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

[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👀

[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!

[aoxizu]

i have another 2.1 character dynamic post in the recesses of my brain but i need to get this out first

star rail's 2.1 update main plotline leans a lot more into existentialism and absurdism than i thought it would which is a really nice surprise

like i thought before 2.0 that at most it was just going to be some "oh no capitalism bad ipc bad cults also bad" thing but honestly what we got is so much more interesting. the spoilers start now

also massive disclaimer i am not a philosophist and actually i really don't like philosophy because it makes my brain hurt and i would much rather just look at logical nice things like math and plants so. if i get anything wrong please correct me

acheron's past and how she became an emanator of nihility reminds me somewhat of the absurdist theme of how people always look for meaning when there isn't any, until they finally realize that the universe is meaningless

and the entire path of nihility basically is a road towards that realization that people tread on, and the difference between the real world and star rail is that in the real world here we have people who will see that and then go write a book about a guy not crying at his mother's funeral, whereas in star rail it seems that just accepting that the universe is meaningless turns you into a pathstrider or even emanator of the nihility (not sure if i remember the details, correct me if i'm wrong)

and then aventurine's whole motivation is trying to understand why the universe is so cruel to him, and to find meaning when you have everything except freedom, both of which are absurdist themes

the leap of faith argument often attributed to søren kierkegaard claims that even though there is no rational logic for believing in god, you should do it anyway because the alternatives are madness, suicide, and ignorance. this was one solution to the problem of confronting the universe's meaninglessness: choosing to believe in a higher being regardless

later world wars i and ii both contributed heavily to the rise of absurdism as people returned from the war, having seen so many others die around them, and then just going back to a normal society with none of what they as individual soldiers had contributed seemingly doing anything. and then it happened again, but on a much greater scale with even more deaths. both wars and the destruction they brought led many people to start questioning why a supposedly moral god could allow this suffering, and this is where camus comes in and says that actually religion and nationalism both aren't good solutions, and instead we should just accept meaninglessness and keep living despite the absurdity

and i think dr ratio's scroll thing kind of relates to that

he tells aventurine to open it when he's about to die, or when he's completely out of answers for the question of how to confront absurdity

and dr ratio's answer for aventurine is to just tell him to keep living, good luck

which is. yeah

it's the argument that there are more answers to nihilism than just 1) going insane, 2) pretending like it doesn't exist, and 3) dying

it's the bold claim that despite everything, you can still choose to live

sure nothing makes sense but that does not detract from your life. it doesn't need to make sense at all

and with the understanding that things do not need to fit our human definition of meaning, we can continue on knowing our true place in the universe

and with that aventurine walks into the very big black hole like look at that thing you cannot tell me there is no symbolism there

let's go back to acheron.

in the part where you get a snippet of acheron's conversation with some guy just before this cutscene, the other party states that "[IX] leave[s] woven strands of fate for humans to walk, and together THEY weave a great shadow...And this shadow silently envelops them."

which to me sounds like a statement on how people across time and space have again and again come to the same question, what is the meaning of life?

and acheron's whole color thing seems to mean that she is one of the few who, after walking so far on the path of nihility, somehow have not died yet, be it from madness or something else

like it seems implied that many many more have seen the meaninglessness of the universe and have not reacted as well as acheron has

ok i have more to say about the elation and how it in turn relates to the nihility but that will have to come later but there is. a lot of interesting things there to explore

once again disclaimer: I Am Not A Philosophist And Do Not Know What The Correct Definitions Of These Words I'm Throwing Around Are. thank you for coming to my ted talk that was more of a longwinded ramble

[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.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Crazy today about Daniel having a belly piercing (just imagine that omg lfjdksjg that post in my dash has made me crazy about the idea of Max discovering Daniel has a belly ring and he starts buying the prettiest piercings he sees but he isn't brave enough yet to give them to Daniel) and crazy about Daniel with furry thighs and Max seeing the picture and being instantly obsessed about it!!!!!!

this is just the tiiiiniest thing because I am obsessed with this but I don't have the energy to do it justice. Hope you still like this little little snippet.

Max knows that what he's doing isn't completely healthy. Or sane. But it's also not hurting anyone, so he doesn't feel like he's really supposed to stop. And as long as nobody knows, nobody can judge him.

It had started on what at first at been a very normal day: drive to the track, get changed, drive in free practice, eat some food, change again, drive some more. And then he had ruined it all by going to knock on Daniel's door.

It was still a bit of a thrill, knowing that Daniel was there, right next door, and that he could knock and Daniel would answer.

He just didn't expect Daniel to open the door while shirtless.

"Hey Maxy, just finishing here, then I'm all yours!" Daniel had said, all cheerful and relaxed, stepping back again to let Max in.

He had said something else while moving around the small room, blabbering about something Max had not really followed along with, his brain suddenly filled with static.

It's not that he had never seen Daniel shirtless before. Everyone had seen Daniel shirtless before, and Max was one of the lucky people who had seen him quite a few times, but something was different since the last time he had had that pleasure.

Daniel had a belly piercing.

He had turned away before Max had gotten a real chance of looking at it, but it was there. It was small and shiny, perfectly sitting between the hardness of his abs and the soft curve of his lower belly, where it just barely jutted out.

It had been just a glimpse, but it had changed something.

It had been almost innocent at first. He had found himself looking up belly piercings, just to see, just to maybe get a better idea on how Daniel's could look like. And some had been so pretty, and they would look so good on Daniel's skin, and it wasn't a crime to buy piercings even if you never plan on having them worn. He was supporting small businesses!

He knew that if he asked, Daniel would probably show it to him. Daniel had never been particularly shy about his body, at least around Max, and it wasn't a crime to look either. But he wasn't used to lying, especially to himself, so he knew that if he asked, and if he got permission to look, and maybe even to touch, the probability of him losing control a little too much was going to be too high to risk it.

Because what had started as innocent shopping had turned into very interesting porn searches. And fantasies. And unfortunately timed wanks.

If Max was in the business of being ashamed of himself, he would probably be heavy with it. As it is, he just does his best to not think about what this all means, and tries to give himself some free time in his schedule, just in case he needs to fit in a meeting with his right hand at the last minute.

And if the little pile of unused piercings grows in his bedside table, then nobody needs to know.

[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

[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 💓

[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.

[half-deadmagicperson]

July 8th- Post Nasty Burger Explosion

Warnings: Referenced Character Deaths

This piece I wasn't able to finish on time, but I fully intend on making it. It has a lot of plot left to go, and I need to edit it, but here's a decent sized snippet of what I have so far :D

(this is also a part of @dp-crossover-angst-week-event )

  The ghost of time gazes sadly upon the young Halfa. How he wishes he could have prevented it. How he wishes to reach out and hold the child close, but he can't.

  After Daniel Fenton's alternate future self caused the death of his family and friends…and teacher, the boy was left in ruins. This boy knew better than to seek aid from Vladimir Masters, but that didn't make him any less broken.

  He needed a place to go, and Clockwork knew just the place.

~~~~~~~~~

  Yarrow, Nettle, Comfrey, Lemon Balm. That should be all of them except fennel. Merlin was spending his afternoon picking herbs for Gaius. The young warlock wandered deeper into the woods, not afraid of whatever he may encounter.

  A quiet groan caught Merlin’s attention.

 “Who's there?”

 The warlock spotted a tuft of black hair in the brush. Coming closer, he spotted a boy lying face first on the ground.

 The boy wore a type of tunic and trousers that Merlin has never seen before, but that wasn't the most shocking part. The boy reeked of death energy, but he was clearly a living boy? Unless this was some sort of disguise.

  The boy shifted and opened his eyes. Bright blue eyes locked onto Merlin.

  “Oh, what the fuck!” Merlin wasn't exactly sure what the word meant, but he was pretty sure it wasn't a nice one.

   “What kinda RPG did Clockwork drop me into??” The boy's accent was strange and nothing like Merlin has ever heard before.

  “Um, you look lost? Do you require assistance?” It was then that the boy's focus shifted back to the young man in front of him.

  “Uh, yeah, could you tell me where I am?”

  “We are about a furlong away from Camelot, I'd say.”

  “Camelot? Like, oh what was his name, King Arthur? And the Knights of the Round Table?”

  “Urm, actually it's Prince Arthur. His father is still alive.” The boy arched his brow.

  “Okay then, so which character are you supposed to be?” 

  “That is a weird way to ask for someone's name, but I am Merlin, Arthur's manservant.”

  “Aren't you supposed to have a beard? And a pointy hat?”

  “A wha-”

  “If you're gonna pretend to be Merlin you gotta have the whole wizard look down! The robe, the hat, the magic staff!”

  “Magic? Magic is banned in Camelot. It has been for years.”

  The boy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “So let me get this straight: you're Merlin, we're outside of Camelot, magic is illegal, and this is not just some LARPing event?”

 “I don't even know what LARPing is.” The boy extended a hand.

  “Hi, I'm Danny, and I'm from a different time!”

  What did Merlin get himself into now?

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

Totally agree w/comment Anon!! Let’s make Alexia throw her phone at the wall because of reader and Misa😂

A scene where all her teammates try to separate Alexia hands from Misa’s neck😂🫣

Love your fics and thank you for sharing them🩷

you've inspired me.... so here's the tiniest snippet! (i'll keep the second suggestion for the actual fic 👀) and thank you for your love, it means a lot! take care!!🌻🤍😚

Alba raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth pulling into a smirk the second she'd seen her little sister’s new Instagram story. Going by the notification sounding from Alexia's phone, and the immediate frown that followed, she’d seen the exact same thing. Alexia grumbled something, then locked her phone and tossed it to the side without care. It landed flat against the ground the second it bounced off the couch. She didn't even dare to retrieve it, looking at the device as if it was the filthiest thing she'd ever seen. “You can’t pretend she’s the Holy Virgin Mary for the rest of your life,” Alba snickered, immediately liking the story and messaging her sister.  “I can sure try... if she doesn’t rub it in my face all the damn time,” Alexia massaged her temples, forcing the images and thoughts out of her mind.  “She’s just in love…so let her. It’s kinda cute, no?” Alba was shut up by the offended look on her sister’s face. “No. It’s different.”  “How?”  “Because!” Alexia flailed her arms around, an incredulous expression to match her disgruntled tone of voice. Alba laughed, “Wow, how mature of you.” “Alba.” Alexia deadpanned, “She’s posted a story talking about… you know-“ She made a face, hoping that she didn’t have to let the word roll off her tongue. “Sex? Fingering?”  Alexia watched as Alba tried and failed to hide her laughter behind her phone, “Dios mio, you’re just as bad, two peas in a pod.“  “Hey now..." Alba rolled her eyes, "And, in Y/N's defence, she didn’t say it…” “…she still implied it. How can I shake that girl's hand now when we meet after knowing... what it does." She shuddered, "Anyway, I'm done talking about it now,” Alexia huffed out with an air of finality, stood up, and heard Alba’s laughter as she left the room.  “Oye!" Alba yelled after her, "At least she didn’t say anything about tongues or strap-ons!” ”Lalalala-“ Alexia immediately put her hands over her ears, knowing Alba well enough that she wouldn't hold back getting under Alexia's skin further. Their mother's head popped into the room then, "Hija, what is this all about? Better with her hands?!" Alba only wheezed, immediately tapping away on her phone, giving her sister a heads up about the havoc she'd created. Oh... now she'd done it.

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

Fan Fic Humble Brag Tag

Sometimes we love something we wrote so much we want to knock on every door spreading the good word of our little story. But sometimes we fear being seen as rude or too self promoting. Here is your chance to do a bit of self promo and bragging without fear because some asked you too.

Answer the questions and then tag five writers who you think deserve to brag about their work Tagged by @thelighthousestale!!

1.) the funniest bit of dialogue you wrote

I write a lot of banter so I find it difficult to choose, but I wrote this earlier this week and really wanted to show it to someone (I'll leave you to guess what fic this is for)

Ginny walked into their room at night. “We are having sex.” Harry looked down in mock-surprise. “Are we? You should have told me, I would have bothered to undress.”

2.) A story you wrote that made you cry

This is a really low bar because I cry really easily I'd choose This is me trying, I suppose

3.) A story that still makes you laugh every time you reread it or think about it

A hungover Harry in her bed. I like to laugh at Harry's despair meeting Ginny's carpet face-to-fabric.

4.) Best moment of canon compliant characterization

I have taken a lot of different approaches to writing Hinny's post-battle reconciliation and I think the latest attempt comes closest. I think it showed a good mix of their maturity, their grief and their connection.

Snippet (In the arms of the boy she loved):

They walked aimlessly through the aisles for a while. When Ginny let go of his hand, he stopped and looked at her. She leaned against the bookcase and looked up, breathing deeply. He stepped forward and rested his forehead against hers, stroking her cheek. Her hands reached out, nearly trembling and clutched onto the sides of his shirt. He kissed her softly. As soon as he leaned away, her lips followed him. She refused to disconnect from him and kissed him again. He did not object, he needed her as badly as she needed him. His whole body seemed to hum from her touch, revelling in the comfort of her proximity. He held onto her, telling her silently he was staying right there with her. “Breathe,” he told her, locking eyes with her. She shook her head. “I’m trying.” “I know.” He brushed her hair out of her face with his hand. “I’m right here.”

5.) Something you wrote in a fic you secretly (or not so secretly) think as canon

I think they went for a 4th child because the house was quiet without James and ended up with twins, Ruby and Remy.

6.) The most romantic bit you’ve written

There is a part in Not your Captain where Harry disappears. Ginny turns her ship around and sails back out to sea in the hopes of rescuing him from certain death. I think that's pretty romantic.

7.) A fic you wrote that everyone sleeps on, but you know, is excellent

I don't think this was slept on, but That has a ring to it had significantly fewer interactions than Experimentally in Love. I am not sure if it was the trope that spoke less to people, I just felt there was a difference for sure.

8.) Wow us with an excellent excerpt For Spilt Blood

“Up! Up!” Potter’s Aunt Petunia’s voice shrilly roused them from sleep as she barged into the bedroom. Ginny jumped away from her, towards Mr Potter. He pulled on her arm, pulling her out of his aunt’s way. They stood against the wall, breathing heavily from their sudden awakening. Petunia jerked back the sheets with a menacing look and stared at the spot of blood. Ginny’s heart was pounding. Petunia walked up to her, craning her long neck. “Did it hurt, girl?” “I am married,” she said boldly, staring up at the woman. “You will address me as such.” The slap echoed through the room and her cheek stung immediately. Ginny leapt forward at Petunia, who screamed with arms flailing as she tried to escape. Ginny grabbed onto her arm and pulled, trying to get a better hold. Mr Potter’s arm swooped around her and pulled her back against him and away from his aunt. She had half a mind to bite him in the arm to free herself but changed her mind at the last moment. She tried to escape but he held onto her tighter. Petunia’s expression turned vicious, and though the sting of Ginny’s cheek was quickly fading, she remembered her husband's back, and wondered if this woman was responsible. Ginny was suddenly glad to retreat. She ducked out of his hold, and he pushed her behind him, both holding her back and protecting her from his aunt. “No!” he bellowed, his arms stretched out to keep the two women apart. “You got what you want, now get out of my house!”

9.) Five words to describe your writing

Banter, light-hearted, romantic, direct, optimistic

10.) The fic you are most proud of

Wreck My Plans, I don't think this is my best writing, but I think it really helped me find a slightly different approach to writing and pacing and I think that's why it was such a significant fic to me.

Tagging: @sophie-hatter-jenkins, @starlingflight, @four2andnew, @charmsandtealeaves and @takearisk-x

[archivalofsins]

Hey, this isn't going to be a long post because I want to get back to playing Caligula Effect 2. However, confirmed that Double is mostly a dream with small snippets of reality while MeMe is reality with breaks into dreams. Also that the graphs we see displayed distortedly throughout Double are a polysomnography.

X X

"I’m probably just having a bad dream, I need to wake up soon." - "All I did was dream, and that’s what you found GUILTY? “He’s a liar”, you said, and made me out to be a scoundrel, why?"

So, let's talk about this for a bit.

all gifs made by @apatchworkstar

So, in Caligula Effect 2 there's a heavy focus on the meaning of the word dream. It's highlighted multiple times that a dream can be something you have at night while sleeping or refer to something you want to do in the future. So, throughout double the word dream itself even has a double meaning.

I think that when John states all he did was dream contextually he's referring to the dreams one has when they sleep. I believe this because the structure of Double as I stated before is more dream like than MeMe. Though I have another pertinent reason for believing this outside of that. Let's discuss the telltale signs of a dream displayed throughout Double first.

1. Takes place mainly in one location.

Unlike MeMe where we change locations frequently. From the underpass to the inside of their home, to the dumping area outside of their home, to their bathroom. Double is limited to the train station and the train only. Despite seeing John commuting he never makes it home or to work. He is confined to this location.

2. Seemingly endless terrains. (Never-ending passages or areas that seem to go on forever.)

3. Partial literacy or none. (Not everyone can read within dreams but those who can rarely can read the same thing twice. Instead the words will either keep changing or go blank.)

People who can read in dreams are pretty rare. They tend to be in communications based professions or writers.

CAN YOU READ IN YOUR DREAMS? SCIENCE REVEALS WHY MOST PEOPLE CAN'T

There are also other things that can't be done in dreams according to other sources.

X

That are helpful when it comes to differentiating between reality and dream in Mikoto's case. Also bringing more scrutiny to John's statements during the interrogation where he claims they attacked random strangers on the street an impossibility if it was really a dream like they both claim. We see in Double that none of the people have faces, they're all mannequins.

Since John stated he attacked some stranger it makes sense for everyone in Double to appear this way because in dreams you can't really just create a full ass person that you've never seen before. So, this makes everyone in John's version of events a stranger to him. However, you know where that's definitely not the damn case.

In MeMe where we see this guy plain as day-

As Mikoto does a very physical activity. However, this is a good time to interject- Dreams are very personalized.

Personal anecdote. I once had a dream when I was in a bookstore, and I was browsing around. I'd read a book I'd liked but I was unsure if I wanted to really commit to purchasing it but there was limited time was there with others, I had like twenty minutes at most, and I'd looked at a clock just to see what time that'd be. When I went to skim the book again it was blank. Then I looked at the clock and it was blank too. I was in high school at the time and had already looked into information around dreams and became acutely aware I was which led to a bit of lucid dreaming before I woke up. In other dreams I've been in fights, used weapons etc. even ran for a good while.

So, yeah, I've done physical activities in my dreams before, and I've seen people I know and have never known in my dreams too. It's different for everyone.

Yet, it's still valid to question-

Why would Double something primarily from John's perspective follow the rules of dreams more than Mikoto's?

If what they did was just a dream, then those rules should be applicable to both songs not just one.

It's not as though all of MeMe just shows the reality of the situation either. In fact, dream and reality are more neatly separated within their first trial song. Something that is displayed by one of those things listed. The inability to look in mirrors.

And being confined to one place regardless of how it changes over the course of the video.

So, yes there are very logical ways to discern between what is a dream and what is reality within Mikoto's trial songs. Milgram has done nothing to hide this. They even further displayed this by putting dream in large font for all to see over most of double.

Yet what's the other thing that makes me so sure that when John is discussing dreaming, he's discussing the dreams you have while sleeping and Mikoto is discussing dreams for the future?

For one Mikoto is specifically paired with the woman who sings this-

"Is the damage to get in the way of someone’s dream."- "If it damaged someone’s dream to the points of stopping it I’ll gouge you out with my fangs."

So chances are a part of the reason they were connected is because they lashed out due to someone gettting in the way of their personal goals and dreams. Yet there's also the fact he plainly fucking states what his dream was in his written trial one interrogation.

Q.04 Are you picky when it comes to fashion?

Mikoto: Of course I am. Nobody would want to ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, right?

06 What do you hate?

Mikoto: working overnight / reptiles / violence

Q.14 Where do you think you’ll be in 10 years?

Mikoto: It’d be nice if I could build up my own self-sustaining design business. That’d be pretty liberating.

"Hey now, I saved you, right? So why in the hell are you crying? Cling to me, hoist me up as your “savior”, stand up and sing out your gratitude, that’d be good."

Mikoto even uses similar verbage to that used in his first written interrogation when asked about these things in the lyrics of Double. Such as right, and that'd be good.

So, yeah there's all that.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

trick or treat! 👻🦇🍬

🎃🦇👻

Idk if you'd consider this a trick or a treat, but here's another writing snippet!! It's an AU I haven't posted anywhere yet outside of one blog post detailing the concept and one post referencing it.

“We should probably go deeper into the city.” He stated after a second of consideration.

“Won’t that risk us being seen?” Lamina asked, frowning at him.

“Not if we’re smart about it.” He gave her a small smile. “They’re looking for missing tributes, not for us, specifically.” 

“We are missing tributes.” Tanner deadpanned. 

Which was true, they were the missing tributes the peacekeepers were likely already searching for. But they also weren’t, really. How could they be missing tributes if they weren’t tributes at all? Now that they were away from the games, they were just four kids in an alleyway trying to figure out what to do next. It suited Treech just fine. Stressful and scary as the situation might be, it was right up his alley, and he would make sure they didn’t squander this golden opportunity. 

“Think about it this way: These people only know us from how they see us, right? Filthy, stupid district scum and all that.” He bit back a laugh at the way Brandy seethed. “They’re looking for vicious beasts running around in filthy, old clothing. You really think they’ll look twice at four slightly disheveled teenagers in fancy Capitol clothing? They’ve got bigger things to worry about.” 

“We’re gonna use their prejudice against them…” Brandy murmured, a grin slowly spreading over her face as she mulled it over. 

“Exactly.” 

If there’s one thing he’d learned on the streets, it’s that the key to success was to be as unremarkable as possible. People paid attention to things that were out of the ordinary. They only saw the things they weren’t used to, and moreover they saw what they expected to see. As long as they didn’t stand out too much, they’d fit right into that picture of normalcy. Then all they had to do was weather the initial storm and wait it out until they found the chance to get out of this stupid city. 

“And how will we get those clothes?” Lamina asked.

“I can-”

“No.” 

Frowning, he sent his friend a frustrated look, but she simply glared at him with stubborn determination. She wasn’t gonna let this go just like that and they both knew it, which was bad. That was very bad, because they didn’t have time for this. They needed to get out of sight and stay out of sight as soon as possible, they couldn’t afford to waste time arguing. Especially since they had to work together to survive this. 

“Mina…” 

“No, Treech. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no. You are not going into that city defenseless and on your own.”

“I’m not defenseless, Lami, I can hold my own!” 

“This is different.” 

“It’s-” Taking a deep breath, Treech forced himself to calm down. 

As frustrating as this was, especially given the timing, he had to be rational about this. Lamina was absolutely right, this was not district 7 and he had to keep that in mind, however… They’d have to do their groceries somehow and theft was the safest bet. But she still wasn’t wrong here, and throwing a fit about her very reasonable objection was not the way to go here. They were on a tight schedule here, so he had to explain this as fast and convincingly as possible. 

Mind racing, he tried to narrow down any and all arguments he could think of into the most important one. They could squabble later, now was the time for action. Lamina was only looking out for him, as frustrating as it was to be seen as defenseless or vulnerable when his greatest weapon had always been his mind. Besides, if he couldn’t defend his propositions, how could he claim to be right? 

“Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, truly I do.” He forced himself out of the defensive stance he’d adopted. “But if they find out it won’t matter. The sooner we get those clothes, the less people will be alert and the more chance we have of going unnoticed.”

“How about this?” Brandy interjected. “We,” she pointed between herself, Tanner, and Lamina, “find ourselves a place to hide, and then you,” she pointed at Treech, “go find us dinner. Then when night comes and the city’s asleep you break us into a store and we all go on a nice shopping trip.” 

Blinking, Treech looked over at Lamina, who looked right back. They stared each other down for a few seconds, evaluating the options laid before them. He could tell she didn’t like the idea of him going out alone at all, but he knew he’d have to do so eventually anyway. He couldn’t be too upset with her though. Had the roles been reversed, he probably would’ve raised hell to stop her from going out on her own. Finally, though, Lamina sighed and turned to Brandy. 

“Fine.” 

“Sounds good!” Treech agreed immediately. 

Honestly? This was a better plan than his own. Definitely a lot safer too. Pushing himself off of the wall properly, he stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath. Okay, back to business. None of them knew the Capitol, so they’d have to figure out where to go on luck and intuition alone. Definitely not ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Alrighty! Lets move.”