edwin, but only to push himself up on his elbows so he can reach to kiss him, messy and uncoordinated. “Me too,” Charles mumbles.

Edwin is focusing so much on being kissed, on every nip of Charles’ teeth and insistent press of tongue, he almost misses the words. “What?”

“Bloody dreamed about you, didn’t I,” Charles says; trails his lips over Edwin’s jaw, to his ear. “Thought I’d go mental this winter, all night tucked up next to you, Edwin. And then you said—” He punctuates his words with a sharp bite to Edwin’s earlobe, shocking out a high gasp. “—let’s fix the radiator, and I thought maybe you didn’t want to be here anymore—”

“You are all I’ve wanted,” Edwin says, breathless, heart racing. “For so much time. For ages. Charles, I always want to be here. With you.”

[shadysubject06]

Hii hii!! Not sure if your asks are open per se? But I’ll shoot something over anyways! Don’t feel pressured to respond ^^ (these are gonna be relating to your fnaf:sb au!!!)

Firstly, what inspired you to give the DCA a frozen half mask? I honestly find it to be SUCH a cool design choice and I wanna know your design process! :D

Secondly (DCA related again </3), what’s your interpretation on Eclipse within your universe? Do they exist? Are they a third entity, a combination of Sun and Moon, a security program with no learning AI, or perhaps something else entirely? I’d love to hear your thoughts! (Personally I interpret them as a combination/security program :0!)

Lastly (yes… once more… DCA related…), do you have any fun facts about Sun, Moon, and Chica’s friendship that you’ve been itching to share? Or haven’t gotten the chance to touch on yet? This AU honestly made me grow really attached to the idea of the DCA and Glam Chica being friends! It’s so so SO sweet!

That’s it for now!! Thank you so much for making your AU btw!! It’s been awesome to binge <3

GOLLY HI!!! Sorry, I didn't see this till now! I'm so glad you're enjoying my stuff, thank you!!! I don't have a name for this "AU" since it kinda started as just this series of snippets of the DCA and Chica being besties and then it started bleeding into all the feelings I had about SB's corporate horror subtext and all of the assumptions I'd had about the direction they would take the story after Help Wanted, and now it's kind of a….retelling-slash-one off comics story. If you or anybody else has name ideas for this on-going saga I'd love to hear them so that I could put it all in a dedicated tag! Now that I've got that ramble out of the way I'll answer your questions! (I lied I'm gonna ramble more cuz I'm really good at it ksfdlnlksdfnlksndf)

1) I have a tendency to redesign characters a bit when I make fan art because trying to stay on model to the original design makes my art come out a bit stiff. I'd seen a lot of fan art for the DCA where they had their whole mouth move, but with the way their faces have a "moon" side, it made me think of a Phantom of the Opera mask. Then I heard that in the Pizzaplex books they were apparently a theater robot that was repurposed for the daycare, so I just decided to lean into it! I've been playing with the idea of making the eye holes on Sun and Moon's mask different to mimic the tragedy/comedy masks!

2) Ooooh the security program is an interesting idea!!! So, I don't know how actual programming stuff works. And since I believe that the robots in FNAF have been sentient since Sister Location, meaning that they've been advancing robo sentience in-universe further for years, I tend to play around with the sentience and the programming fighting with each other at times. When it comes to what I think Eclipse is…. I'm actually gonna put that under a spoiler because it's something I've been teasing at and I can't keep story secrets to save my life, so you can look at that answer ~ at your own risk oooOOOooooOOOooo ~ Now. To answer the third point and give you that Eclipse spoiler. I need to add it in a reblog. Because I was writing out this whole thing....and I wrote so much that I hit the text limit. Which I have never done before. Which also freaked Tumblr out and it wouldn't let me post this no matter how much I erased. So please give me just a few minutes and I'll get you the rest of the answer FDLKSNLSFKDNSLFKN

[halfagod]

i'm full of jb inspo today for some reason so here's a lil post-long night snippet i just wrote (it's basically just love drunk in a different font but i like writing drunk brienne ok)

Winterfell’s Great Hall is warm and bright, full of music and laughter and celebration. On the morrow, Jaime knows, he will have to reckon with the Starks and the dragon queen, and decide what in the seven hells he’s doing next; but tonight, he has a brief moment of respite, and all he cares about is eating and drinking and Brienne, getting quietly tipsy beside him.

He has never seen her drunk before, and suspects it’s her first time. He keeps an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t go too far, but there was ever a night for getting drunk, it’s this one. Like him, like everyone, she is just happily surprised to find herself still alive.

She is quiet, as always, but her cheeks are pink and she is freer than usual with her smiles. He receives them all greedily, committing each one to memory; she does not smile enough, especially not in this sweet, unguarded way. She is freer with her touches, too—leaning into him to hear him better, absently touching his arm or his shoulder while she speaks, knocking her knee against his under the table—but he tries not to make too much of that. It’s just the wine.

He doesn’t realise quite how drunk she is, though, until she excuses herself and attempts to stand, wobbling so alarmingly on her feet that he jumps up to hold her steady. She gives him another smile then, such a dazzling one that his heart jolts.

“Come, my lady,” he says, as smoothly as he can manage. “Let me escort you to your chambers.” He holds out his arm, and she takes it, blushing. If anyone, Targaryen or Stark, makes note of them leaving arm-in-arm, he doesn’t notice or care.

“I’m not drunk, Jaime,” Brienne informs him as they make their way towards her chambers in the east wing. She pronounces each word very carefully, but he is not convinced.

“I think you might be a little drunk, my lady,” he says, smiling.

She scrunches her nose. “I think you might be a little drunk.”

He’s had a few cups of wine himself, but he’s certainly far more sober than she is. He grins, falling into their usual back-and-forth. If there’s one thing he knows how to do with Brienne, it’s argue. “No, you are.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” Brienne says firmly, then loses her balance and stumbles sideways, almost knocking him over. “Oh—forgive me—”

He laughs as he helps her right herself, and she laughs too, cheeks pink. “I think I win this one, wench,” he says.

She laughs again, a high, clear, girlish sound. He has never heard her laugh like that before, and it makes his chest ache to realise that Brienne has been always been capable of this sound and he is only now hearing it.

After strolling a little longer in companionable silence, they reach her chambers, and he opens the door for her. She smiles at him again before she enters – he is being spoiled with her smiles tonight, he doesn’t know what to do with them all – and he is struck, as he often is, by the beauty of her eyes. Perhaps it’s the softness in them just now, or the way they’re shining as she looks at him, but he feels moved to finally tell her: “You have very pretty eyes, Brienne.”

Her face slackens with surprise, and then, to his shock, those pretty eyes fill with sudden tears.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. Without thinking, he moves into the room, closing the door behind them. “Have I upset you?”

“It’s not your fault,” Brienne says quietly, sitting down on the bed. Tears are still streaming down her cheeks. Mystified, he sits down beside her.

“What is it? You shouldn’t cry, not tonight.” Not ever. “Tell me.”

She shakes her head, pain written all over her face. “I can’t.”

“Is it the battle? I know it was your first, and it was a terrible one. We can talk about it, if you wish. It might help.”

“It’s not that. But thank you.”

“Are you worried about your father?”

She shakes her head again, clumsily wiping her tears with the back of his hand. “He is well. I had a letter from him today.”

“Is it a man, then?” For some reason, that possibility makes him feel cold.

Brienne does not respond to that, and his heart sinks.

“Ah. So you’re in love,” he says, forcing lightness into his tone. “Well, they say love is pain. I can certainly attest to that. Who’s the man?”

“I can’t tell you.” Her voice cracks.

“Of course you can," he says gently. "I won’t tell anyone.”

She shakes her head, eyes on the floor. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never love me back.”

“Then he’s a fool. It’s not that idiot Hyle Hunt, is it?”

Another head shake.

“Good.” Jaime casts around for other names to guess. “Is it that bastard of Robert’s? The blacksmith? He looks very like Renly.”

“Gendry? No.”

He finds himself at a loss. “Give me a clue, then.”

For a long time Brienne is silent, gazing across the room at the empty hearth. “He’s very beautiful,” she says at last. “And very brave. He is a man of honour.”

Jaime forces a smile. “Is that so? Is he a knight?”

“Yes. A great one.” Brienne looks at him then, her gaze direct despite the tears swimming in her eyes. “People say he’s not. They say that he’s a bad man. But I know better. He’s been very good to me.”

Suddenly the breath vanishes from his lungs. “Brienne...”

“He has protected my life and my honour. I would fight beside him in any battle. I would give my life for him.” She gives him a tiny smile. “But he loves someone else. I understand.”

Jaime fights to keep his voice level. “I think I know the man you speak of,” he says quietly. “And you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“He doesn’t love someone else. He loves you.”

Brienne frowns. He can see her trying to parse this through the wine-fog in her mind. “No, Jaime,” she says, clearly thinking he has misunderstood her. “I don’t think you’re thinking of the right person.”

“Am I not?” he says, and kisses her.

He keeps it chaste, a soft press of his lips to hers. Her lips are soft and warm and taste of wine. It takes all of his willpower to pull away.

She is frozen, statue-still, and as he draws back to look at her he briefly fears that he has gotten it all wrong, that she hadn’t been speaking of him at all. Then a slow smile dawns on her face and she looks at him with wonder in her eyes, and he is relieved.

“Jaime,” she whispers. “How did you know?”

He laughs then, a ragged exhale, and kisses her forehead and her cheeks and her nose and her eyes.

“We should talk about this on the morrow,” he says. “When you’re sober.”

She scrunches her nose again, and he commits that look to memory along with all of her smiles. “I’m not drunk,” she protests.

“Oh?” he teases her. “Do you swear it on Oathkeeper?”

Her face falls, and he laughs. “Go to bed, sweetling. On the morrow, we’ll talk properly, and I’ll tell you all of the things I should have told you long ago.”

Her face softens. “As you say,” she says reluctantly. “Goodnight, Jaime.”

He can’t resist giving her one more kiss; a chaste one, on the temple. He feels buoyant, invincible, and suddenly the morrow is a far less daunting prospect than it had been a few hours ago.

“Goodnight, Brienne,” he says. “I love you.”

[moirindeclermont]

Men beyond the façade: Colin Bridgerton and William The Bloody (Spike)

TW: brief mention of SA;

Like many things, the idea for this post comes with a random thought… I was talking about Spike with a fandom friend who did not watch all Buffy, and we came up with the idea of a fic in which Colin is a Vampire and Pen is the Slayer, and as I was writing snippets of dialogue, I've catched myself writing in a very distinctive Spike voice.

“Everyone underestimates her. She was a woman, for starters. She was short and plump. Everyone underestimated her until they were about to be dead (or dead again) because of her stake. Not Colin Bridgerton. He was fascinated by Pen, by her vitality, her joy for life. Hell, even her fighting gave him a boner.”

That's when I've truly started thinking about it. Can these two characters, who are so vastly different in the perception of people, have a lot of traits in common, so much so that they actually can be almost the same? I've decided to talk about 3 main points: the persona or the façade they put on, their relationship with their SO and the importance of accountability.

Of course, this whole piece is based on my very personal interpretation of the characters. But even without a personal interpretation, some similarities are just… there for everyone to see.

But first, a bit of presentation, if you met only one half of the pair we are discussing. I do discuss some plot points but I'm trying not to get into too much detail. Anyway, this is your spoiler warning.

Colin Bridgerton is the 3rd son of a very important family during Regency time in London. His dad died when he was young, there was a brief engagement during the first season of the show which did end when people found out the future bride was already pregnant with another guy. After that, he decides to travel a bit, until after a kiss (and a summer without Pen's letters - his best friend) he realises he is in love with her and from that moment he becomes Colin “my wife” Bridgerton. He has gone bad. Just to tell you one thing, he interrupts a dance Pen is having with another suitor and proceeds to finger her on a carriage. The man is unhinged when it comes to Pen.

Spike, or William the Bloody, or William Pratt was an only son of a noble family during Victorian London. He was a poet but his creations didn't gain much success, earning him the nickname The Bloody because of the poor quality of his writing. He was sired by Drusilla, with whom he becomes involved for a good century, and the nickname gets reclaimed as an attribution to his violence. During his life he kills 2 slayers, until he arrives in Sunnydale. After events he falls in love with the current Slayer, Buffy, and he also becomes absolutely unhinged and pathetic about it.

But their similarities don't even begin with this. Both of them have this façade they use to be cool and accepted. Colin return in season 3 as a charming and fascinated man and everyone (except his best friend and some family) congratulates him about it. William literally uses Spike as a way to prove he has changed. He changes the look, the accent and builds this reputation of being the big bad. For both, the cracks in the façade are not a crack but a river in Egypt, because both of them take so much joy and purpose in being the providers. They slip into that role with such ease and familiarity that you can see it's just who they are at their core.

I've seen a post about Pen and Colin that says “when little Miss “I can do It by myself” meets Mr “I know you can but let me” and if that doest summarise the relationship Spike has with Buffy I do not know what else does.

They both have a dream about their Significant Other in which they depict a highly romantic scenario in which both confess their feelings, come on.

I've said before that Colin went to the Gomez Addams school of loving your wife, but Spike was also there.

They both can't absolutely function without their respective partners and while their relationship evolves in different ways it doesn't change who they are at their cores.

Now, I know you are thinking about Seeing Red, because yes I've talked about being pathetic but surely they can't be the same even under this aspect (for those who have not seen Buffy, Seeing Red is an episode in which Spike attempts to SA Buffy). And while, I do agree, Colin has not done something like that to Pen, I think he would definitely have done the same thing Spike did when he realised what he had done to Buffy. Because when he is confronted with his mistakes, Colin does take accountability and so does Spike. In a way that's vastly different, for obvious reasons, but they both do.

Yes, Colin and Pen are healthier than Spike and Buffy. Absolutely. But Colin and Pen is what Spike and Buffy can become after they both do the work on themselves and each other.

Yes, there are differences. One is a vampire, for starters. But the point I'm trying to make is that when you strip away the difference and put them in similar circumstances, their actions prove how similar they are.

How they both tried to put out a façade, but how quickly that fall when they were confronted with Love. How they both take pride in having a woman at their idea that's indipendent and strong. How they both truly see their partners entirely. How they both know when they fuck up and they don't stop at apologize but they do the work to get there.

If they met, you just know they would talk about their partners constantly.

(And if you're wondering about the sex, the only reason Colin and Pen didn't fuck a house down - yup that happens - it's because they physically can't. After all, they broke at least one piece of furniture.

And Colin and Pen won the title for freakiest couple in Mayfair. Even their respective kinks match pretty well in my opinion.)

Now, I don't think this was intentional at all. It's interesting though because it's not a common interpretation of the romantic interest at all. And maybe for Spike the intention was completely different behind the scenes (iykyk) but for Colin it is very intentional. But that is another story ..

Before conclusing this, let me just quote the two most beautiful declarations of love (one by Colin, and one by Spike) and think about what they're really saying… they are so much more similar than you might think.

Colin: “And now I simply cannot believe that a woman with such bravery loves me.How lucky I am to stand by your side and soak up even a little bit of your light. If my only purpose in life is to love a woman as great as you… then I will be a very fulfilled man, indeed.”

Spike: “When I say I love you, it's not because I want you. Or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you *are*. What you do. How you try... I've seen your kindness, and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand, with perfect clarity, exactly what you are... You're a *hell* of a woman... You're the One, Buffy.”

I'm curious, though, to hear your thoughts on this.

And if you're still here, regardless of what you think, thank you for being here 💓

[lyra-r05e]

It's halfway through the week, which means halfway til the next chapter drops. I know you guys are desperate for an update after their fight, so here's a snippet from Chapter 19 - Escape which will be posted on Sunday, Dec 1.

Here's the ao3 link: What Friends are For (Explicit)

Sebastian takes a long drag of his cigarette, hating himself for how much he missed the nicotine buzz. Leaning against the cold grey bricks of the hostel he's staying at, he stares out into the street, surprised how much traffic there is this late at night. It's loud. He's been to Zuzu before, but only for the odd day trip. The bustling city was always an exciting novelty during those trips. Now, the noise is just that - noise. It's not rhythmic or familiar enough to act as white noise, and it's not quite loud enough to drown out the noise in his mind.

And it stinks here. He can't afford to stay in the nicer parts of town. The stench from the density of people alone makes a shocking contrast to the crisp mountain air from his home. On top of that, the bars are full since it's Saturday, so the streets linger of booze, late night food joints and car exhaust. At least the stench of his cigarette gives him some familial comfort.

He feels like a fucking idiot, coming here. How naive to think this ‘plan’ of his was a good idea. To be fair, he hasn't given his escape to the city much thought in recent months, but he always had the same plan mapped out. Come to this cheap hostel, find a job, get an apartment. Easy, right?

Easy when it's a far off fantasy, when it's not something he'd ever be brave enough to do. He's way out of his depth here. Even with all the money he's put aside, it's only enough to last about 2, maybe 3 weeks tops before he needs a job.

Everything is more expensive here. There's no kitchen in his hostel, just a room and a bathroom. Not much different than a prison cell, really. But this means he has to buy food. If he's lucky enough to get a job interview right away, he needs to buy some nicer clothes. And get a haircut. And pay for transit, or parking. 2 weeks is generous, realistically. 3 is near impossible.

You wanted this, he tells himself, savouring the cigarette until it's so tiny he has to put it out. And it's true, he really did want it. So badly it was basically his whole personality at one point, shitting on Pelican town and being desperate to leave. Fuck, he must have been insufferable to be around.

His scrolling through job postings is interrupted by your call. He stares at your name, frozen in time as the vibrations in his palm continue. She wanted me to do this, he sighs in frustration, remembering the morning argument. He can't crawl back home with his tail between his legs now, it would shatter what's left of his pride.

You said you wouldn't consider anything serious with him unless he could do this. Until he ‘finds himself,’ or whatever. If he fails, you'll think he's a pathetic loser not worthy of your love. There's no other option. He can't look back now.

He lets the call go to voicemail, scars of the fight resurfacing. You were happy to be with him in secret, pretending to be a couple. But he’s too sad and pathetic for you. Embarrassingly reliant on his mom’s free basement suite, not properly educated or able to find a consistent source of income. Sebastian scoffs, lighting another cigarette. I wouldn't want to be seen with me either.

Sebastian resolves to make it easy for you to forget him. He resists the urge to listen to your voicemail, vowing to not give in and answer your calls. His phone buzzes again:

Text me in the morning, I just need to know you’re safe.

“Fuck,” he whispers, exhaling smoke. You’re worried about him. Of course you are. But he can do this, he's not an idiot. He knows common street sense, and he's resourceful. He made sure to not leave his bike helmet out when he parked here. He doesn't need your help, or your concern.

Better not answer any texts either.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

in which lunch is had, old stories are told, and a misunderstanding is cleared up.

part five of the post-marineford portion of the near miss fics! (1, 2, 3, 4) if you have no idea what i'm talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that's the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus some complaining about writing, one inspirational improvised musical number, and a snippet of shanks pov) if you do know what i'm talking about: my intense examination of the cover to chapter 581 and frustrated googling of phrases like “oden cart curtain name” has finally paid off! also, i’d apologize for where this part ends, but that would be an enormous lie, i’ve been planning on ending this part on that line from the very beginning. >:3c enjoy!

With heavier topics taken off the table, the flow of conversation became smooth and easy.  Shanks asked about Buggy’s crew, his recent travels, his plans for the future; Buggy asked about the best places Shanks had been, who he’d met.  At Buggy’s request, Shanks devoted a full twenty minutes to a detailed description of his meeting with Rayleigh; to Buggy’s delight, it turned out Rayleigh was in Sabaody because Shakuyaku, the former Amazon empress, lived there.  Buggy had always been impressed by her, if a little privately judgy of her taste in men, so hearing that the two of them had semi-retired together made him smile.

As did the revelation that Shanks had first seen a wanted poster for Buggy the Clown—his earliest one, actually, before he’d perfected the crossbones and had still been experimenting with lip tints—when Rayleigh pulled a copy out that day.  “He keeps an eye on all the newspapers, from the four big seas and the Grand Line alike,” Shanks explained, digging his toes into the sand. (Buggy had gotten tired of his push-pull relationship with the tides and insisted they move further up the beach.) “I think he’s found and kept a copy of every one of our bounties.”

Buggy tried not to be obvious about how much that meant, but he had never been good at holding back the waterworks when he got emotional.  Sniffing thickly, he said, “That stupid old man… your bounty’s gone up so many times over the years without the picture ever looking different!  What a waste of his space.”

One of Shanks’ eyebrows went up—probably, Buggy realized a moment later, at the implication that Buggy had also been keeping track of Shanks’ bounties.  Ah, well, in for a penny… “Seriously!  It’s bad design!” Buggy insisted.  “If the only changes someone like me ever noticed are that you grew that shitty little beard—”

“Shitty?”  Shanks pouted, running his thumb along his jawline.  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s worse without the mustache,” Buggy said bluntly.  Shanks played up his shock, gasping and grabbing at his heart like an elderly man.

Buggy rolled his eyes.  “As I was saying: if all I ever noticed was the beard and that your hat disappeared at some point, your average citizen’s not going to realize the Marines have released a new poster and the bounty went up!”  Jabbing a thumb brazenly at his own face, Buggy said, “At least I had something new going on each time.”

Shanks cocked his head at Buggy.  “About that… do you change your makeup style so often for fun, or are you still searching for the perfect look?”

Buggy scoffed.  “There’s no such thing as perfection when it comes to art, or fashion,” he said.  “There’s just advancing your craft.  Every time I change my look up, I’m incorporating newer and flashier techniques, and better supplies.  The makeup I had access to fifteen, even ten years ago would never have lasted a day in Impel Down, let alone weeks.”

“That’s true,” Shanks said thoughtfully, hand on his chin.  “The stuff you have these days is much—” He cut himself off, glancing over Buggy’s shoulder.  Buggy turned to see a cluster of men in ragged prison uniforms standing maybe forty feet away, staring at them and then glancing away awkwardly when they met Buggy’s eye.

“I told them not to bother me today,” Buggy grumbled, giving the group a half-hearted glare.  They visibly quaked, knees knocking, but neither moved nor explained themselves.

“I guess our presence is interfering with their shore leave,” Shanks said, slipping back into his sandals.

Looking past the men revealed the beach had gotten crowded while Buggy wasn’t paying attention—save for a fifty-foot ring of emptiness centered on him and Shanks.  These men had only approached them because there wasn’t anywhere else to be.  Sighing, Buggy stood up, brushing sand off the seat of his pants.

“Lead the way, then,” he said grimly.

With a polite smile and a wave to the former prisoners, Shanks walked back up the beach.  Buggy gave them a glare, and a threatening slice-your-throat gesture (made more emphatic by the way Buggy separated his neck as he sliced) to encourage their silence before following Shanks further inland.

The terrain got a bit jungle-like as they went on, but there were neatly trodden paths between the trees.  It was a civilized corner of nature, and Buggy found he didn’t mind walking through it with just Shanks and his questions for company, even when those questions started getting a bit specific for Buggy’s tastes. (What did Shanks need to know about his plans after he found Captain John’s treasure, anyway?  Was he trying to go after Buggy’s next prize while he was still busy with the current one?)

It was the middle of the lunch hour by the time their jungle path led them back into town, which was almost suspiciously convenient timing.  Buggy glanced at Shanks, trying to figure out if he’d planned this or was just aimlessly wandering.  Well, either way he’d better lead them somewhere soon—Buggy was hungry!  He wanted to eat the kind of food he couldn’t get back on the ship—nothing a typical chef in a typical kitchen could manage.  He wanted something that involved a deep fryer, or another equally specialized device.  Something that would be too much of a hassle to make on a ship.  Something…

“Hey!”  Shanks turned to grab Buggy’s attention, pointing at a yatai on the opposite street corner.  “What about that?”

Buggy spotted the word written in bold white letters on slate gray cloth and started to laugh. “What are we, on a themed vacation or something?”

“You’re the one who put the idea in my head!” Shanks said defensively, grinning.  “I know it’s out of season, but…”

“No, you’re right, we have to,” Buggy said, and led them to the oden-ya.  “I’m just going to look like I’m obsessed, is all.”

Ducking under the bamboo noren curtains, they found themselves in a cozy space, with three stools set up along a polished wooden table the same length as the cooktop.  A gorilla mink stood behind the partitioned oden pot, rotating skewers of fishcake in their niches within the steaming broth.  He glanced up at their entrance, a friendly customer service smile spreading across his face.

“Welcome!  Looking for oden this afternoon, or just something to drink?”  He gestured to one side, where beautiful little sake flasks and other bottles of alcohol were arranged on shelves that took up the whole side wall of the cart.  “I’d be happy to warm a flask of sake up for you on the stove if you’d like.”

“We’re looking for both, thanks,” Shanks said warmly, stepping up to the counter.  “I don’t suppose any of your sake is sourced from Wano?”

The mink wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.  “I may have some in storage, but that stuff tend to run a little pricier, given… well, if you’re asking for it, you must know.”

“Of course you have expensive tastes in booze and nothing else,” Buggy said with a smirk, bent down to inspect the sake that was actually meant for sale.  “Come on, look, they’ve got some West Blue stuff, you were always a sucker for your home ocean.”

“Oh?”  Shanks leaned over Buggy to get a better look at the stock, and a prickle of heat went up Buggy’s spine.  “Ooh, I do like that stuff.  But I really had my heart set on something from Wano…”  Turning back to the mink, he said, “Sorry to trouble you, but can you bring out what you have from Wano?  I promise the price isn’t an issue, and I won’t have any problem drinking a flask of each.”  The mink ducked around back without complaint.

“More like a couple flasks of each,” Buggy muttered, but he didn’t mean it cruelly.  Shanks liked a drink, he always had—and rumor said the last time he saw Whitebeard before all this he’d matched him cup for cup.  Whitebeard-sized cups, too, which meant he had to have a crazy tolerance these days.  Good for him.  Buggy wasn’t quite as capable, but he could hold his liquor.  He wouldn’t be any kind of ex-Roger Pirate if he couldn’t.

“Guilty,” Shanks said, sing-songy, reaching over Buggy’s shoulder to snatch one of the larger bottles of shochu.  “Can you grab a flask or two of the West Blue sake for me?”

Buggy rolled his eyes, grabbing two.  “One of them’s for me.”

“We can share,” Shanks said mildly.

Buggy snorted. “If by ‘share’ you mean I get one cup and by the time I’ve finished it the flask is empty, sure, we can share.”

Shanks laughed.  “Am I that bad?”

“You’re just too fast about it is all.  I like to linger over a drink, really savor it.”

“Oh, you like to take your time, do you?”  Shanks’ smile, already suggestively wide, spread wider still when this comment flustered Buggy.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he snapped.

“No?”

Why do you sound disappointed, Buggy was tempted to ask—except no, no he wasn’t, he did not want to know why Shanks might be disappointed Buggy hadn’t intended to be suggestive.  He had already decided he wasn’t going there.  “I just mean you rush things a bit.”

“…do I?”

Once again feeling like Shanks was reading things into what he was saying, but this time not at all sure what deeper meaning Shanks was taking from his words, Buggy averted his eyes, setting the pair of sake flasks down in front of the stove top.  “Yeah, I know you like getting drunk, but there’s such a thing as pacing yourself, you know?”

Before Shanks could respond to this—with who knows what kind of misinterpretation of Buggy’s words this time—the mink returned, a crate of sake in flasks and jugs of various sizes in hand.

“Here we are!”  With a soft grunt of effort, the mink set the crate down in front of Shanks.  “Let me know if anything catches your eye.”  He spotted the flasks of West Blue sake Buggy had set down and quickly made room in a pot of steaming water for them to sit and warm up.  “Now, were any items looking especially appealing today?”

Buggy glanced sideways; Shanks was occupied with intently inspecting the sake.  Well, if he wanted something specific he could ask for it later.  “Two bowlfuls of whatever the chef recommends, for now.”

The gorilla nodded.  “Coming right up!”  And he was as good as his word, quickly throwing together a wide, shallow bowl of savory golden-brown broth with a skewer of fishcakes, an egg, and a few slices of daikon for each of them. It looked wonderful, warm and familiar, and it smelled even better.

Before Buggy could take a sip, Shanks had flung his arm across Buggy’s chest, blocking the spoonful of broth from reaching his mouth.

“Hang on,” Shanks said, weirdly serious.  “You have to have this first.”  He held out a small flask of Wano sake, tilted just far enough to encourage Buggy to grab a cup and accept the pour.

“Not warmed up?”  Shanks expression didn’t so much as twitch.  Buggy huffed.  “Fine, fine... you and your expensive tastes.”  He accepted the cup, swirled it for a moment to breathe in the aroma—they really did make it different in Wano; was it something in the water, or the rice?—and took a sip.  Then blinked, goggled at the half-drunk cup, and slung back the rest with a warm floaty feeling in his chest.

Setting the cup down, he breathed, “Is that...?”

Shanks grinned.  “Special pure rice brew.”  He spun the flask around to reveal the maker’s mark.  “From the Kuri region of Wano.”

Buggy snatched the flask away.  Looking it over, he said, “Seriously?! From the same brewery?”

“And you wondered why I was so insistent.”

Buggy shook his head, laughing a little in disbelief, and poured Shanks a cup of the stuff.  He glanced up at their host, politely not bothering them even though he had to be confused, and said, “This exact same sake was the first drink the two of us had, back when we were—what, eleven? Twelve?”

“Something like that,” Shanks said, watching Buggy with a pleased smile.  “Stolen out of Oden’s rooms on a dare—”

“—you’re the one who dared me!” Buggy snapped.  Thinking back, he added, “And he must have let us take it, we weren’t sneaky enough at twelve to get past Oden—”

“—oh, definitely,” Shanks agreed.  “Bet he thought of it as a rite of passage, stealing your first drink from under the nose of your honored elders.”

Buggy snorted.  “Definitely,” he echoed.  Giving Shanks a look, he passed this flask along to the mink as well.  “This stuff isn’t so fancy heating it will ruin the taste, right?  Might as well try it the way it was meant to be had.”

“Of course,” the mink said with a gracious smile, adding the flask to the steaming pot on his stove.  He watched the two of them dig into their bowls—delicious, of course—without comment, but as he carefully retrieved the first of the West Blue flasks from its bath he said, “Now, I haven’t thought about this in a long time, so I’m afraid I can’t quite recall… which of you is Shanks and which is Buggy?”

Buggy blinked dumbly up at the gorilla, his mouth full of radish.  Next to him, Shanks was pulling a similar face.

Hastily swallowing his mouthful, Buggy cleared his throat and said, “You know… both of us by name? But not well enough to know which is which on sight?”

The gorilla smiled sheepishly.  “I wasn’t sure until you brought up Oden.  That’s Kozuki Oden, isn’t it?  Which means the two of you must be Shanks and Buggy, they were the only other young people on the boat in all the stories I heard.”

“What stories?”

“‘The only other young people’…” Shanks lit up.  “Do you know Dogstorm and Cat Viper?”

Buggy nearly smacked Shanks.  “Seriously?!  Not every mink knows each other, Shanks!”

“Heh, actually...”  Buggy stared up at the gorilla mink in disbelief as he shrugged, making an embarrassed expression.  “The truth is, I only learned how to prepare oden at Duke Dogstorm’s request.”

“Duke Dogstorm?”  Shanks whistled.  “Somebody’s moved up in the world.”

Buggy jabbed him in the side with a free-floating elbow.  “I don’t want to hear that from you, Emperor Shanks!”

Shanks winced—an exaggerated gesture for the benefit of their audience—and leaned away from Buggy.  “Oh, come on,” he whined, “it’s not like I meant to become an emperor or anything.”

“Oh, of course not,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and shoving a piece of tsukune in his mouth.  Eyes shut, he declared, “I’ll bet I can tell you exactly how it happened, too.  You had a meal with some mediocre pirate crew and made friends. Then some shitty Marines started beating the hell out of them; they could’ve just arrested the crew, but they decided to torture them for their own amusement.  Well, you could hardly let this abuse go unchallenged, could you?  So naturally you had to step in, and sent the Marines running with their tails between their legs.  And it was only natural that the pirate crew was thankful to you, but you never dreamed they’d all vow to follow you forever, forswearing their own flag in favor of yours.  Not daring to call themselves true Red-Haired Pirates, of course, but Red-Haired Pirates adjacent.”  Rolling his wrist, Buggy concluded, “And then that happened another twenty or thirty times, because you never learn.”

Opening one eye a crack, he glanced at Shanks.  “How’d I do?”

Shanks, red-faced, his fist pressed to his mouth to hold back laughter, nodded weakly.  “Well, uh... you’re not wrong,” he wheezed out.  Taking a drink to clear his throat and calm down, he sighed.  “Though you make it sound like far more of a foregone conclusion than it felt like when it was first happening.”

“That’s the benefit of an outside perspective,” Buggy said snippily.  “And also hindsight.”  Waving a hand in Shanks’ face, he said, “But enough about you!”  Jabbing the pointer finger of that same hand at their host, Buggy said, “What’s this about you learning to make oden for Dogstorm?”

The gorilla mink smiled, his eyes wide, and Buggy suddenly remembered hearing once that gorillas didn’t actually smile, but instead bared their teeth as a threat against potential enemies.  He pulled back his hand as casually as he could manage it.

“Do you really want to hear the story?  I’m told I can be a bit long-winded,” the mink said, fishing one of the Wano flasks out of its water bath and offering it up.

“Yeah, let’s hear it!” Buggy said, pouring a cup for Shanks, then handing over the flask so Shanks could do the same for him.  “I don’t know about Shanks but I haven’t heard anything from Zou in years, I’m dying to hear what those two have gotten up to.”

Closing his eyes, Buggy took a sip of the warmed Wano sake, not knowing Shanks was doing the same thing at the same time.  They set down their cups and sighed in unpracticed unison.  Suddenly aware of their double act, Buggy scowled at Shanks, who ignored him and made an encouraging gesture to their chef.  “Please, go ahead. I’d love to hear news of Dogstorm and Cat Viper.”

A sad expression washed over the gorilla’s face.  “I’m afraid I can only give you news of Duke Dogstorm.”  At the looks on his guests’ faces, the gorilla threw out a hand and said, “Not to say—please don’t misunderstand! Lord Cat Viper still lives! It’s just that I have not met with him since he and Duke Dogstorm first returned to Zou.  They... keep separate courts, and hours, and my service has always been to the day.”

A wrinkle appeared in Shanks’ brow.  “They don’t talk anymore?”

“It always turns into a fight.  Often one with devastating consequences for their surroundings.”

Buggy frowned.  That didn’t sound right.  Well, not the destruction—that sounded like those two—but fighting so badly they couldn’t even share waking hours... “What happened?”

The gorilla sighed.  “As I understand it?  Kozuki Oden died, and neither could forgive the other for failing to save him.”  A moment later, he gave Buggy a concerned look.  “Oh, are you hurt?”

Buggy blinked.  Staring down at his hands, he realized he’d snapped his chopsticks in half.  “I... no, I’m okay.”  The gorilla carefully plucked the broken shards of wood out of Buggy’s grasp, along with a splinter or two that had tried to wedge their way into his palms.  Thankfully the Chop-Chop fruit could handle any kind of stabbing, from needles up to legendary meito, so Buggy really was fine.

While the gorilla disposed of the pieces of wood, Buggy clenched his jaw, feeling Shanks’ eyes on him.  “I can hear you thinking.”

“…it makes sense,” he said quietly.  “What else could come between those two but the loss of someone who was as important to them as Oden?”

Buggy shot Shanks a narrow look out of the corner of his eye.  “Pretty sure I told you this morning that I was done talking about sad shit,” he warned, and Shanks raised his hand in a placating gesture.  The gorilla confirmed that Buggy wasn’t hurt, pointed out the extra chopsticks sitting in a cup to his left, and at their insistence told his story while they returned to their meal.

Dogstorm’s court sounded like a sight worth seeing.  Minks of countless animal forms, musketeers and attendants! To think Oden’s retainer had retainers of his own now!  And to think that he acted like a guy with such noble dignity, after the way he used to behave.

As the gorilla reached the end of his story—having made the closest thing to oden as could be produced with ingredients native to Zou, with Dogstorm pleased by the effort but quietly unsatisfied by the taste, the gorilla had left the court making a vow to learn the secrets of the oden-preparing arts, promising not to return until he was confident he would be able to put a true smile on the duke’s face—Buggy nudged Shanks in the side.  He glanced at Buggy, a half-eaten skewer of fishcakes sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Can you believe,” Buggy said with a shit-eating grin, “that the noble, wounded Dogstorm this guy is talking about is the same one who tarred and feathered Mr. Rayleigh?”

Shanks nearly choked before starting to laugh.  “How did I forget about that?!”

“I’m sorry, Duke Dogstorm did what?” the gorilla said incredulously, staring between the two of them.

“Wait, wait,” Shanks said, before Buggy could start to tell the story.  “If we’re sharing stories of mutual friends, you have to share a drink with us too.”  He grabbed a clean cup from a stack to one side and handed it over to the mink.  Shanks gave Buggy a pleading look, and with a magnanimous smirk Buggy chop-chopped a hand to swipe another sake flask from the water bath and pour for both of them.  “So—”

“Don’t you tell it!” Buggy snapped.  With a grin and a wave of his hand, Shanks metaphorically turned over the reins to Buggy, and took the opportunity to return to his sake and his meal.  “So,” Buggy said to the mink, “the first thing you need to understand about Dogstorm and Cat Viper is that they acted like respectful little attendants when Oden was around, but when it was just the four of us?”  Glancing at Shanks, who was grinning around the skewer in his mouth, Buggy cackled.  “They were just as bad as we were.”

Buggy went on to describe the prank in loving detail, alternating bites of fishcake with the reactions of the crew (mostly hysteria, especially from Roger) and the multiple attempts to blame the prank on someone else (Dogstorm nearly succeeded in pinning it all on Buggy, but forgot himself and corrected Rayleigh on where the tar had come from).  Shanks followed this up with a reminder of another time the four of them had been absolute nightmares to the crew of the Oro Jackson, and the story Buggy told about that day brought their host to literal tears of laughter.

They went around like this for over an hour, topping off their bowls and drinks all the while, recalling old times with the golden burnish of nostalgia softening the edges, easing the hurts and offenses of youth.  Gradually, the last of the fear Buggy had been clinging to all day faded.  It was hard to think that your childhood dread mattered much when looked at from so far off, in so fond a way. It was easy to smile at someone who so readily smiled back.

Eventually the broth pooling at the bottom of their bowls grew cold, and the flasks of sake they’d bought ran dry.  Not a soul had tried to enter the yatai while they were present, and Buggy felt a fleeting burst of pity for the gorilla’s business… until he saw how well Shanks tipped. With a light heart, Buggy waved a slightly drunken farewell to the mink—he’d paced himself pretty well, but a half-dozen bottles of sake split between two men were still going to have an effect—and ducked back out into the wider world.

The air outside was not exactly cold, but it lacked the cozy warmth of the oden-ya’s atmosphere.  It set something within Buggy out of alignment—or maybe back into place?  He stood just outside the noren with a hand pressed to his chest, trying to place the feeling, when Shanks made his own exit and nearly ran into him.

The proximity of Shanks at his back, with the last traces of that soup-warmed air drifting in his wake, sent a burst of longing down Buggy’s spine so intense his knees went weak.

Shanks’ hand went to his shoulder.  “Careful,” Shanks said, hoisting Buggy fully upright, the flat of his arm firm along the breadth of his back.  “You alright, Buggy?”

Fuck.  Even though it was the wrong arm, something about Shanks putting an arm over Buggy’s shoulder made his stomach flip and his heart kick into high gear.  Stupid, loyal organs didn’t have the sense Buggy’s brain had been given, to recognize that feeling feelings for Shanks was a very bad idea.

“Fine,” Buggy croaked out, taking a few careful steps away from Shanks to confirm he was steady enough to make that lie truth.  He shook himself off.

“Your tolerance not what it used to be?” Shanks teased.

“My tolerance is normal,” Buggy insisted, not looking back at Shanks.  “Yours, on the other hand...”

“Yeah, unlike you I’m actually fine,” Shanks said, picking up his pace to match Buggy’s stride.  Glancing around, his back straightened involuntarily with recognition.  Nudging Buggy’s shoulder with his own, he said, “Here, there’s a park nearby where we won’t be bothered.  We can sit down, let you sober up a little before heading back to the ship.”

Buggy drifted in Shanks’ wake on some old instinct.  It was only mid-afternoon.  “There wasn’t anything else you wanted to do?”

Shanks glanced at Buggy over his shoulder.  “What?”

“I dunno, some... sight you thought I should see, or a shop you like or something?”

Shanks blinked.  “Buggy, I’ve never been to this island before. I asked the locals for recommendations yesterday so I could have a good time with you.”

Buggy’s face went hot.  “You—stop saying shit like that!  Don’t you know how that sounds?”

“How it sounds?” Shanks echoed. He led Buggy through a tall, metal gate, into a walled-off plot of land with very little to it, just rock-paved paths, plaques underneath oddly colored trees, and the occasional bench.  Closing the gate behind them, he spun on Buggy.  “How does it sound?”

Buggy scowled and stormed past him.  Like Shanks didn’t know.

“If it sounds like I’ve missed you—well, sorry, Buggy, but I have.  I thought I’d been pretty obvious about that.”  When Buggy turned an incredulous look on Shanks, the corner of his mouth turned up, amused.  “Obvious to everyone but you, I guess.”

“You—you didn’t miss me,” Buggy said, insistent.  “You missed—” he gestured vaguely between the two of them. “—someone knowing you, without you having to say anything.  You missed having a history with someone.”

Shanks shook his head.  “I would love to see many people from back then again, but I’ve never missed any of them like I did you.”

“Oh, come on!” Buggy spat, “what was there to miss?  A greedy little brat who couldn’t decide if he hated you more than he was jealous of you?  A coward who ran and hid from every fight?”  The memory of Shanks leaning in close, a hand on his face, shot through Buggy.  Resisting another stab of longing, he blurted out, “Some stranger’s pretty face?”

“I missed my best—” Shanks’ face screwed up in confusion.  “A pretty face?”

Buggy hadn’t meant to say that.  He grimaced.  “You know.”  Swiping a hand across his face, he chop-chopped his nose off for a moment, hiding the gap behind his free hand.  “This one, that you liked so much that time.”

Understanding lit up Shanks’ face.  “Oh, the gorgeous stranger with stunning eyes.”  A sheepish expression coming over him, Shanks looked away, askance.  “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”

Buggy blinked.  Not the response he’d expected.  “Uh, sure?”

“I only thought those eyes were so stunning because they reminded me of yours.”

Buggy’s jaw dropped.  “The hell they did!”

“They did!”  Shoving his hand over his eyes, Shanks smiled self-consciously.  “Oh, I felt so ridiculous later.  That poor guy, I thought, was deserving of more than my secondhand affections.”  Dropping his hand to look at Buggy, he said, “Though that’s nothing compared to how ridiculous I felt the other day.”

Buggy swallowed, mouth dry.

“I’m sorry, Buggy,” Shanks said after a long, silent moment.  “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Buggy blinked.

Well.  Of course he wouldn’t have.  That went without saying.

He stepped back.  “I know that.”

“You do?”  Shanks frowned.  “I… good.”  Shoulders hunched, he turned to peer down at a plaque mounted beneath a pink-leafed bush.  “That’s good.  I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings between us.”

“What’s there to misunderstand?”  Buggy spotted a bench and sat down.  He immediately felt clearer-headed.  Maybe Shanks was right about his tolerance.  “I get it.  You kiss strangers, not old friends.”

Shanks paused mid-step.  “Are you…” He spun to frown at Buggy.  “Are you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

“Hm?”  Buggy had just gotten comfortable, hiking one knee over the bench’s arm.  What was Shanks talking about now?

“Buggy.”

Buggy craned his head back to look up at Shanks.  He looked tall from this angle, and taller still when he leaned over Buggy, resting his hand on the back of the bench.  Shanks’ expression was unreadable, but intense.  Buggy’s mouth felt dry again.  Oh, this was bad.

“I was not apologizing for kissing you.  I was apologizing for kissing you wrong.”

“Kissing me wrong?” Buggy echoed bewilderedly.

“If I’d known that stranger was you, I still would have kissed you, if you’d let me,” Shanks said bluntly.  “I’d kiss you now, if you’d let me.  But it wouldn’t be like that kiss, it would be different.”

Buggy blinked, dumbfounded.

Shanks… wanted to kiss him.

Not the stranger he’d taken him for back then, but Buggy himself.

Had wanted to kiss Buggy then.

Still wanted to kiss Buggy now.

Would kiss him in a different way from a stranger.

“Different how?” Buggy croaked out.

For a long, agonizing moment, Shanks stared blankly at Buggy.  A furious heat rushed into Buggy’s face—there was no way to take a sentence like that back.  He couldn’t pretend it was simple curiosity.  He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t eager to be kissed.

Slowly, Shanks grinned, infuriatingly smug.  “Would you like me to show you?”

[esther-dot]

I'm sorry, that's gonna be a really weird ask from one jonsa stan to another but I'm genuinely curious - is there any anti jonsa argument/claim that actually made sense to you? I'm really asking for the sake of, well, civilised discussion - because if there are arguments there ought to be reasonable counterarguments. And all that I see is the same tired old crap - "she's not his favourite sister" and "but they are relatives!" and all the other stuff. Given, of course I'm not hanging around jonry@ and jon@erys side of this fandom (dark things happen to any sansa and jonsa stans there) and have no idea if they have any reasonable metas. Or maybe if there was a moment that made you actually question possibility of jonsa happening in books? (once again - because I'm anxious like that - I'm not asking this to disprove something or make people question jonsa but because I wonder if you personally had this sort of experience).

Thank you and hope you're having a nice day!

No worries! I enjoy looking at things from different angles, so I don’t mind at all. Unfortunately, I haven’t read anti jonsa stuff that isn’t exactly what you described, so I can’t actually have the convo you want about this. I tried to go to some jonerys blogs but their anti tags weren’t what we’re looking for. There’s a blogger people view as neutral who other Sansa fans/Jonsas put on my dash, and a BNF who people I follow also reblog from, so I went over to their blogs to look around and they’re less rabid, but I can’t say they offered though-provoking pushback. I’ll share some snippets though, in case you’re interested.

There was the old "but their siblings" argument:

I, ah, I do not think Jon marries Sansa in any scenario. Regardless of biological relationship, they think of themselves as siblings. The people around them are also quite likely to consider them siblings or as good as, having been raised as such (see also Theon being accused of kinslaying over his apparent murder of Bran and Rickon). Nor do I think either would be in a rush to go back to the traditional “but the Targaryens practiced incest,” again considering that their society is strongly anti-incest. Jon and Sansa were raised together, in the same house, as brother and sister, and that makes a material difference.

But you know, raised as siblings and please nobody try the “but they weren’t close” with me, that’s so not true.

It’s interesting to see someone say they were close, that’s not something I’ve seen before. I suppose my biggest issue with this line of thought is that it feels true for a generic fantasy maybe, but hardly convincing when talking about ASOIAF? Martin wants to talk about incest. So far, we have all the bad, abusive variations covered. I think he’s gonna work some shades of grey into it the same way he tries to do with everything he discusses, and to pretend like he would never feels disingenuous to me. Even if he ultimately abandoned the initial draft, from the author’s mind came the idea of a Jon / Stark girl romance. He has entertained it. Secondly, Jon is a Targ and it’s reasonable to expect that to manifest somehow, or at least, for Jon to experience the fear that there’s something latent there. And third, if we’re gonna get a romance, I think Martin would write it with the complexity and inner struggle that he writes everything and fauxcest offers him that opportunity, not to mention all the parallels it would allow as well.

Let's see...I also saw that they object to the Beauty and the Beast reading of Jonsa:

And I've been searching but apparently I never posted the rest of my "Bear and the Maiden Fair" thoughts, but that's the in-world Beauty and the Beast story. Through that and looking at bears elsewhere in the story, you can track this idea of the beast not being a monster, but being perceived as one by society, an outcast, which is why the Hound, Tyrion, and Jon all fit the role/are related (in a way), and why Jon will be the final suitor or real bear/beast.

The next one, I’m just gonna post the whole thing:

I’m not sure if the best part is the implication that Jon/Dany (which they believe is inevitable) have what’s required to allow for “quick deep emotional connections” or if it’s reading the Hound insult and threaten and then finally put a knife to Sansa’s throat and deciding “romance! chivalry!” The Hound may be disillusioned, but the fandom has got to stop pretending like some of his espoused beliefs aren’t self-serving, a defense because he is a monster. We have Brienne and Jon showing us different versions of knights, true knights, so acting like the Hound is in the right is just bizarre.

Anyway, no, I’ve not read an anti argument that made me doubt it. I do doubt what Martin is aiming for at times, so I’ve vacillated between potential paths/endgames for them over the years, but the anti arguments generally are coming from a reading of characters and dynamics that’s disturbing to me which means I’m usually alienated, not compelled.