#i hate how the second image looks better than the finished version of it on the right

[memequeen92]

I should redo the leftmost sketch but with a tentacle dick instead honestly im not sure why I ever drew him with a regular dick at any point that shit definitely got shredded and also I can't draw dicks worth shit so

fleshy tentacle dick superiority honestly

[muertawrites]

Following a Siren (Eddie Munson x Reader) [18+]

Summary: Corroded Coffin desperately needs a singer to help balance out their first ever album. Lucky for them, Eddie shares a hall with a certified siren. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ only because i went a little crazy with perv!eddie (i just love him ok). i might write a second part where he gets to live his little fantasy... 👀 sappy romcom shit that i hate watching / reading but have no problem writing 

Author’s Note: aged everyone up to their mid-late 20s when everybody is out of hawkins and happy. posting this unedited because it’s 4am and i have to at least try to get some sleep. inspired by my own experience singing this song in my high school choir (it’s so much fun the chorus parts are better than the solos) and amber riley’s performance which is the only redeeming quality of the glee version. 

"I'm telling you, man, it's not gonna work. We need a chick."

Eddie glances between Gareth and Jeff, arms braced against the back of a chair, lips pursed together in frustration.

It's been hours and they still can't get any of the harmonies right. They're so close, but the song is just... unmemorable. A song easily and readily skipped, when it has the potential to be a totally amazing, stop-what-you're-doing, turn-the-volume-up, cream-in-your-pants showstopper. And Corroded Coffin needs it to be a showstopper; this is their first album - recorded in an actual studio with professional equipment and a genuine producer -and they can't blow their one chance at glory by having it flop.

But Gareth is right - it isn't going to work. They need vocals in a much higher range to balance out their lower tones. Unfortunately, they know about as many women between them as they did in high school.

"We can't afford to pay anyone," Jeff states. "Why don't we just scrap it?"

"We can't scrap it," Eddie quips. "It's too damn good. It just needs a little push."

"Could we do the harmony with instrumentals?" Gareth suggests. "You could just sing with the guitar."

"Nah, that wouldn't have the right umph," Eddie disagrees. "A vocal harmony would smash way harder."

"So we're stuck."

Eddie sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

"... I'll figure something out," he decides. "Just gimme some time. We're gonna do this if it fucking kills me."

Eddie huffs as he throws himself down onto his couch, snapping the tab on a beer can as he takes a long drag from a freshly rolled joint.

He's totally fucked. There's no way in hell he can find someone on short notice, with no budget, to carry the missing harmony. Nothing he has scrawled in the various notebooks stashed around his studio apartment is anywhere near finished, and even if it were, it wouldn't live up to what they already have.

Nobody will ever hear the song the way it's supposed to be heard. The thought crushes him.

The chime of keys and tread of boots echoes from the hallway, distracting Eddie from his visions of doom; you've returned home for the day. He closes his eyes, letting his mind wander to you - how you smiled sleepily at him this morning when you left for work, how pretty you looked in the dress you wore, how your lips were chapped and split, darkened with dry blood towards the center, how sweet your groggy laughter sounded when he said something stupid in passing. You've lived across the hall from him for the better part of a year - sharing the space above a convenience store, where you run into each other constantly - and his thoughts have been consumed by you since the day you moved in.

His cock twitches in his jeans, perking up at the images of you flitting around in his skull. Shame starts to rise in his stomach, but that doesn't stop him from going completely hard. He sighs.

C'mon man, don't be gross.

But it's too late. He's already relapsed into his favorite fantasy about you; inviting you backstage after one of his gigs and fucking you so hard you can't speak, skirt hiked up, panties pushed aside, makeup smeared and running as he drives you toward a messy, mewling orgasm. Holding you against his chest and kissing your lips, your face, your neck as you ride out the high.

His hand is in his pants before he can think better of it.

He's barely two strokes in when a gorgeous sound breaks him from his sexed-out haze. It starts as a simple chime, floating on the air as effortlessly as dust, before slowly growing louder, more joyous, every note driven with the force of a hurricane.

It's you.

You're singing.

And you're incredible.

Eddie springs to his feet, jeans still completely undone. He rushes across the hall, tapping frantically at the door to your apartment; your singing stops, and he almost regrets interrupting you for the loss.

The door swings open and you give him a once over, smirking amusedly when you clock his open fly, boxers tugged down to reveal the tiniest patch of his pubic hair.

"Eddie, I'm flattered," you tease, "but a date first would be nice."

"Shit, fuck, sorry."

He stuffs himself back into his pants, grinning bashfully before clearing his throat, leaning an arm against the doorframe as casually as he can. You can't help but giggle, having spent enough time with him that you'd developed an ever-growing crush on the eccentric, well-meaning man.

"What's up?" you ask.

"My band," he tells you. "We desperately need a singer and I think you're perfect."

He pauses for a moment, thinking over what he's said.

"As a singer!" he quickly clarifies. "As a singer."

You smile, biting your lip and entirely unable to stop the warmth that creeps across your cheeks. The way you gaze up through your lashes at Eddie makes him weak in the knees.

"I haven't done any serious singing since high school," you admit. "And never anything like you guys do. Plus... aren't you the vocalist?"

Eddie scoffs, waving away your statement with a slender, ring-adorned hand.

" 'Vocalist' is a stretch," he chuckles. "All I do is carry a tune. And it wouldn't be just you, anyway, we'd sing together. We can cover up each other's mistakes."

You sigh, still not entirely convinced.

"... I don't know. Like I said, I've never performed in a band before and I just... I would feel bad if I brought you guys down. I'm really not that good."

Eddie furrows his brow in confusion, craning his neck toward you as if you just told him Ozzy was a mediocre musician. He raises a hand to your forehead.

"Are you feeling okay?" he questions. "Your voice is fucking amazing! Why would I run over here with my pants down if it wasn't?"

He dramatically falls onto his knees, taking one of your hands in both of his as he fixes you with a pleading gaze. His thumbs softly stroke at your knuckles, causing an involuntary chill to run down your spine.

"Fair maiden from across the hall," he laments, "gentle lady with the voice of a siren, do us the honor of gracing us with your divine beauty. For my gratitude, I shall henceforth keep the volume on my stereo at a reasonable level, and shower you with the finest tributes of pizza and iced coffee."

You laugh, far too endeared by his antics for your own good.

"Get up, you goon," you playfully scold. "I'll come to your practice tomorrow for an audition. How about that?"

"Yes!"

Eddie springs to his feet, wrapping you in his arms and spinning you with joy.

"Thank you," he says as he sets you down. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you, you're a fucking life saver. You won't regret it, I promise."

He plants a kiss on your cheek, leaving you brimming with butterflies as he darts back into his apartment. He pops his head back out a moment later, phone in hand.

"What do you want on your pizza?"

At promptly six o’clock the next evening, you climb the steps to the little apartment in downtown Indianapolis that serves as Corroded Coffin’s makeshift studio. It’s an attic space, with slanted ceilings and wood floors padded with dirty, worn-out flea market rugs; posters featuring the likes of Sabbath and Megadeath line the walls, and most of the light is provided by a little circular window and a string of white Christmas bulbs strung along the edge of the room. The air is heavy with the scent of cannabis and incense. You’re reminded of Eddie’s apartment as you step inside, a fact you hate to admit calms your nerves a little bit. 

“Alright.” 

Eddie claps his hands together, grinning at you with his guitar slung over his shoulder. 

“What beautiful sounds will you be blessing us with today, gorgeous?” 

You purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you try to remind yourself that you’re good at this - there’s no reason to be so anxious. 

“You guys know any Queen?” you ask, sounding meeker than you intend. 

“Of course we do!” Gareth chirps from behind the drum set. 

“How about you just start singing, yeah?” Jeff chimes in. “We’ll join in. We do better by ear, anyway.” 

You nod, stepping up to the microphone as Eddie presses the start button on the tape recorder in the corner of the room. You clear your throat, inhaling slowly, holding the breath for a moment in your stomach before letting it go in a light, tentative note. 

“Can... an-y-bo-dy... find me-e-e-e... somebody to-o...” 

Eddie strums the last note on his guitar, making you smile. 

As you start up the first verse, Jeff and Gareth follow your lead, backing up your low, contemplative words with matching instrumentals. To your surprise, Eddie takes over the choral accompaniment, hitting each note as if he’s listened to the song a million times over; his voice compliments yours so well you sound make a symphony together, the vibration of your harmonies causing chills to rush through your body like an electric shock. 

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray ‘til the tears run down from my eyes!” 

Your confidence builds with the song, each note you sing becoming a little more soulful, a little more impassioned as the verse presses on. You lose yourself in the music, having always loved this song and how weightless it makes you feel. Your eyes are locked on Eddie, swaying in time with each strum of his pick across the guitar strings, consumed by the starstruck look in his eye and the expert movement of his ringed fingers. It’s like magic, how enchantingly beautiful you sound together. 

“I try and I try and I try-y-y! But e-e-e-ev’rybody wants to put me down; they say I’m goin’ crazy! They say I gotta lotta water in my brain; I got no common sense; I got nobody left to believe!” 

“YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YE-EAH!” 

The final throes of the verse are shouted, Jeff and Gareth playing off your enthusiasm with as much excitement as if they were playing to a packed stadium. You bang your head with each beat, thrashing with their heavy rendition of the song, thoroughly enjoying every second. Your voices fade into the shredding wail of Eddie’s guitar, hammered out into an exquisite solo that leads into the final verse. 

You reach your favorite part of the song; when all goes silent, the slow climb up to the huge finale. Jeff starts you off, his powerful bass rumbling over the speakers. 

“Find, me, somebody to lo-ove...”

Then comes Gareth’s baritone, picking up the harmony in just the right spot. Eddie follows soon after in his achingly handsome tenor, and you fall in line behind him, uttering out the quiet pieces of the harmony that many miss in the chorus. 

“Me somebody, to, lo-ove...” 

Eddie’s voice breaks out of the din.

“Somebody!” 

You fire back, hitting the high note without flinching. 

“Somebody!” 

“Somebody!”

“Somebody!”

You shoot back and forth at each other, your higher voice countering Eddie’s lower one in playful symmetry, until you reach the end of the short duel. 

“Somebody find me somebody to love! Can anybody find me-e-e-e...?” 

The men stop playing, pausing with rapt attention on you, anticipating how you’ll drive through the song’s climax. You take a deep breath, entirely unafraid of what you’re about to do. 

“Somebody to-o-o... lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ove!” 

The notes soar from your chest, deafening everything else in the room - hell, in the world, probably. Eddie is the first to cheer, bounding up and down in uncontained joy at just how powerful you are; the other men follow suit, picking up where they left off a few beats too late from being so swept up in your tidal wave of sound. 

Eddie finishes out the song gazing at you with dreamy, sparkling eyes, his chest fluttering as you look back at him and match his voice in perfect harmony. You really are a siren, and he’ll follow you to the depths of the sea if it means you’re the last sound ringing in his ears. 

All is calm as you follow Eddie out onto the street a few hours later, stepping into the late night cold of the bustling city. 

He turns to you, staring at you for a moment in giddy silence. Then, he lets out a celebratory shout as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the pavement and twirling you around. You laugh, your own arms falling around his neck, blushing furiously as he paints your face with kisses. 

“You. Are. Amazing!” Eddie cheers as he sets you back onto solid ground. “Oh my fucking god, that was incredible! You saved us! You beautiful, divine, ethereal goddess! My fucking heroine!” 

He captures you in another crushing hug, lips planting themselves firmly on your cheek once more. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

At first, you think he’s joking. But the breathless way he says it, the starry look in his wide, childlike eyes, the tender grip of his hand at your waist, all convey the truth. And you can’t lie to yourself - watching him play, hearing his voice entwined with yours, sharing the intimacy of song... you’re pretty certain you’re in love with him, too. 

“... Kiss me,” you whisper. 

“... What?” 

You giggle, his dumbstruck expression the most adorable thing you think you’ve ever seen. 

“Kiss me,” you repeat. “Baby, pull the string...” 

A smile curls across Eddie’s face, his grip on you tightening. 

“Did you... just quote Van Halen at me?” 

You nod. 

“Oh yeah,” he decides. “Comin’ in hot.” 

You giggle, smiling into the kiss as he presses his lips to yours, leaning his whole body into the movement until you’re flush against him. God, his lips are plush, and he tastes deliciously like his last cigarette, and his chest is hard and broad, and he looms above you like some sort of ivory tower, captivating and unmovable. You clutch at the lapels of his leather jacket, never wanting this kiss to end. 

Eddie hums softly as you pull apart, his eyes remaining closed for a moment as if he’s still savoring your lips. When he opens them, they’re lidded, lost within yours as he holds you in a lovers’ embrace on the corner of a busy street. 

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs. “Then we can make some more music together.” 

🌹💀 get your eddie fix 💀🌹

[corvidmasters]

Respite

pairing: oc x arjuna canon point: some time during epic of remnant, right before arjuna's second interlude summary: one enters distressed and exits calm. the other enters calm and exits distressed. ao3 version i got so fucking mad that my nearly-finished work for today got screwed up by technical difficulties that i finished this in a rage enjoy <3

Servants of all sorts of shapes and sizes fill the cafeteria to the brim. The only thing stopping a remodel to expand it was the looming inevitably of the Servants' dismissal, but even with that and an impending investigation, it seems that nobody is particularly bothered. Everyone is happy, eating, satisfied. Compared to the Chaldea from just after Lev's betrayal, it's lively.

Before the final battle against Goetia, Macha would have considered the sight an enjoyable one, if a bit overwhelming. But where she once felt joy was only hollowness. She masks it with a smile and moves theatrically when Servants and the few other Masters speak to her, keeping up her image of a capable and goofy big sister. She wouldn't dare to try and shatter that harmony—even when it's becoming painful, even when every single conversation seems to be blending into one another, even when the din just seems so horribly loud and she can hear every single conversation other than the one her table is involving her in—

"Macha, are you alright?"

Mash's gentle voice breaks Macha out of her trance. To the older girl's dismay, it seems she's slipped up somehow, but where? She responded perfectly, smiled perfectly, cracked jokes perfectly. When she looks down, Macha realizes that her plate is still full of food while the rest of the table's plates are clean.

"Do you have a stomach ache? It's unusual for you to not finish fried shrimp."

Macha brings her gaze back up. She mentally clicks her tongue at the sight of such young eyes looking at her with worry. She shouldn't have ordered her favorite food.

She forces yet another smile. "You see, young Mash, I was simply so taken by our conversation that I had forgotten to eat—"

"Please don't lie."

Ritsuka stops her with a quiet voice. Macha's smile is immediately wiped off her face in shock. Some of the nearby Servants go quiet, with those that Ritsuka and Macha are contracted to clearly showing concern. Out of the corner of her eye, Macha can see Emiya stare at her from the kitchen window, his arms folded.

Macha doesn't know what she hates more—the overstimulation from before, or the silence of defeat.

"...I suppose I am not feeling well, yes." Macha smiles again, weaker this time, then gets out of her chair. "I will retire."

Mash gives Macha a warm, if concerned, smile in return. "Feel better soon."

Macha can feel the eyes of the other two Masters and her Servants on her back as she heads for the door. She knows this won't be the end of it now that people know about her wound. The vulnerability of it all gnaws at her already frayed edges and makes her want to scratch her stomach out and shriek.

When she passes by the kitchen window, Emiya is still there. "Hey."

Macha stops.

"I'll save your plate in the fridge, so eat it later."

A small huff leaves her mouth. At the very least, she's grateful that her first Servant understands well that such indirect displays of care are best. "Yes, sir. I'll be sure to do that."

She walks out into the hallway. As soon as she no longer has to stand straight and strong for everyone, Macha lets her taut shoulders go slack and her head hang.

How long has it been since Dr. Roman—no, Solomon—sacrificed himself? She can't remember. It was as if the moment he unveiled himself time began to blend. Her sharp nose couldn't help but sniff out something at least a little off about him, but her unhealthy love for him blinded her to the possibility that he might have been such a big puzzle piece in the mystery that was their enemy. To accept that maybe Dr. Roman had something to do with the enemy was equal to resigning herself to losing the only outsider who knew everything about her. To see him reveal his hand told her everything.

Macha has lost something again because she didn't think hard enough and didn't act quick enough. Her little brother's future, whatever that may be, came at the cost of something else precious.

Her feet take her as they please. Though she's still looking forward, she registers nothing in her vision. Where is she even going? The empty halls of Chaldea all look the same. It only serves to disorient her further. Macha turns down a random corner; out of the corner of her eye, a different-colored blob appears. It's blue, silver, black and brown, and it's cautiously coming towards her.

"Master?"

Macha's sight regains its focus at the familiar call. Her gaze rises from the floor to see Arjuna, brows slightly upturned as he observes her. A smile makes its way onto her face and she opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and so she closes it.

This immediately raises red flags in Arjuna's mind. From his perspective, she's clearly been devastated ever since the events from their final battle—that much was evident by what she'd let slip through the cracks. He believed you'd have to be a fool to not think it was tied to the man who sacrificed himself, with the way he'd find her standing around in places the doctor once frequented. But this was the first time she's been totally incapable of keeping up her front. And rather than point it out...

"Are you returning from the cafeteria?"

...he instead opts to give her an easy out. Macha readily takes it, visibly relaxing.

"Yes. The kitchen staff is exceptional as always." With a bit of her pomp restored, she crosses her arms and smiles brighter, then moves to take a step forward. "I'll be heading to my—"

At that moment, her shaking foot meets the floor. Except instead of properly moving her forward, it buckles under her weight and sends her tumbling down. She's met with her own confused face in the polished floors, strands of black hair covering half her face. "Ah..."

"Master!" Arjuna is immediately at Macha's side. He reaches out to help her up into a sitting position, feeling that he's putting more strength into it than her. She's quivering so much that even her lower lip is shaking. "Are you alright? Do you need to—"

—go to the infirmary.

He lets that die on his lips.

Macha leans against him slightly, still forcing half a smile even now. "I...am fine. It's just that...perhaps I haven't been eating enough..."

"..." Arjuna isn't sure what to say or do. On one hand, he doesn't want to press it too hard, but on the other, he would like to lift her up and ensure she's eating properly. He begins to shift his hands to take her to the cafeteria anyways.

"Arjuna," Macha says quietly to interrupt him, "can we lay here for a moment?"

"Lay here?" He raises a brow. "In the middle of the hall?"

She nods. "Just for a moment...just a little."

Arjuna hesitates. He then moves to guide her to the nearest wall, seats himself against it, and gently allows her to rest her head in his lap. It would be unbecoming for him to not try to at least give her a little comfort, he thinks. Macha lies there on her back, attention focused mostly on the ceiling.

It's quiet. Neither of them seem particularly interested in breaking the silence. Macha even starts to shut her eyes; Arjuna speaks up immediately at this. "If you'd like to sleep, I don't advise doing it out here. I can take you back to your room if need be."

"I won't sleep. I promise." For whatever reason, warmth spreads along her expression. "I'm only resting my eyes."

"...Very well. If you insist."

They fall silent again, the space filled with the light electronic hum of the fluorescent lights above them. Arjuna takes this time to observe his Master's face. Though she's cheered up slightly now, he can see evidence of bags under her eyes. Her hair is still somewhat disheveled from her fall, but he doesn't move to fix it. He's not sure why he feels the urge to. He's her Servant, not her caretaker or lover—there are lines he shouldn't be crossing.

"Arjuna."

It's Macha's turn to break the silence, which takes the brooding Arjuna by surprise. He straightens himself in expectation of an order.

"Your voice is very gentle. It's pleasant."

The only response he can offer right away is a quiet blink.

Macha is prone to express lavish compliments on virtually everyone at Chaldea. Her fellow Masters and her Servants, himself included, are often referred to as "dear friends". There have been no shortage of epithets she's rained upon him ("the greatest archer", "the peerless bowman", "the silver strength", to name a few), and yet this time it feels different. There's a sincerity in Macha's tired voice that immediately sends waves of some sort of emotion roll through him. He's not sure what to do about it. It's making him somewhat dizzy.

"...Thank you, Master," Arjuna finally replies.

Macha opens her eyes and looks up at him. "Can I hear more of it?"

"A strange request, but...very well. Here. I'm speaking. Is this satisfactory?"

Macha laughs in a manner very different from her usual dramatic guffaw. It's quiet like a breeze and gentle like it, too. The waves rolling through Arjuna intensify, so he begins to pray that it ends soon, whatever 'it' is. And his prayers are answered quickly, as Macha suddenly lifts herself up off his lap and sits there, no longer shaking.

She turns her head to him with a grin. "Do you think the cafeteria is empty by now?"

Arjuna composes himself quickly so that he can reply, nodding slightly. "Yes. We've been here for some time, and the period for dinner service was already reaching its end..."

"Let's go, then."

Macha stands up, Arjuna watching. When she smiles at him, he stops hesitating and stands himself. "Of course."

"Now then, where did he put it..."

Arjuna guessed correctly; there wasn't a single soul in the cafeteria save for a stray staff member. It's almost impressive how large the difference is between when Macha left and now, with the once-packed room seeming so much larger in its emptiness. Macha rifles through various leftovers and ingredients in the fridge as Arjuna stands guard in front of her. There's no reason to do such a thing, but he's not sure what else he's supposed to do.

"Aha!" shouts Macha. She triumphantly pulls out her untouched plate of fried shrimp and shredded cabbage, carefully wrapped in plastic by Emiya. After setting it down on the kitchen counter, she pulls out a piece of paper from the case attached to her belt and uses magecraft to make it as sharp as a knife. The ordinarily flimsy paper cuts through the plastic like a hot knife through butter. "Arjuna, could you get two pairs of chopsticks?"

"Of course." Arjuna moves to her command automatically, then stops when his brain catches up. That odd emotion from earlier threatens to return. "But why two?"

"Hmm? Because we'll be sharing this, of course."

With Macha's back turned to him, Arjuna allows himself to frown. He often avoids the cafeteria as much as possible, though the woman standing before him has a tendency to drag him there whenever she's able to catch him on her way to mealtime. Even then, he's never sure what to order—so he simply doesn't eat, only ordering a cup of tea if the whim comes to him.

"Master, I'm sure you're aware that there's no need for a Servant to eat..." he begins to protest.

"That's true." Macha peels the last of the plastic off the bottom of the plate and throws it in the trash, then returns the paper she used to its original state and puts it away. "But as I am now, I'm paradoxically so hungry that the thought of eating all of this alone makes me feel ill...won't you share it with me, Arjuna?"

When she looks right at him as she asks him that question, Arjuna's mouth dries up in an instant. Without realizing it nor wanting it, he smiles. "If that is what you wish."

He retrieves the chopsticks and joins her out the kitchen, sitting across from her at the nearest table. Macha slowly lowers herself onto her chair so that she doesn't fall over again, then takes the metal chopsticks and picks up a cold fried shrimp by the tail. In moments, its breaded body is shoved into her mouth and devoured section by section, until all that's left is the inedible tail. She's practically sparkling as she chews it, cheeks puffed out like a hamster's.

"Even when it's cold, it tastes delicious..." she says after swallowing. "Go on, Arjuna, try it!"

He holds his comments about how Macha seems like she'd be able to eat it all on her own after all—if she wants him to eat with her, then he'll eat with her. Besides, it's not too awful when there's so few people around. With a 'then here I go', he takes the second of the four large fried shrimps on the plate and bites into it. It's nothing to write home about, and it's lost some of its punch due to the cold. Even so, the crisp is pleasant, and the shrimp are of high quality.

Macha excitedly watches him, chin resting in the palms of her hands. Her gaze is so intense he can't help but glance away bashfully and cover his mouth with his free hand. "Master, please do not stare..."

"Ah, sorry, sorry. I wanted to see your reaction to it, that's all."

"My reaction, hm..." He lowers his hand. "Why is it that you're so fond of fried shrimp, Master?"

"Why?" Macha sits up straight and gazes up at the ceiling as she thinks. Once she comes upon the answer, she picks up her chopsticks again and takes the third fried shrimp, holding it before her mouth, but not taking a bite just yet, instead gazing at it. "Before I came to Chaldea, I didn't have much in the way of meal variety. My first ever meal here was fried shrimp...I thought it was amazing that such a dish existed, and I suppose I just became attached to it."

Arjuna looks down at his own shrimp. "I see...So it simply came to you at the right time and place."

"Indeed. That tends to be how it goes for a lot of things I like." Macha devours the shrimp she's holding, then sets down her chopsticks and smiles at Arjuna. "You've been asking so many questions about me lately, Arjuna."

Once again, something unidentifiable fills Arjuna to the brim. It takes everything in him to not let his voice shake, nor squeeze his chopsticks together and split the fried shrimp he's holding in two. "Have I?"

Macha nods. "The other day when you came to retrieve me for a mission, you asked what I was reading. A few weeks ago, you asked me why I tease my fellow Masters so relentlessly. It doesn't seem like much, but it's a far cry from your distance from before...I feel like you're truly starting to see me as a friend, just as I see you as one."

Ah.

How sad.

How very, very sad.

Arjuna understands what he's been feeling now.

It's fear.

It petrifies him, chokes him up, leaves cold sweat running down the back of his neck. This was to be expected. He couldn't avoid it for long, especially when his Master is such a friendly, capable sort. What else is he supposed to do? No matter how many times he tries to draw a line in the sand, Macha Schmied will walk right past it and say hello.

The remainder of their conversation is a blur. He finishes his portion of the meal with even less of an appetite than he had before. No longer shaking from hunger, Macha bids him goodnight, and leaves the cafeteria along with the sole lingering staffer. Arjuna is finally alone again, but unlike usual, that brings him no reprieve.

"So, this is part of what it means to be a Servant...how frustrating."

He slowly brings a hand up to his face.

"This cannot go on...Master, please stop crossing these lines."

That night, Macha has a strange dream, beckoned into a bad memory by the bond Arjuna desperately wants to eliminate.

[redvioletarts]

Novel Loading Progress Bar Stickers & Notebooks to help you track your writing

[Image ID: five stickers displayed against a wooden textured background. Each says "Novel Loading" in hand lettering, alternating light and dark letters in the sticker color, above a blank progress bar with each quarter marked, and below that is written "Word Count Goal:", a blank space to fill in, and "K" as an abbreviation for one thousand. The stickers come in kelly green, violet purple, denim blue, rosy pink, and dark red. End ID.]

You know what sucks about writing? It's lonely, at least most of the time. Unless you've got a rabid AO3 or Patreon readership waiting for your next chapter, or a really dedicated writer's group, you end up spending a lot of time just plugging away at what looks to other people like basically the same task... all. the. time.

[Image ID: Mockup of a person sitting on a fluffy blanket, holding a pen and a pale blue notebook featuring the same Novel Loading artwork as the stickers above. They rest their wrists and the notebook on a coordinating blue fluffy pillow. End ID.]

"When are you going to finish that so I can read it?" your friends ask, inevitably when you're at that 75% mark and you hate every word you're putting down. You really don't have an answer.

Now you can get a sticker (for all you laptop and phone writers) or a notebook (for the longhand sentimentalists, or those who like keeping a writing journal specifically to write about their writing) that has a visual progress tracker right on the front, ready to be filled in with your favorite Sharpie.

Both come in five colors to match the vibe of your story--or enable you to track more than one story at once without mixing them up!

[Image IDs: First image shows a person sitting on a bench with a pencil and the pink version of the Novel Loading notebook. Second image shows the red version on a black desk surrounded by black and gold office supplies. End ID.]

We writers know progress on a novel isn't exactly linear--a thousand words near the beginning of the novel is usually way easier than a thousand words dragged sentence-by-sentence out of your brain as you're poring through your notes trying to tie everything together near the end. But who cares? Rip off the loading bar idea from the programmers--they're BSing it too!

Fun fact! Most of the loading bar graphics you see on computers are fake--they're just there to reassure you the computer hasn't frozen. But by gum do they make us feel better.

So slap a loading bar on your novel! Track your progress visually to keep yourself motivated, give your friends an opportunity to encourage you, and maybe meet some new writer buddies when you're sitting in a coffee shop with your laptop sporting one of these stickers.

Or get the perfect gift for your writer friend--because seriously, how do you buy for a writer? New notebooks, obviously. Yeah, they have about eighteen blank ones stuck in a box already and they mostly write on their laptop, but they still get really excited every time they get fresh paper. It's a writer thing.

(Yours truly once asked for loose-leaf binder paper for Christmas as a kid. No, my family never let me live this down.)

Both products ship out pretty quickly from my print partners. The stickers are nice splash-resistant vinyl ones, and the notebooks are hardback with a smooth matte finish that feels good in your hand.

Get the sticker here, and the notebook here!

[bomberqueen17]

Sewing Things Update

So I uh, I worked for hours on sewing all last week and this past weekend, and uh well I didn’t finish anything but I did do a lot of stuff. So, a scattershot update:

1) I am making a muslin of this dress, out of muslin (amazing), and it has you bind the neckline with bias tape, which I had not done before. Well, I thought I hadn’t, and I didn’t understand the directions, but then i started to do it and duh this is the technique I used to finish the inside necklines of like, all the supportive kirtles I made for garb between 2006 and 2012. I just did the last stitching by hand for those, which gives a different look. But it’s entirely the same geometry as that.

Anyway here’s a photo, featuring me not feeling like cutting bias binding out of the muslin so I used the closest scrap to hand that seemed like it was cotton. I’m going to overdye the muslin if it turns out as something wearable anyway-- I also didn’t prewash it so it’s gonna depend how much it shrinks. This was all kind of an experiment. but I have some fabric I really like that I want to use for the final version of the dress, so I figured muslin was a good way to go.

[image description: a beige muslin garment sits on an ironing board with pins holding down the turquoise bias binding applied to the neckline.]

2) Once I lined the neckline I assembled the front and back bodices, and that meant it was Sleeve Set in Time and i hate gathering so I let myself hand-sew the gathers in. They turned out better on the second sleeve than the first, but now I know that technique.

[img description: beige muslin fabric, with a seam in the middle, and the fabric to the left is slightly gathered while the fabric to the right of the seam is flat.]

3) Muslining stretch garments: I got the pattern for this knit wrap dress exclusively so I could make cropped tops out of it, as I’ve always loved the idea of a wrap top and have never been able to buy one that fit me. I’m muslining it in dress length though, because like, why not, I’ve never had a wrap dress that fit me either. I have this huge wodge of really crappy cotton jersey that I got on clearance from dharma trading because it’s not *quite* white, and I’ve discovered that it’s reasonable quality fabric BUT it becomes grungy-looking upon the first wash. So it’s great for muslining because it was so cheap, and then I’m going to attempt to overdye it when I have a stash of muslins to overdye, and we’ll just see. Some of these muslins may not turn out wearable so I also may take them back apart, but these are all problems for future me. Meanwhile I’m squeezing the pattern pieces for as many things as I possibly can onto this stuff.

[image description: a stretch of white fabric is across two smallish tables; pattern pieces are drawn on in Sharpie because it’s a muslin so who cares what it looks like i just need it to be accurate so i can make my fit adjustments!]

4) and I finally read the pattern yardage charts correctly for this dress, which I have been longing to make but it needs 7 yards of fabric... if it’s 45″ wide and you’re making one size larger than I am. So actually, I have 4.5 yards of 55″ of this fabric I think is really cool, but then I need a contrast fabric to make the neck and waistbands out of.

and it crossed my mind that like i could... i could make inkle bands for this purpose. I posted a question to the forum (this is a Club pattern, which I got by subscription, and there’s a forum that goes along with the Club) and the dress designer told me that the neckline ties do need to be on the bias to stretch a little, but the waistband does not, there’s an interior piece stabilizing it, so it could be made out of anything. So I have gone through my weaving threads and tried to figure out what colors would coordinate.

[image description: a length of fabric printed with animals and women and flowers, with a hand-woven inkle band lying atop it.]

This test band is too wide and too short, I need it to be like 120″ long and half an inch wide or less, but the colors work-- cream, black, blue/gray, and bright green.

This is Mood’s Elysian Menagerie Cotton Voile and this girl is my new girlfriend:

[image description: a close-up of a woman printed on the fabric, who has her head at a coy angle and is wrapped in a blue-gray towel with a vine flowing around her.]

we’re going to be very happy together, if only i can figure out how to do the waist ties on this dress.

I bought the fabric with a different pattern in mind but the scale is so large on this print, that even with the size pattern pieces I’m using (i’m a US size 20) the girls and peacocks and zebras and giraffes would get chopped up, so I decided to use this dress because it’s in big vertical panels. The woman in this print is larger than my hand. So, I’m gonna give this a shot.

Also pray for me I’m not doing a muslin before hand because it’s SO much fabric and muslin is too thick, this needs to be pretty lightweight, and I don’t have four and a half yards of unwanted gauze or chiffon lying around. (Also, i’m a little worried that I will use up ALL of my sewing energy on these muslins and wind up with ZERO finished garments, so I’m going to go for it. The pattern pieces are so big that even if i fuck it up beyond all saving, I’ll be able to recut something else out of it. This may be famous last words but like. I gotta commit.)

[directtrust]

Perfectly clear 2.0

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It’s rare, but it does happen.Īside from this one quirk, I’ve really become addicted to this product for those hundreds of thousands of images that I need to edit but will never get around to with my commercial photography workflow. In some cases it does make a mistake so I’ve learned to turn off settings which appear to have no effect as sometimes they can do something very unexpected (like red eye removal removing red from an area that isn’t an eye). The product I’ve been using for the last month has worked on a large number of images I’ve thrown at it so I’ve began to trust it. Its algorithms weren’t as mature as they are today so I felt like I needed more control over what it was doing. When I first heard about this product a few years back and tried to play around with it, I thought it was garbage. NOTE: Some artifacts caused by 256 color GIF downrez Conclusion Landscape preset is great for sunset shotsĭehaze preset gives images that "wow" look in one click NOTE: Effects exaggerated to show possibilities – less garish looks possible with simple adjustments One click fix in seconds with the Landscape Preset Simply put, it just works! More Before and After Samples You can make your adjustments and be done or you can take a moment to create a new preset with them, but either way you don’t spend much time in this UI. Often times it is one click and you are done as you’ll see in the samples in the next section, but sometimes (as shown in my video) you need to make a few adjustments.

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I highly recommend you try it out (at least via the Free Trial version). If you have a minute at least watch the first couple minutes of this video to see Perfectly Clear in action:Īs the demo shows, this is the fastest and easiest way to make your images look great in seconds. This product works so well so quickly that it is easier to just show you than to write a lot about what it does. Have you tried it before and hated it? Me too! If so, try it again as this latest version is the one that finally got it right – and it is very good! Video Demonstration on 8 Images A free trial is available so if you don’t like it then you’ve lost nothing, but I suspect people who take the time to learn it will find they love it – a lot. Simply put, this is a game changer folks so I encourage you to check out my video and try it out. In fact, Photoshop’s Ctrl+F / Cmd+F features lets you replay back the last filter you ran for zero click editing of images that can use your last preset settings. This preset works well for most images which allows you plow trough tons of old images quickly to make them look great. One click fix in seconds with the Details Preset Here’s a common example of a shot that looks good straight out of the camera but it jumps off the screen (or print) when you do a one click edit with the details preset: That product is Perfectly Clear and it rocks! I’m here to tell you that the day has arrive where you have a new tool to add to your editing arsenal that will make your unedited images look great while still giving your edited images that extra oomph to make them look better.

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What’s more, my images are my art so I want my finishing touches so how could any respectable photographer trust software to do this critical part of the creative process for them? The promise of one click greatness has been promised for a long time but I’ve never seen any product deliver on it. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a product that could do a very good job for a majority of our photos with as little as one click? This self defeating practice of image hording is common amongst photographers, and despite great products like Lightroom and Topaz ReStyle which can greatly decrease the time required to make your images look great – the reality is that it always take longer than we admit to others. As a result I have hundreds of thousands of photos that have never seen the light of day (much to my wife's chagrin) due to lack of time needed to make them look the way I want them to look before anyone else sees them. While I enjoy editing photos, the sad reality is that it just takes too long to put my loving touch on every photo. Save 10% off Athentech Perfectly Clear by Clicking Here

[sapphicscholar]

I wish you'd write a fic where.... DJ catches/walks in on Deb/Ava and Deb has to talk about her FEELINGS with DJ.

Ooh okay, so I'm not sure how I feel about this ficlet because, while I like to think I have an okay-ish grasp on Deborah's relationship with DJ, I feel like I am FLAILING when it comes to trying to get DJ's voice. So....we'll see! Anyway, this was also the last of the Hacks prompt I received (unless something new comes in before I get to leave post-exposure isolation in another day or two), so here goes nothing:

*

The fact that all their clothes were still on matters little, Deborah suspects, in the face of everything that was happening. Ava's mostly buttoned up shirt can't change the fact that she was straddling Deborah's lap and trying to convince Deborah that she could be careful enough not to leave hickeys.

Careful. Right. Because it's careful people who get caught in the middle of some torrid late-in-life lesbian affair.

Christ, it's exactly how DJ could pitch it to the tabloids if she wanted to make a small fortune. (Which she most certainly does. Anything to feel like she's prying her way out from under her mother's fingernail, no matter how much seemingly insignificant pain and damage it causes along the way.)

"I need to deal with this," Deborah sighs, tapping at Ava's thigh as she slides her way back out from under her.

As Deborah strides through the hallways, she tries to smooth the wrinkles from her clothes, runs a hand through her hair and hopes it looks normal enough not to conjure up images of everything that led to the moment of their interruption.

She finds DJ in her bedroom, rifling through the bottles of cheap lotion and, unfortunately for them all, CBD-infused lube that now litter the spare nightstand--Ava's nightstand, Deborah's mind oh-so-helpfully supplies.

"No." DJ says upon hearing Deborah's footsteps falter. "Nope. There's not enough therapy in the world to fix this."

"DJ, listen."

"No! Why would I... Where was this version of my mom when you were sitting in front of all my friends and telling me that my own marriage to a perfectly nice guy my own age couldn't last, huh?"

"Nothing had happened then." It's true, even. "This is all very"--Deborah searches for the right word--"recent." She thinks other words might be more apt: surprising, disastrous, revelatory, pleasurable, idiotic, life-changing. She doubts DJ would appreciate them.

"Oh. Oh, wow. So you two really fucking U-Hauled it, huh?"

Deborah hates that she only understands this joke because Ava had explained it to her. (After she'd finished laughing when Deborah offered her drawer space on their second morning spent walking up in Deborah's bed.) "Ava doesn't live here."

"Um, actually, she does. Marcus told me."

"But she doesn't live here," Deborah tries again, drawing a circle in the air around the room. The fact that Ava sleeps here more nights than not is wholly irrelevant.

"Literally does not matter. And so not the point. Why are you boning your 25-year-old employee?"

"Have you ever asked Marty why he only dates women in their 20s?"

"Please," DJ scoffs, tossing a tube of Ava's chapstick into the trash. Deborah could be nice and rifle through the trash to get it back. Or, she could not touch the garbage and instead spend a few bucks to buy Ava a new one. Yes, that's better. "Don't try to turn this into some feminist thing. And besides, what happened with you and Marty anyway? I thought you two were, like, a thing. Some Ross and Rachel will-they-won't-they shit."

Deborah squares her shoulders, her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek. "I decided I was done sleeping with someone I didn't want to look at in the morning."

DJ's movements falter, and she doesn't sweep the lube into the garbage. "So...what? You do want that with Ava? Fucking Ava?"

"I thought you liked Ava."

"Yeah, as, like, a friend. Not as my new stepmommy."

Deborah can't hide the visible cringe, and DJ's gaze gleams triumphant. "I think you're old enough not to need a new mother. Step or otherwise."

"So then what is this?"

There are a hundred and one retorts on the tip of Deborah's tongue about how no matter what it is, it's none of DJ's business. Eventually she manages an overly honest: "I don't know."

DJ's eyebrows shoot up. "You don't know? And you're admitting that?"

"It's...good. That's all I know. It's good enough that I'm standing here trying to find a way to make sure you can be okay with it."

"Wow."

"Good or bad wow?"

"Just...just wow." DJ blinks, then sets down a bottle of lotion. (Deborah actually wouldn't mind if that particular scent found its way into the trashcan.) "I think that's enough talking between us. I need to go throw some axes and interrogate Ava." Deborah would worry if it were anyone else, but somehow, she thinks Ava can handle herself. "Where is your little...what's the lady version of boytoy? Girltoy?" Her nose scrunches up. "No, that just sounds like a sex crime."

"Ava," Deborah cuts in, before this can get any more painful, "is probably still in the living room. Or down in the archives. There was some joke she wanted to pull wording for."

"Alright." DJ pushes herself up off the bed, lingering in the doorway just long enough to glance back at Deborah. "I hope she makes you half as happy as Aiden makes me." It's sweet and sentimental, and it only makes sense that DJ pivots on her heel to turn back with fire in her eyes. "And so help me, if she gets that diamond tennis bracelet in your will, I will find a ouija board and make your afterlife a living hell."

"Wouldn't expect anything less, sweetie."

[hwascripts]

Masterlist

WC: Unknown

TW: Swearing, mentions of murder, a bit of angst, I think that’s it!

This is heavily unedited because it’s my Levi simp hours and I need Dad!Levi headcanons. Also your kid and Eren’s kid are gender neutral

Levi as a father 

-I honestly don’t picture Levi as someone who planned on having kids but rather someone who ends up having kids by complete accident. Living in the walls during a war is absolute hell and he doesn’t want his kids to suffer the same way he did growing up.

-Whether or not the kid is adopted or his biological kid- it doesn’t matter to him, he couldn’t give less of a shit about the parentage of his kid...if he raises the kid then you better believe it’s his kid.

If your kid is adopted then here’s how I picture you guys becoming their parents

- During one of your expeditions beyond the walls you find (what you think is) an abandoned cabin in the woods. When you point it out Levi just tells you to ignore it and focus on the task Erwin gave you, but you have this weird gut feeling that someone is in there. While Levi is distracted you go off to the cabin and peek inside and to your horror- there is a small child, no older than a few months crying in it’s deceased mothers arms. You run over and pry the crying baby from the mother’s hands and immediately start trying to hush it’s cries

-Levi notices the fact that you’ve left his side after a few minutes of silence and he pinches his nose in frustration- of course you went to check out the cabin he told you to ignore. He flies away from the tree he was perched on and makes his way to the cabin to look for you- upon reaching the cabin his eyes widen from pure shock. Where the hell did you get a crying baby from? he can’t help but be filled with sorrow when he notice’s the child’s dead parents on the ground behind you- bandits had probably murdered them.

-The two of you have a huge argument about what you should do with the orphan child and this results in the two of you not speaking for over a week. But as the week goes on, he realizes that him and that baby are more similar than he thinks. Levi never had a father- the closest father figure in his life being Kenny who abandoned him at a young age, and his dear mother Kuchel who died of sickness when he was just a boy. Both Levi and the child didn’t have parents in their lives, fate cruelly ripping that away from them. He see’s himself in that baby.

-After a week of silence Levi storms into your office only to catch you asleep with the baby on your chest, his heart softens just the slightest bit at the image. He sits next to you and gently shakes you awake- careful to not wake the sleeping baby. Before you can even say anything he quietly states:

-”we’re not abandoning the baby, we can raise them together”

-All the worry and stress you carried melted away after hearing his words.

If your kid was biologically his, this is how I picture it turning out:

-The day Hanji informed you that you were pregnant was quite possibly one of the worst days of your life (sorry to be angsty) how the hell could you have gotten pregnant? the amount of stress, physical strain on your body and sleepless nights is not ideal for fertility- so how the hell did this happen?

-How the hell would you even tell Levi? The topic of children has never once come up and you’re sure he would never want to raise a child in the walls while titans destroy and kill everyone in sight. Besides- the two of you already have enough on your plates as it is.

- You’d tell him straight out that you were pregnant during your nightly tea time before bed, just straight up dropping the news on him. It takes a few seconds for him to fully register what you just told him but once he finally understands he drops his teacup, the boiling hot tea staining his jacket. All he can do is sputter like a fish out of water and aggressively try to clean the stain.

- I’m going to be realistic here- the last thing he would do is jump for joy and kiss you. I hate to be angsty again but realistically he’d probably storm off and go for a walk around the town while he tries to take in the news. I see him unintentionally ignoring you for a few days while he tries to accept the fact that the two of you are bringing a child into this world.

-After about a week he’s finally calmed himself enough to talk to you about the situation and what the best thing for the two of you is. Again, he isn’t happy that you guys are bringing a kid into this- but who the hell would be? but he sure as hell won’t take that out on the kid, he thinks that’s the most pathetic thing you can do as a parent.

-”look, our situation is shitty but I’m not leaving you to raise the brat on your own”

How he is as a father

- I’m not going to lie to you, he is not the type to coddle his kid or show them a lot of affection. To be honest he doesn’t know a single thing about parenting, the only “parent” he had taught him violence and then left Levi to fend for himself- but he does know that most children don’t grow up around violence so he refuses to be even the slightest bit like his uncle Kenny.

- 100% calls his kid brat, ankle-biter, kid...you name it- but he doesn’t mean it in a derogatory way because deep down inside he still has a soft spot for the kid. 

-He rarely ever shows physical affection to the kid because he just doesn’t know how, he never knew the affectionate touch of another human until you came along. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his kid- he would sacrifice his life without second thought to protect them.

-He doesn’t realize how distant and cold he can be to his kid until he overhears them crying to you about how “daddy doesn’t love me” and his heart just shatters into a million pieces because he DOES love them but for the life of him he just can’t find a way to show it.

-Levi ends up sitting down with the kid and having a conversation that was long overdue (for reference the kid is now 7 years old) and he admits that he loves them more than anything for the first time.

-Your kid just stares at him for a second and blinks because this is the VERY FIRST TIME they’re hearing their dad say I love you- Levi nearly has a heart attack when the kid launches themselves into his chest and starts sobbing.

-For the very first time in 7 years this kid is finally experiencing the love from their father (besides awkward headpats) and the feeling is just so foreign to both of them that even Levi sniffles a little bit

-Levi silently rocks them back and forth while he rubs their back, the child’s sobs turning into soft sniffles. But what Levi says next shocks all three of you.

“I’m sorry for being a terrible father. forgive me little one?”

-You don’t know what shocks you more- the fact he apologized or that he called your child “little one” instead of the usual “brat”. The kid looks at him while wiping their tears away.

“you’re not a bad daddy. I love you papa”

-To this day Levi swears he just had watery eyes because of the dust but you know damn well they were fat tears rolling down his face

-After this incident Levi swears to himself that he’ll be a more affectionate father, a father who tells his kid that he’s proud of them, a father who their kid can rely on.

-He’s tough on his kid and never lets them slack off, he scolds them whenever they make bad choices and sometimes your kid says he’s got a stick up his ass (you lightly scold them but the two of you always end up laughing because it’s true) but your husband deeply cares for your child and does it so they can grow into the best version of themselves.

-Did I mention that he absolutely flips the fuck out when your kid brings home Eren’s kid to introduce you to them? You have to sit on him to make sure that he doesn’t strangle the poor bastard. 

“If that son of a bitch is anything like his father then they’re going home in a bodybag!” “Levi you can’t threaten them just because they’re Eren’s kid!” “Like hell I can’t! nobody is good enough for our child”

-Your kid quickly learns that they can’t bring their significant other home while Levi is there- unless they have a death wish. The two of you team up to keep Levi distracted for a few hours while the couple chills in your living room

-Your kid swears like a sailor (just like their dad) and Levi swears on his life that he’s not the one that taught them that.

“What the hell do you mean? I didn’t do shit! I don’t fucking know where they picked that up from!” *cue you looking into the camera*

-He’s so damn proud when he see’s his kid graduate at the top of their class. He doesn’t scream at the top of his lungs when your kid walks across the stage but he pulls them to the side after and congratulates them with a small smile on his face

“Good job. I’m proud of you, damn brat”

-Gives them one of his rare Levi hugs and the kid nearly drops the diploma in shock because “wtf dad never hugs me”

-You have to pinch his side multiple times during your kid and Eren’s kids wedding because he won’t shut the hell up with snarky remarks

“Say no goddamnit!” *you pinch him* 

“Ow son of a bitch! what the fuck Y/n?”

 “Would you shut the hell up and be happy for our child on their wedding day?!” 

“I would if our child had taste and picked someone el- OW FUCK!” 

“Shut the fuck up already and behave, Levi!”

-He grumbles while the rest of the former cadets and captains laugh at his sour look

Silly headcanons

-God could you imagine Levi and your kid sitting at the dinner table, it’s almost midnight and they’re arguing over a homework question neither of them understand. This is the night both of you hear your kid swear

“What the hell is this shit? Improper fractions are made-up bullshit”

“If you don’t know then how the fuck am I suppose to know?”

-It’s so silent you can hear a pin drop

“Levi come here for a second”

“Shit...finish this while I’m gone, brat”

-Your kid laughs their ass off while you pull Levi’s ear and drag him to your shared room

‘Yeah keep fucking laughing at your dad, brat!”

“LEVI!”

-An absolute nightmare when it comes to cleaning oh my god both you and your kid wanna kill him sometimes

“This shit isn’t clean, you wipe it down six times and then place it at an angle”

“Levi it’s a fucking T.V. Remote”

-The war ended years ago now and he tells your kid about all the titans he killed and the ass he kicked

“And then I sliced that ugly bastard titan’s head clean off!”

“Levi for someone who’s a clean freak your stories sure are gross”

-The noise the toaster makes when it’s done scares the shit out of him. He’ll be in the middle of scolding your kid and then he jumps because the toaster is done and your kid just thinks it’s comedic gold

“I fucking told you not to do that shit but you went and did it anyways, do you know how irresponsi-FUCK! damn toaster- Hey stop laughing brat I’m not done yet!”

That’s all I’ve got for now- stay tuned

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[missskzbiased]

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (18)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader  X Han X OC

WC: ~ 4,4K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness

Notes: If anyone got the notification, please tell me 😭 If you guys want to get notifications (hopefully) please go here

Updates: Tuesdays

                                                         ////

   There were a lot of rumors going on right now.

    You prided yourself on not being the type to care about rumors and things like this but being in the center of so many of those in the last few days made it impossible for you to not be at least curious. The whispers had been obvious for a while now ─ particularly after Paris’ performance ─ and you couldn’t help but wonder how people could have so much free time in their hands and use it like that.

    You should have known, though.

    It was more than obvious that befriending Chan and Hyunjin would put you in the spotlight and it was bound to lead to dumb rumors at some point. You just didn’t expect them to be so dumb. Although you must have heard about hundreds of versions up to now, the core of all of them was pretty simple to catch: Love affairs and intrigue. That was what those incredible undergraduate brains could do with all of their loose imagination and wisdom.    

    You could kinda grasp why people thought you were dating Chan. You really could. You were pretty close with each other so it was logical for people to misunderstand your relationship… The thing is that you had been like this with Chan for ages now and no one ever had commented anything about it ─ at least not to this extent ─ so the real question here was pretty simple: Why now?

    “Hey” You lifted your eyes from the counter, meeting Hyunjin’s ones “Daydreaming at work?” He chuckled, leaning on the surface as he rested his face on his hand, studying you closely.

    Well… Then there was that too.

    Not only you were dating Chan but you were also cheating on him with Hyunjin… So maybe you could understand why people thought you were with Chan but where did this come from? It didn’t make any sense. First of all, they’re best friends living together! How the hell would you two-time Chan right under his roof with his best friend?! Second of all, you didn’t give away any hint on feeling something for Hyunjin! And he didn’t show anything similar for you either!

    No. Fucking. Sense.

    “Yeah…” You agreed mindlessly, mimicking his position to stare into his eyes “What about you? Why are you here?” You asked curiously, tilting your head as he smiled fondly at you; face too close for you to completely catch his shrug.

    “Can’t I drop by to see a friend?” He asked in a teasing tone “I should just have gone to see Paris… She treats me way better than you” He joked; hand reaching to fix a strand behind your ear “I should know you were just going after my body…” He sighed mockingly, chuckling as you rolled your eyes and tried to get away from his touch.

    “Stop it” You hissed “You know people are talking about us!” You frowned, getting a laugh as an answer. He leaned even closer, prompting you to lean back, trying to get more space between the both of you “You might like being the center of the attention but I don’t, Hyunjin” You mumbled, pushing him lightly so he would take a step back.

    “I didn’t think you were the type to care about what people thought about you” He pointed out, leaning back anyway “What are you worrying about? Do you think Chan will misunderstand us?” You weren’t really sure but his tone sounded a little bitter right there, and you couldn’t help but narrow your eyes.

    There was something wrong with Hyunjin these days…

    You were under the impression that he had been the target of those kinds of rumors throughout all his life and yet he was acting weirdly. Although he was quite playful about it ─ and by playful you meant flirty and touching ─, he also had those moments where he seemed to… Overthink? You weren’t really sure what was going on.

    It was like he couldn’t help but grimace each time you and Chan were mentioned on those. He seemed pretty okay in being the center of the rumors… Whether it was you or Paris, he didn’t seem to mind when either of you was pictured with him but he got clearly upset when Chan was involved. You were not sure if it was just his overprotective self over Chan or if he was suspicious of something going on between both of you while he knew the other rumors were just bullshit.

    He probably believed that both of you were hiding things from him. Again. You honestly had no idea why your friends had so much of a hard time understanding the things you said. You and Chan would never have anything! You were best friends, for Lord’s sake! And that was it.

    No. Romantic. Feelings. At. All.

    “There is nothing to misunderstand here, Hyunjin” You sighed “You and I have nothing going on and neither do I and Chan” You explained for the hundredth time already “Not wanting to fuel the rumors isn’t the same as caring about them” You added, grimacing at him in a matter-of-fact way that made him scoff.

    “I see…” He hummed, staring into your eyes for a second too long “Well… Anyway, I came here for a new book” He clarified, placing the last one he borrowed on the counter “This one was pretty good but I still preferred the first you lent me” He added, drumming his fingers on the book’s cover “I was wondering if you don’t have any other indications” He shrugged, averting his eyes from yours.

  “Oh? I thought you were a slow reader” You arched your brows in surprise, taking the book from the counter while looking at him “Are you sure you read that one?” You joked, chuckling.

   “I guess you still have a lot to learn about me” He giggled, leaning once more on the counter “Maybe if you started to pay attention to me instead of listening to those rumors…” He let the sentence hang in the air teasingly, smirking as you rolled your eyes “Or maybe we should start dating to give them a reason to talk” He chuckled, wiggling his brows at you.

   “Great 5th grade way to think” You praised him mockingly, giving him a thumbs-up as you pressed the book against your chest and made your way to the shelf it was supposed to be on “Do you have any genre in mind?” You asked mindlessly, checking the codes to match the book.

    “Surprise me” He joked, trying to do an awkward French accent that made you look funnily at him “Oh, come on… Ratatouille? No? Really?” He nagged, mumbling displeased as you giggled at his antics.

    You turned on the aisle, eyes roaming around as he followed you closely behind, gaze wandering around the many books displayed on the shelves. You put the one you were holding back in its place, humming as you studied the content on the shelves. He hummed along with you, playfully leaning closer to your ear as he pretended to be invested in looking for something to read.  

    His presence sent shivers all the way down your body.

    No… Not his presence.

    It was the setting… Yes, it had to be it.

    The library had that mysterious ancient vibe that thrilled you… The brownish solid colors surrounding everything in a majestic framing that made you feel too small… The hard-covered books’ scent in the air, a full-bodied heaviness that seemed to clamp you… The dim lighting that revealed each scattering mote fluttering around, agitated by the soft huff Hyunjin let out… The warmth that crept into your bones as you held your breath for just a half-second…

    It wasn’t him.

    The way your heart rammed against your chest had nothing to do with his presence… Nor it had anything to do with his hands slowly making their way to the shelves, trapping you between him and the books… And you were almost too sure that the cloudy thoughts flickering in your mind and the fluttering sensations in your stomach ─ that forced you to swallow dryly ─ had something to do with your skipped meal but, again, not with him.

    “Someone looks nervous” He whispered and somehow his breathing seemed to tighten your chest and quicken your heart pace once more. You could see both of his hands right in front of you and yet it felt like he was embracing you… The way you had to force your eyes open wasn’t a good sign to your brain “All stiff and…” He continued; voice purposely teasingly “… Panting” He added, a hint of amusement under his tone.

    “Stop joking around…” You managed to say, lips quivering as he chuckled huskily. Although you could feel his warmth and presence clearly, there was no inch of skin ─ except his chin making its way to rest on your shoulder ─ to seal the deal. It felt intimate yet distant… It felt like you were supposed to laugh it off but you didn’t want to.

    “It doesn’t need to be a j—“ He couldn’t finish what he was going to say, interrupted by a gasp that had both of your heads snapping at the side. There, facing the aisle with mouth fully agape and widened eyes, was someone who was bound to spread some more rumors around.

    “I-I’m sorry” They blurted out “I-I didn’t mean to interrupt” They rushed to say, clearing their throat before turning around, utterly flustered by what they thought to have witnessed. You groaned, resting your forehead on the shelf before flicking Hyunjin’s nose, pushing him away for you to look for a new book.

    “Read this” You spat, shoving a random one into his hands.

                                                          ////

    Your thoughts were filled with Hyunjin.

    Although your eyes were fixed on the TV, you couldn’t care less about whatever was going on there. The voices sounded like a buzz in the back of your head and the image was almost too blurry for you to understand but Paris’ distinct laughter was a good cue for you to laugh at some joke you didn’t listen to. Whether it was your chuckle sounding too fake or too off time, she seemed to notice that something was going on inside your head.

    She didn’t even say anything, pausing the show before looking straight at you with a questioning look, arching her brow as she waited for you to say something. There was it… The two-path road. You could either tell her that it was nothing ─ and she would probably narrow her eyes at you until you made up a random excuse ─ or you could actually tell her what has been on your mind lately ─ and then you would have to put up with the insufferable Paris state.

    Too late to back off now… You should have paid attention to the show.

    You glanced at her ─ unsure about what to say or do at a moment like this ─, biting your lip as you blinked a few times to buy some time to decide what you were going to do. You knew Paris well enough to predict her reaction… As soon as you said that you have been thinking a lot about all those rumors, she would instantly assume that you were worrying over it because you had some suppressed feelings that you were trying to hide.

    You just knew it.

    “So…” She stressed, still staring at you “What’s going on inside that little box of yours?” She joked, pointing at her own head before hugging her knees, sitting across you on the couch.

  Path N° 1: The finals are right there at the corner…

  Path N° 2: I can’t understand where all those rumors are coming from… I didn’t do anything suspicious with Chan or Hyunjin and suddenly people are talking behind our back. Either I messed up really bad about something and didn’t notice or someone misunderstood something I did… Or maybe it could be because Hyunjin has been flirting a lot lately! He pinned me against the wall thrice already. Do you think this is strange? I’m finding it a little odd... Maybe I’m being too sensitive over useless st–

  “Y/N?” Paris called you softly, tilting her head to the other side as if it could help her to see what was going on in your mind “Are you feeling okay? You seem a little bit… Off… Today” She said carefully, studying your features for a brief moment.

  “I’ve been thinking about the rumors…” You began hesitantly, checking for her reaction “Don’t you find it strange? I mean… You and Hyunjin had your rumors before but I hadn’t been dragged into this until now” You pointed out, shrugging “I find it odd that people are talking about me and Chan out of nowhere and… Well, talking like I’m hooking up with Hyunjin behind your back” You explained.

  Paris didn’t say anything at first, seeming surprised by your worries.

  “Well…” She cleared her throat “I mean… I have heard some things about you and Chan around… And you kinda… Well—“ She licked her lips, visibly stiffening up as she thought about what to say “You know? Some people saw you guys at the library… And you guys keep calling each other sweety and stuff…” She floundered her hand in the air as if it helped her to express it better “And you gave him your keys… And he slept here the whole week…” She trailed off.

    “What the fuck?” You blurted, surprised by all this “How do they even know about this?!” You frowned, wondering how many people heard all those kinds of stuff out of context and got to build up a rumor like this.

    “Yeah… Well, you guys aren’t really subtle” She chuckled nervously “And I think that you shouldn’t really have said that you guys used to… Have sex…” She practically whispered the last part, ashamed to talk about it “Before, you know? Especially on a party” She cleared her throat once more, fixing herself on the couch.

    You had what now?

    “I never said that” You frowned “I never had sex with Chan… I-“ You scowled in disgust “Why would I ever have sex with Chan? We’re literally best friends! He’s like a brother to me or something… Ew” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head to get rid of the thought “What made you think I had sex with him? What the fuck?” it would be an understatement to say that you were flabbergasted.

    “Well… You kinda did” She arched her brow, looking at you filled with confusion “You told us you used to hook up with Chan, remember?” She asked as if she was talking to a kid “At the party, you clearly said that you used to hook up with him…” She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows matter-of-factly, almost as if she was trying to transfer her memories to you.

    “No, I most definitely didn’t say this” You grimaced at her, finding all the situation kinda odd, “I said I hooked up with Chan’s friend” You emphasized, returning the look to her “I would never say I hooked up with him… You distorting what I said” You blinked, staring at her in confusion as she gasped.

    “Oh! It was Chan’s friend!” She chortled “Well, so you should roast Chan! He interrupted you, and I think everyone understood the very same as me” She huffed, seeming to find the situation amusing “Oh my God… I’m pretty sure that was what triggered the rumors about you and Chan, to be honest” She mused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

    “I can’t believe you guys thought—“ You sighed in resignation “Well… Anyway, I’m not dating or fucking Chan” You said dismissively, already done with how all this had started “And what have you heard about Hyunjin? What started it all?” You deadpanned, waiting for some silly explanation once again.

  Paris stared blankly at you.

  “You’re kidding, right?” She sounded taken aback, looking at you as if you tried to make a bad joke. The way you stood silent, staring back at her in genuine curiosity, must have seemed really sincere because she chortled before answering you “Y/N, he literally kissed you at the stairs” She reminded you slowly, trying to get the words to sink into your head.

  She didn’t need to do much.

  You didn’t want to admit it ─ and you would refuse to for as long as you could ─ but that kiss… Fake kiss! That fake kiss… You couldn’t help but gulp down as you felt your senses being electrified just by the mention of it. How many times did you push aside that thought? How many times did you ignore the flickering thought in the back of your mind? How many times you could practically see him leaning in for a kiss?

  You licked your lips, biting them to restrain the turmoil inside your head.

  Of course, you weren’t blind… Hyunjin was a handsome piece of shit. You knew it even when you hated him. You knew it even when you didn’t want to acknowledge it… Even when you wanted to believe that it was just the popular opinion about him.

    Now, you couldn’t ignore how pretty he was.

    You weren’t quite sure if it was all in your mind ─ he did lean it too quickly for you to notice every single thing ─ but you could still feel the fire on his gaze as he made his move. You could remember how eager he was… Or at least, how eager you believed him to be as you were crushed against the wall and lost all the air inside your lungs. Was it just you being surprised? Was it the abruptness of the situation? Or did he really pin you against the wall as if his life depended on it? You surely felt like it was the last one… But could it be you the one who wanted to believe it for dear life?

    No, of course, not.

    The warmth of his hands still lingered there on your skin from time to time, and the soft pressure in your lips seemed to be carved at the back of your mind. You hated that sometimes you pressed your lips with your thumb ─ the same pressure though not the same way he did ─ just to snap out of it a second too late. You also couldn’t forget the way he tilted his head to deepen a kiss that didn’t really happen… The way the realization washed over you right at that second.

    It wasn’t disappointment… It was something else.

    You could still feel how his touch changed on that second… The hold was firm and consistent… It was like he didn’t want to let you go; like something just switched on his head and triggered something that felt so much like… You gulped down once more, still refusing to stress that thought out. The way your breaths mingled and hitched… Faltered… It was almost painful to know that it didn’t really happen.

    There was it…

    Desire and passion.

    The urges of a single woman who hadn’t been getting some in a while.

    “It was a fake kiss” You finally answered her but by now, Paris knew too damn well where your thoughts were wandering around a second earlier.

    “Yeah, but it seemed pretty real for anyone who took a glance at it” She reminded you, and the suggestive hint under her tone made you scoff “And I don’t want to say it—“

    “Then just don’t” You grimaced at her.

    “—But I think both of you were pretty into it even for a fake kiss…” She grinned at you teasingly, and the tired sigh that left your lips seemed to fuel her “I can remember quite well how you just let your hands right on his chest… I don’t recall you pushing him away, you know?” her grin spread all over her face “I think you enjoyed feeling him under your touch a whole lot…” She raised her eyebrows, throwing you a knowing look that made you huff, rubbing your face in distress.

    Why did she have to say that?!

    You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the memories that you didn’t need to have right now… So what if his chest felt so warm and firm under his shirt? So damn fine under your touch? What about the way the water droplets seemed to caress his tanned skin? So what if the very same droplets must have rolled down and down and down and… Well, all the way down from his throat to his collarbone to his chest to… You couldn’t help but lick your lips, shaking your head to dismiss the thought.

    It didn’t matter.

    The way he bought you coffee and waited for you on Monday? It didn’t matter. The way his damp hair gave him a sexy vibe that looked like a plead for being warmed up on a cold Tuesday? It didn’t matter. The way he was trying to impress you with good food? It didn’t matter. The way he kept visiting you at your work to ask for indications? It didn’t matter. The way he kept flirting and teasing you around? It didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered because Hyunjin had been pretty clear before.

  He wanted you as a friend.

  A good friend.

   “I think…” You trailed off, darting your eyes away from her “I may…” You gulped down, reconnecting your gazes before sighing heavily “I guess I’m feeling attracted to him…” You admitted.

    It probably wasn’t the reaction she was expecting because Paris just let her mouth hang open as her eyes widened, utterly in shock to hear it coming out of your mouth. You pursed your lips, feeling kinda embarrassed by her reaction, averting your gaze once more as you played with your own fingers, refusing to look at her. Was it that strange for you to feel… Well, some kind of silly attraction towards your stupidly handsome friend?

    You didn’t think so.

    “You don’t need to be so surprised… It’s not like I’m a criminal or something” You muttered, peeking at her for a split of a second before focusing on your hands once more “I think the fake kiss kinda… Awoke something? Like a tiny little spark or something… Nothing too important or any—“ You were just rambling at this point.

    “No!” She blurted, hands waving exaggeratedly in front of her body “I mean- Yes! I’m not… I mean… It’s not that I’m shocked, I’m just…” She floundered her hands around, trying to find the right words in her mind “I think it’s great!” She chortled “Oh my God… Yeah, I think it’s great! It’s great that you have a crush on him or something!” She chirped, and you couldn’t help but frown.

    “How is it great?” You asked warily “We’re literally just friends and he’s the hugest fuckboy we had ever met” You reminded her “There is nothing great in it… Actually, I think that’s the worst thought my brain had ever had” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

    “He’s not that bad!” She retorted eagerly “He’s actually really sweet!” She added quickly, trying to convince you as she patted your knee “I mean… He’s smart! Isn’t he? You guys are always arguing in class!” You arched your brow at the distorted way to boost him “He also has good grades! I know you like smart guys” She threw you an insistent look.

  Well… You were not so sure the attraction had much to do with his brains.

    “He’s also really funny! You’re always laughing at things he says!” She kept her monologue “He also likes the foods you like! He’s always spending time at the hot dog stand! He even knows your favorite food by now!” She was so excited at all this that it was almost like she was selling him to you “He has an amazing taste for TV shows! I can testify that” She smiled proudly “And he’s also interested in your things! He’s reading the books you like and everything!”

    Yeah… She kinda had a point, to be honest.

    “You said yourself that he had been flirting! So… I mean- It has to mean something, right?” She asked filled with hope, looking at you expectantly “He wouldn’t flirt with someone he doesn’t like! So to the very least, he likes you!” She clasped her hands together, excited.

    “He has been flirting with me even when we hated each other” You pointed out skeptically, and she groaned in frustration.

    “Okay! He’s a fuckboy, I get it! Flirting is what he does” She rolled her eyes, impatient “But he hasn’t been fucking anyone for a while! He has a crush on someone and he’s being really romantic about it!” She insisted, making your chortle.

    “Yeah… Because not fucking people around when you like someone is a great romantic gesture” You sneered “You sound too… Eager to make your point” You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head in suspicion “You’re not being the usual…” You cleared your throat to imitate her “I ship you guys so much!” You chirped mockingly, clapping your hands repeatedly in a short and rapid motion “You’re… Did he tell your something?” You asked curiously.

  “What are you talking about?!” She asked in a high-pitched tone, snorting in a too anxious way to be natural “It’s just that you’ve never shown interest in anyone before! I’m excited!” She dismissed your thought, waving her hand at you “I’ve been waiting for this! The day you would talk to me about boys and stuff like this!” She whined, and for a moment she really did sound sincere enough for you to believe her.

    “It doesn’t matter anyway” You shrugged “You said so yourself… He’s been crushing on someone” You pointed out, uncrossing your arms and returning your gaze to the TV “Also, it’s not like I want to fuck him… Too much trouble, right? I know he isn’t the type to attach… He wouldn’t risk our friendship just to get his dick wet” You reasoned.

    “What if he’s crushing on you?” She asked unsurely, glancing at you.

    “Yeah, right!” You just laughed it off, gesturing for her to hit the play.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Record Breaking

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (first person POV)

Summary: Porn without plot, or the time Henry wants to bring your pleasure to new levels.

Warning(s): dirty talk, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, aftercare

Word Count: 2,766

“How many times have you cum before?”

It’s an intimate question, one I take by surprise. I audibly gasp at Henry as he finally closes the distance between us. His hands come up to rest on the counter on either side of my hips, blocking me in. He leans down to bring his face close to mine and my arousal starts to drip through my panties at the lustful look he’s giving me.

“Um…” I struggle to remember his question, let alone think of an answer. “F-four. That’s my record.”

He quirks an eyebrow, like this surprises him. “Four? And who was the magical guy that did that to you? Anyone I know?”

I swallow before shaking my head no. “It was… on my own. I’ve never actually had more than one orgasm with a guy before.”

I swear his pupils dilate even more at that. “I swear I’m gonna keep you here and make you touch yourself until you orgasm that many times one day, but as for now…” His lips brush against my neck, just under my ear, and I shiver, which makes my chest brush against his. Every inch of me is already on fire and he hasn’t even done anything. His mouth latches onto my skin and begins to suck hard enough for me to cry out in pleasure. When he finally pulls away, there’s a cocky grin on his face--he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “As for now, little one, I’m going to be the one to make you cum. Over and over again. Until we break that little record of yours. How does that sound?”

I’m only able to nod, my arousal locking my throat up.

He smiles before kissing me, his tongue instantly pushing inside my mouth. I moan loudly, which only grants him more access to me. His hands latch around my hips and pull me tight against him. I feel like putty in his arms with the way he’s making me burn alive. He nudges his leg between mine, moving me until I’m practically sitting on his thigh. He begins to move my hips back and forth. I know exactly what he’s doing, but I’m just too fucking aroused to feel nervous about it. My hips move of their own accord. His hands return to my sides and he watches my expression as I begin to ride his thigh with fervor.

“That’s it, little one, I want you to ride my thigh,” he growls, the sound of his voice making my breasts ache. “Ride me until you’re staining my clothes with your cum.”

I don’t dare stop, feeling my mind numb with a blissful fog. Either Henry’s a mind reader or he can see what I want written clearly on my face because a second later he’s ripping my dress off of me and kneading my breasts in his hands.

“Oh, fuck!” I cry out. I clutch onto his shirt, needing something to ground me.

“The things I’m gonna do to you, to this perfect body of yours… God I can’t wait to destroy your fucking pussy.”

His words and the images they procure in my mind make me moan. My hips begin to move even faster. I can practically taste my first orgasm now and my eyes squeeze shut as I chase it down.

“F-fuck!” I cry out as my body explodes with pleasure so intense that I can’t breathe for several seconds. Fuck, fuck, fuck he feels so good, and he hasn’t even touched me yet…

He kisses me slowly. It’s the kind of kiss that I can feel in every inch of my body. “You’re such a little slut, coming all over my leg like that…” He pulls his leg back and we both glance down at the wet spot on his jeans. “Look at the mess you made.”

“I’m sorry…” I gasp out, still feeling the effects of my orgasm.

“No you’re not,” he laughs darkly. Then he sets me on top of the counter and forces my legs apart. “But you’re about to be.”

I open my mouth to ask him what that means, but a second later he shoves a thick, calloused finger inside of me and a moan comes out of me instead of words. He moves his finger in and out of me at a pace too slow to do anything but tease me.

“P-please…” I cry out.

“Please what?” His voice is a low growl.

“Please fuck me,” I manage to get out. “I want to cum on your hand.” Normally I’m too embarrassed to talk dirty, but my arousal has pushed me past the point of modesty.

Henry licks a stripe up my neck before nipping up my ear. I melt into him just as he adds another finger. The stretch comes with a painful sting but it’s gone the moment he starts curling his fingers inside of me, replacing the pain with hot euphoria. It takes just a few flicks of his skilled fingers to make me reach the edge. One touch of his thumb against my clit pushes me over the edge and I clench his shirt as my body shakes uncontrollably. My breath gets stuck in my throat, my vision turning white.

“H-holy fuck,” I gasp out. A second later Henry’s fingers are pushing their way into my mouth. I taste my arousal as my tongue brushes against his thick digits. My gaze jumps to his as I suck on his fingers. The way he looks at me… I can tell he’s thinking of shoving something else inside my mouth and letting me suck on that instead. I let out a pornagraphic moan around his fingers, just to tease him.

“If I had known you were such a fucking slut…” he begins, but never finishes his thought.

I wait until he pulls his fingers out of my mouth to reply, “What? What would you have done?”

He places his hand on my stomach and pushes me back until I’m lying across his counter. His hand slowly crawls up my body until it wraps around my throat. I let out a moan as he tightens his grip, choking me.

“I would have claimed you as mine a lot sooner,” he says, and then he puts his mouth on me.

He licks a long stripe up my already-soaked folds. That is enough to make my entire body shudder. My pussy is sensitive from the last two orgasms and the stimulation hurts, but that fire in my core is still too far away for my liking. I want to be surrounded by it; I want to be burned alive in it. And I want Henry to be the one to make me feel it.

If there’s one thing I take away from tonight, it’s that Henry Cavill deserves a fucking gold medal in eating a girl out. That tongue of his is magical and he knows just how to use it. I’m gasping and writhing beneath him in no time. He gives attention to both my clit and my entrance, occasionally fucking his tongue in and out of me well enough to make my eyes roll back in my head. I clutch his curls between my fingers, torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to bring him closer to my pussy, even though he’s already as close as possible. His hands find their way under my ass and lift me up from the counter so he has a better angle. My hips buck up to meet every movement of his tongue until I’m coming, I’m coming so intensely that I squirt. He steps back but still keeps a finger brushing over my clit, making me squirt for several long seconds. I have no doubt I’m making a total mess of his kitchen floor, but that’s the last thing on my mind right now.

When I’m able to focus again, his mouth is on mine. I kiss him back hungrily. Henry’s suddenly covered in too many layers; I want him open and vulnerable, just how I am. I reach for his shirt, but he must know what I want because he yanks it over his head and tosses it on the ground before I have to say anything. I gasp at the sight of him.

Henry Cavill is a high-status actor. There’s no doubt about it. There’s also no doubt about his perfect physique, since there’s plenty of shirtless workout photos of him on the internet. But Henry Cavill, the actor, the star, the celebrity--that’s not who I’ve gotten to know in this last month over nervous dates and late-night phone calls. The Henry I’ve gotten to know is a simple guy who plays video games and loves his dog and is insecure about his body, unable to see the perfections in himself. The Henry I know, the Henry I’m falling for, is so human it overwhelms me sometimes. And now, as I see him shirtless in person for the first time, it’s like those two different versions of Henry are colliding and morphing to become one. I suddenly feel awestruck and intimidated, like I don’t deserve to see him like this.

“Shit,” Henry grumbles.

I meet his gaze to find him staring at me like I’ve disappointed him. “What is it?”

“You’re doing it,” he says, like it should be obvious. “You’re suddenly remembering I’m Superman, I’m the Mission Impossible guy, I’m The Witcher.”

With every passing second I can sense him building his walls higher, locking his heart away from me.

“Henry…” I start, but don’t know what to say. He’s right; I am doing that--I’m completely dehumanizing him, idolizing him, turning him into a god in my head. And I promised on our first date--the first time we saw each other in person after being two strangers who texted for weeks--that he didn’t have to worry about me ever doing that.

He turns to pick up his shirt, but before he can put it back on I grab his arm. Carefully, but hard enough to gain his attention.

“You’re not Henry Cavill to me,” I tell him. “You’re not the same Henry to me as you are to every other person in the world. You don’t have to prove anything, be anything other than who you are. You’re an actor who’s been in huge, successful films because you’re talented, and I applaud you for that, but it doesn’t change how I see you.” I won’t let it change how I see you. “You’re not just the movie guy to me, okay?”

He hesitates. The look in his eyes tells me I’ve convinced him, but his body betrays him.

“You’re Henry,” I continue, “the guy who’s best friend is his dog. You’re the guy that bought me a new pair of shoes when my heel broke on our first date. You’re the guy who I hate taking to family dinners purely because you get along with my family better than I do. You’re not the movie guy to me, you’re a million other things. So please don’t put your shirt on. I want to look at you.”

That convinces him. He lets go of his shirt and keeps his arms at his side, letting me take in every inch of him. He’s not even flexing yet his abs and biceps are outlined clearly beneath his skin. He’s large, his shirts hiding just how broad he is. Dark, curly hair swirls around his pecs and beneath his naval, hugged on either side by the V of his hips, which disappears beneath his jeans. I finally notice the erection straining against his zipper and it takes every ounce of self-control not to reach out for it.

“Fuck,” I softly exhale as I bite my lower lip. I’m suddenly very aware of my heart racing in my chest, adding to the heat coursing through my body, and the fact that I’m very, very tiny compared to him. The size difference between us is almost laughable. When I look back at his eyes, I realize just how blown his pupils are. The air between us is electric, filled with sexual tension.

Henry slowly, teasingly slowly, reaches for his jeans. He pops the button. I catch a glimpse of dark blue underwear as he drags his zipper down, taking his time to reveal what I’m so desperate to see.

“Henry,” I whine without meaning to. As soon as his name leaves my mouth I’m blushing like an idiot, though it just makes him smirk.

His fingers hook around his belt loops. He tugs them down. My heart is in my throat at this point and I’m so wet that I can feel my arousal drip onto the counter. My eyes catch onto the writing on the band of his underwear. Calvin Klein is written in bold, white letters. I have no idea why I need to know that, but I feel myself storing that information away for later. His underwear is tented with the thick outline of his erection. I’m just now beginning to realize that Henry is big… everywhere. I swallow when I realize that he’s easily seven inches, but probably closer to eight.

How the hell am I supposed to fit him inside of me? The thought scares me as much as it arouses me.

Henry finally, finally lowers his underwear. I realize I’d been holding my breath when I let out a humiliating moan at the sight of his cock. There’s a thick vein that runs along the side. He curves a bit along the head, and his tip is red and already leaking pre-cum. I lick my lips, wanting him in my mouth as much as I want him buried deep inside of me.

When he finally speaks, his voice is loud amidst the quiet tension. “If you aren’t ready to do this, tell me now, because in a few seconds I won’t be able to stop.”

I force my gaze to meet his. My want must be written all over my face because he doesn’t hesitate a second longer. He closes the distance between us and pulls me in for a slow, sensual kiss that I feel in every inch of my body.

“I want you,” I get out between breathless kisses.

He growls in response and his mouth begins to trail down my neck, down my chest. He stops to suck on each of my nipples before moving his mouth lower.

“Henry!” I call out before he can put his mouth on me again.

He freezes and looks up at me, his eyes completely dark with sinful lust.

“I don’t want your mouth,” I say. “I want--I need…”

“Use your words, little one.” He kisses each of my hips as he waits for me to speak. The way he touches me sends me straight to cloud nine. His hands, his mouth, his tongue--everything about him is addicting.

“I want you inside of me,” I admit. “I want you to fuck me, Henry.”

His smile presses against my skin. A second later he stands up and wraps his hand around his cock. I let out a ridiculous moan as he drags it between my folds, not just to soak up my wetness but to tease me until I’m close to the edge again. I reach out for him, grabbing onto his arm as he grips my hip in his hand. With his other hand he guides his cock to my entrance. He barely pushes an inch inside of me before the pain starts, my walls already stretching to the point of a bitter sting. I hold my breath as he slowly enters me, careful not to go too fast. My legs are spread wide on the counter, allowing me to watch his cock disappear inside my pussy. I let out a small whimper when he’s not even halfway inside of me; I swear it feels like he’s ripping my body in half. He’s so big, and I’m so tiny, so tight… But the pain is gone as soon as he bottoms out inside of me, his head resting snugly against my cervix.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” Henry grunts out as he leans in for a kiss. This kiss isn’t about the passion or the heat--it’s his way of telling me that this moment is as much about me as it is about him, and if I need him to stop, he’ll stop. He won’t push me. I can trust him.

And I do trust him, enough to say, “Fuck me, Henry.”

...

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[itsstrange]

I’ll Be Here

Adam Ruzek x Reader

A/N: Here’s something short for y’all meanwhile I continue to procrastinate with other stories 💗I haven’t posted in a few days due to certain things happening in my life, so I wanted to drop something here for y’all. ✨

Summary: After a tough case everyone is in much need of a few drinks, Reader taking the case a lot more harder, decides to down her sorrows shot after shot, leaving her unstable to get home. Ruzek, being the ever loving gentleman and partner volunteers to take the Reader home. During the process of doing so, Reader accidentally slips her true feelings towards the man.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Alcohol, highly intoxication, Mentions of Violence, Ruzek being a gentleman, comfort, kissing,

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ENJOY!! ✨

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“‘Nother one,” You mumble, tapping a finger on the rim of the shot glass,

Greg, the bartender, who you learned through a blurry version, gives you an unsure look, but the one you give in return has him pouring your 8th refill of straight vodka. Giving him your best loopy sided smile, you tip your head back as you down the liquor, not even wincing at the bitter taste as it falls down your throat, which should be a sign to stop drinking but after what you saw today you needed it. Needed the blackout. It was the only way for you to fall asleep without the horrifying image playing in your mind all night. So getting drunk till your completely shit faced is a must.

Motioning another refill to the poor man, he forcefully obeys, not wanting to get on your drunk bad side, because from the looks of it he can tel it won’t be fun. Just as you downed the liquor once again a voice settles right next to you.

“Alright you, how bout we call it a day huh?” You snort, turning your eyes to the one man who can tolerate you in any given state,

Literally.

“I told you... I’m gonna get s’drunk,” You slur at him, slightly catching the way his lips curl upwards,

“Looks like you succeed that goal. C’mon, I’ll take you home,” Adam offers a hand for you to take, but you shake your head,

“Nah.. it’s still early, and m’not even there yet,” You grin at him, eyes twinkling in dim light from the liquor,

Adam softly chuckles, “(Y/n) it’s two in the morning,”

Your furrow your brows at him, “Wha-?”

Looking over your shoulder as much as you can without toppling off your stool, you noticed how the place looked completely deserted, only a few people remained. The rest of the gang had left an hour ago while you were busy downing the image away at the bar. It was just you and Adam now. Giving a surprise hum, you turn back to the bar, calling after Greg, which sounded more like ‘Reg’.

“You can leave if.. y’want,” It was more of an offer than a question,

Adam shakes his head, “Not without you,”

“Geez Ruzek.. if you’d wanted m’in your bed, all you hada’ do is ask,” You give him your best smirk,

Adam chuckles and nervously scratches the side of his neck. If only it would be that easy with you, not that he would only want you on his bed, no that would be the bonus, what he truly wanted was to claim you as his own. You two have been friends since the academy days, and when you both got chosen by Alvin it just grew from there. Especially with the death of your recruiter, something had been built in between you two, causing the both of you to show your vulnerability to one another. You guys trusted each other and knew each other better than anyone else, and as the years passed, your relationship grew as well.

Your feelings to one another wasn’t visible after the whole marriage devastation with Burgess, then once again with Hailey. Adam wasn’t sure at first, would do his best to deny such feelings by sleeping around, but once he’d wake up he felt guilty about the whole night. Feeling wrong for sleeping with a women that wasn’t you. He finally admit to the feelings one day during a case, it was a close call, he didn’t say anything, but he certainly realized how much he cared for you. The moment he saw your body falling on the ground, face twisted in pain as you tried your best to gather air, he thought the worse. If it wasn’t for your awkward position and the heavy bullet vest, the entire situation would have been a lot more horrible.

“‘Reg,” You call out again,

Adam watches as the bartender makes his way over, vodka bottle in one hand and a weary look on his face. Just as nears them both and brings the bottle towards the shot glass, Adam throws a couple bills on the counter.

“She’s done for the night pal,” The bartender nods his head, relief showing on his face as he quickly collects the payment,

You turn around with narrowed eyes, “C’mon, everyone else went home, it’s time for us to do the same,”

You stay quiet for a few seconds before dropping your eyes down to the counter, “Not everyone,”

Adam’s smile slowly falters. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The little girl that had been kidnapped along with various other kids, had been rescued, except for Isabel Pace, a 7 year old girl. She was one of the offenders favorite apparently, just as the gang found his hideout where he kept all the kids, he had took off with her. You had followed him in the car, tried to keep up with him, but an oncoming truck had rammed you off the road, making you lose visual on the beaten up car. Although, after a few minutes later a park ranger caught visual on the car, but once you all arrived on the scene it was a horrifying sight. Sat on the drivers seat was your perk, bullet wound to the head, but what made your stomach twist with pain and rage was the little girl in the back seat who shared the same wound to the head.

The image would forever haunt you along with the others. So of course, Adam couldn’t blame you for wanting to drown yourself in liquor, it wasn’t easy.

He watches as you down the rest of the drink before sighing quietly through his nose, “Come on,”

With hesitation you finally climb off your stool, gripping tightly on Adam’s jacket as he helps you with an arm around your waist, steading you on your feet before slowly walking out the bar and towards his car. Luckily, you hitched a ride with Hailey, leaving your car back at the station and not having to worry about it in the morning.

The ride to your apartment was less than 20 minutes, but still managed to doze out with your head leaning heavily against the cool window. Parking in front of your apartment building, Adam softly nudges you awake before climbing off and walking over to your door. Once helping you out and up the flight of stairs, the both of you finally made it to your front door after what seemed like ages. The elevator had broken down, leaving the stairs the only option available, Adam thanked the lord you stayed in the second floor, he didn’t think he’d be able to go through another pair of stairs with your drunken state.

Another minute passed of Adam trying to open your door while you leaned heavily against him. Kicking your door open with his free shoulder, he leads you both inside and shuts it with his foot before walking you over to your couch. Gently settling you down on the cushions, he walks back to front the door, locks it and turns back, heading towards the kitchen. He’s been in your apartment long enough to know his way around the house. His movements in the kitchen can be heard, but honestly it didn’t faze you, in fact you were nearly dozing off—again— on your couch as he made himself at home in the other room.

“Here,” Adam’s voice makes your eyes flutter open, he sat on your right with a large glass of water,

With slow movements you sit right on the couch as you reach out towards the cup and finish it one gulp. At least it’ll somewhat help with the headache in the morning, it won’t subside the brutal hangover, but it’ll at least help some. Handing him the cup, you settle back in the couch, not to sleep, but to drift off. It wasn’t even a minute when tears start to fall down your cheeks, you thought they were silent tears, but the way you sniff had Adam turning towards you. Not wasting a second he wraps an arm around your shoulders and brings you towards him, your head resting heavily against his chest as silent sobs leave you. Seeing you in pain was the last thing Adam wanted, no matter the situation, he hated seeing you in pain, especially when he doesn’t know exactly how to comfort you. Physically he’s good at, but when it comes to words, he’s the worst, till this day it still surprises him when he manages to spill any comforting words to anyone who’s in need of them.

Comforting someone with words wasn’t his best suit, but words weren’t exactly what you needed at the moment, hell, it never is most of the time, so all the detective does is wrap a tight arm around you as he softly rubs soothing circles on your shoulder and leaning the side of his cheek at the top of your head. Getting a small whiff of your coconut shampoo, along with your Calvin Klein perfume he had gotten for your birthday a few months ago, the scent alone made his heart flip.

A few moments had passed when your tears had finally subsided, but still remained on the couch with Adam, head leaning against his chest, heartbeat playing in your ear and feeling yourself calming down. Another minute passes as you two remain on the couch, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as your own fiddle with a button on his shirt. Although, the sound of you yawning finally breaks the silence in the room, and bringing Adam back from his thoughts.

“C’mon, let’s take you to bed,” As much as he wants to hold you in his arms all night, Adam knows you both need sleep to get up for work in a couple of hours,

Which will be a bitch for the both of you. But mainly for you.

You shake your head and only bury yourself closer to his chest, which honestly made Adam want to allow it, want to fall asleep on the couch with you, but he knows it would be uncomfortable and knows it will only worsen your headache in the morning. Slightly chuckling to himself, Adam places a finger underneath your chin and lifts it up until you meet his chocolate orbs.

“You’ll be okay,” He referred it as a reminder more than a question,

Which was true, and you knew it was. Your job was all about dealing with tough cases that will sometimes get personal, that will have a strong effect on you, both positive or negative and then slowly learning how to move forward. Whether the pain is still there, you learn to use it as motivation to be better, stronger, and knowing you have support from your team, Adam, you knew the pain that you were currently dealing with would also be easy to get through. It might take days, weeks, but you knew it was all about time and patience.

With a hint of hesitation you nod your head in agreement, earning a small smile from the man and then getting lost in each other eyes. Your eyes dart from one pair to the other and then down to his lips, you repeated it a few times before finally closing the little gap between you two. You rest your lips against his for a few seconds and slightly pull back, testing the waters before seeing him lean back in. The way your lips felt together was like a feeling no other, like the missing pieces of the puzzle have been placed in their proper spot, they felt just right. Relief and happiness washed over both your chest, after what seemed like a lifetime you two have finally gave in to one another, and it honestly felt fucking great.

Gentle kisses were exchanged for a few minutes before slowly growing into firmer and deeper kisses. Without much warning you straddle his lap, immediately feeling his hands on either side of your waist, holding you upright as you two continue to lavish each other’s mouths, however, the way you begin to move your hips has him coming back to reality. A small gasp escapes from him when you circle your hips once again, giving you the opportunity to dive your tongue, earning yet another small moan from both of you. The moment was quickly escalating when Adam was beginning to feel all his blood going south, not that he didn’t want to continue, matter of fact he’d take you right here and there but he knew it wasn’t the right way nor right time. You are just acting on impulse, heat of the moment, and more importantly you weren’t sober. What if whatever is going on at the moment is all just a drunken night for you, what if you’d regret it when you awoke? Even if the kiss felt just right to Adam, and to you, he still didn’t want to take advantage of you at this state, it would feel real to him.

“(Y/n),”

“Adam,” You whimper against his lips, moving your hips once again, emotions heightening at the feeling of his member growing underneath you,

The hand that was resting against the mans chest had made its way at the back of his head, fingers finding they’re way into his small soft locks. It wasn’t the way you had pulled his hair that made Adam stop your movements, no, it was the way you angled your hips against his. He had to stop otherwise he knows things will soon start to escalate even more. Gripping tightly on to your waist with both hands he hauls your movements, earning another small whimper from you. Breaking the kiss you stare at him with hooded yet confused eyes.

“You don’t-..,”

“No I want to,” Adam stops you, placing a hand on the side of your cheek, “but I want it to be you, the real you,”

You melt against his hand at his words, you never knew he could be such a gentleman, well more than you’ve already seen him act towards females, and that alone made you fall harder for him.

“Okay?” He asks, hand still on your cheek while eyes search for any disapproval in yours,

Placing your own hand over his, you angle your head to place a chaste kiss in his inner palm before nodding in understanding. Feeling less weight off his shoulders, Adam nods as well before helping you off his lap and leading you towards your bedroom. Helping you remove your denim jacket, boots and pants he tucks you under the covers. Just as he pulls away you grip on to his wrist, holding it loosely as you glance up at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Adam didn’t need words to understand what you were asking for,

You drop his wrist and watch as he shrugs off his own jacket and boots before climbing on the other side of the bed, where you immediately settled against him. Your head leaning against his chest, just like earlier while your fingers drew imaginary shapes on his black undershirt. The feeling sending relaxation to the man and making his eyes flutter shut, awhile so many questions piled in your head. What does it mean for you two now? Did he feel the same way or was he just being a gentleman and not wanting to take advantage? Was it just the heat of the moment? Not being able to handle so many thoughts you call out his name.

“Shh..go to sleep,” He says through closed eyes, as if knowing exactly what you were planning on asking and continues with, “I’ll be here in the morning,”

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, even if the questions still laid heavily in your head, you knew he would be there in your arms when you awoke. You just hoped you would be able to wake up next to him in the upcoming weeks and in the future. As you got comfortable against him and start to drift off, you fell asleep with his last words of the night..

“I’ll always be here,”

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- Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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- Love you all for the support!! 💗✨

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[beebrainedstudios]

We Buried Our Gods

In which Holland and Kell discuss magic and the history of White and Red. Set before ADSOM. Enjoy!

No particular warnings here, just general allusions to death and brief violent thoughts on Holland’s part. 

“Just stop, Holland.”

The words caught in Holland’s throat, the audacity of the interruption holding them back against his tongue. His mouth snapped shut, eyes narrowing, first at the water, then to the Antari at his side, who had spent the last few minutes listening to Holland’s brief history of his world. They had just gotten to the post-Split years, Holland’s favorite part- or at least, the part he wanted Kell to hear the most. Perhaps it was sacrilegious, to spout the sins of the Red world in front of their holiest symbol, but it was only the smallest of wounds Holland could give, and he was in the mood for wounding today.

Kell, to his credit, had been surprisingly patient, but now he was looking at the river with something sharper than his former silence on his own tongue, and when Holland tried to start again, he turned and stared. “You’re wrong. Arnes didn’t steal Makt’s magic- that was White’s fault, not ours.”

“I’m not wrong, Maresh, now let me fini-”

“No.” Kell snapped, and Holland saw a new gleam in his eyes, something a shade paler than the ice that came when someone criticized his brother. Protection, defense, the instinct of a trained guardian. Holland should have expected it, but he hadn’t thought it would have driven Kell to forget his manners. The Maktahn Antari stared back, considering, and held his tongue, morbidly curious and resigned to indulge in his foul mood. He’d give Kell the rope to hang himself with, if only to bring it up later.

Kell turned back to the Isle and its neverending light, the red tint carving shadows on Kell’s face like firelight, shifting his eyes from sky-blue to midnight. He didn’t sound angry when he spoke again, only firm, and faintly wistful, as if he was repeating a bedtime story.

“It was always said that Arnes’ was Makt’s ‘little sister’ of sorts. The younger, the sweeter, the weaker of the two. Flashy and arrogant, even before the Split.” His eyes went to Holland again. “I bet you like to hear that.”

He didn’t answer.

“We learned so much from you. We learned our elements, our hunting, winter sports and agriculture, although even then the climates were too different for that to be much good. Then things began to sour, the plague started, and Arnes had enough outbreaks to warrant its full attention. Makt, as you said, took a stand against the darkness, but magic began to fade in your world regardless. It ran away.”

Above them both, the clouds raced on winds neither man could feel, the air on the ground as still and stifling as a grave’s. Holland nodded, even though Kell wasn’t looking at him anymore. The river’s light seemed to dim, as if it was listening too, and Kell shut his eyes and knelt by the water’s edge, letting one hand dip gently into the surf. His next words were sharp. “Where do you think that magic went, Holland? 

Did you really think it went underground, out into the wilds where nothing else was? I’m sure some of it did, but it was running from the plague, and it was running from you, from your people, because you all had started killing your Antari and practicing runes that bound it. You made magic angry. You made it afraid. So it fled, pouring out from your world into mine like, like-”

He lifted his hand, and let the scarlet water drain from his fingers like blood.

“Magic is beautiful. It is light, power, and above all it’s warmth. But magic is fickle too, Holland, and it remembers. When more and more of your world’s magic began to flood into mine, Arnes and the other kingdoms changed.”

Holland’s eyes narrowed, turning the words over in his head like stones. It was beginning to get uncomfortably hot at the water’s edge, as if the magic inside it had been summoned by the prince’s words.  Kell’s voice was a persistent note among the quiet murmur of the current.

“It grew hotter, bit by bit, until what was only a warm gust now and then became our first winter in decades without snow. The weather changed, with more storms and rain, flooding the river until it was lapping at the road’s edge. We weren’t prepared for it.” Kell’s eyes opened, but he didn’t rise, his gaze still focused on the water and his own reflection. Holland was pretty sure he was looking straight into his black eye. “And then the magic changed. As it bled with yours, it became more volatile, stronger, meaner, like a wild animal. We’d always had a good relationship with our magic, but it became increasingly obvious that across all of the worlds, magic wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t quite as trusting as it had been.

That’s when Makt began to fall. We heard from travelers that the plague was spreading, eating everything up that you had, and that your world was cooling down. That’s how we figured out about magic’s exodus from White. We knew that if we let your magic continue coming into our world, it wouldn’t be long before it had overtaken ours and warped it completely into the defensive, sharp thing it had become in White.”

The silence that followed was a broken one, marred by the water and the faint blush of voices far behind them, but it was no less heavy. They both knew this part of the story, and Holland could feel the anger coiling tighter in his heart.

“So Arnes gathered all of our Antari, every last one we could find, and we sealed ourselves away. It was exhausting, and grueling, and more than one of our magicians collapsed from the strain. But when it was done, our world was safe. You had always been so strong, we thought White would be able to handle it if we kept your magic from slipping awa-”

“No.” Holland snapped, the word hot on his tongue like the bile in his throat. Denial, as always; Red had never been able to take the blame for its sins. “No, we were not strong enough, and the magic ran away anyway, and this story is just a watered down version of the truth so that you don’t have to recognize your own cowardice!” He reached blindly out for the river and the magic in it, hating the way it pressed against his own with purring desire. He wanted it, and he hated it and every stolen drop so much. “Red ran away like a coward and left my world to bleed and starve, and we have done so every day for the last several hundred years!”

Kell’s head shot up from the river, and he turned and glared at Holland with a desperation that he didn’t deserve. Holland could feel him pulling back on the river, trying to push Holland’s will away like a stern slap on the wrist, and he was too tired to put up with the Arnesian’s foolishness today. He let go, and glared at Kell, daring him to continue. 

“Can I just finish, Holland? I’m not done.”

He said nothing.

Kell looked back to the river, but his shoulders were tense, as if he was afraid Holland would lunge from behind and hold him under. Holland wasn’t quite sure if he was considering it or not. 

“The worlds split apart, and blame began flying left and right. Black London was gone, but things weren’t any better. Red and White still had the plague to deal with, even when there was no more magic flooding between them. Grey took the separation as a finality and slipped away, distancing itself. The loss of magic was of no great consequence there. But our worlds were still fuming and struggling to right themselves. The letters began, as a way to keep in contact, but they were little more than insults for a while. Perfectly understandable of course, but through those letters our kingdom also found out about-” A pause, and Kell’s hand tightened under the water. “Remember when I said Red learned from White?”

Holland nodded.

Kell’s gaze hardened on the water’s surface, and the next words came out soft and sharp, like thorns. “We learned what happened to your Antari, and Arnes did what it always had. It mimicked your world.”

Holland’s mouth went dry, and he briefly looked away, suddenly grateful that Kell’s focus was elsewhere. That was a truth he knew better than to deny, if only because he’d felt the same bloody history for his entire life. It was Makt that had discovered that magic could be drunk like wine, if there was an Antari’s veins to pull it from. 

“That was when we learned that we’d failed in our mission.”

Holland, surprised by the confession, returned his gaze to the river, raising one brow in a sharp arc. He moved closer to the water’s edge, seeking his reflection in the red waves, and he was surprised at the resemblance between the Isle’s rippling mirror and the dark pools of his masters’ cups.

Kell’s voice was low. “It had been too late to stop the change, and the magic of our world was no longer a passive aide. When Red killed its Antari, two things happened. First, magic lashed out. It was subtle at first, a flame too bright, spells held too long,” He held up his dry hand and spun a small flame through his fingers, letting it curl against his palm. “But then it strengthened.” The flame grew into a snarling image, dragonic, with licking tongues of fire for teeth. It swept across Kell’s hand and arm before dissolving into the air, leaving his coat untouched even as Holland felt the heat. 

“Our world didn’t wither like yours, Holland - it burned. The storms became hurricanes, the flames became forest fires, and the river’s current grew until men drowned twelve feet from its edge. Anything we asked of magic, it returned tenfold, and there seemed to be nothing we could do to stop it. That was when the second cruelty arose. When Red tried to reopen the doors,” A thin smile flitted across Kell’s teeth as Holland blinked in shock. “Yes, Red did try to open the doors once, even asked a new White king for help, but both of our worlds found they lacked the most crucial key to do so.”

Holland’s eyes widened further, and he shook his head and scoffed. Sometimes, it hurt, the brutality of hindsight. “Antari.”

Kell nodded. “The passage between worlds is an Antari’s gift, and there was no way either world would have been able to tear down walls a hundred Antari had built with just a dozen. So both worlds gave up until the attempt was lost to history. Arnes slowly received less correspondence, and then finally none, the last letter arriving with an Antari too wounded to heal. As you know, things started to settle from there. Letters were sent every now and again when there was an Antari to send them, but we were pretty much functionally extinct by then. The plague faded, at least here; without an influx we were able to destroy the pockets of it we had left. Your world suffered and continued to blame mine for the rest of time.”

Holland laughed, more a cough than anything, and turned away as if to leave. He wanted to, but something told him Kell wasn’t finished yet. He was still crouched over the river, and Holland knew Kell never let him leave without a glance to follow. “So that’s it?” He challenged, stewing over the story. He didn’t feel any better. He still hated the Red world.  “It changes nothing, it… it’s still your fault. Red,” He threw up his hands, turning and gesturing to the warm world around them, at every bloody brick and stone. “Red still split the worlds apart. Red still drove us to starvation. Red-”

“I’m not trying to say we didn’t split the worlds, Holland.” Kell countered, his voice much closer. Holland spun to find he’d stood and was now at his side, back where the pair had started. “But you said we stole your magic. That’s not true, and neither is the idea that we’ve lounged around for hundreds of years laughing at your world’s suffering. I know you want to believe that, but we didn’t. The Antari are gone, and both worlds killed them, and now nobody can break down the walls.”

Holland knew that wasn’t true, and he held onto that piece of knowledge like a key; a bitter one for Red, if it ever came to pass. Red hadn’t been looking for alternatives, they’d given up so easily, but if the stone Athos had found was real, then maybe Kell was wrong.

Holland cherished the thought, even if he knew ruin would follow. Maybe it would be better to have two smoking husks than one.

Or maybe he was just feeling bitter.

“But nothing changed for you.” The words came unbidden, and Holland hated the way they sounded like a plea, like a gasp of the dying, but it felt so good to say it. To vent out a world’s worth of betrayal. “You all got to leave, and we had to stay and freeze. Why? Why us?”

Why me?

Kell sighed, biting his lip and shifting on his feet, seeking an answer that neither of them had. After a moment, he turned up his coat collar against a new chilly wind- it was several minutes too late, now that it had cooled off a little- and shook his head, answering the first statement to ignore the last.

“Some things did change.”

“The weather.” The vitriol was palpable.

“No. Not just the weather.” Kell walked a few steps past Holland- carefully stepping around someone’s abandoned bouquet- and pointed. Holland tracked the gesture and found it aimed at a single tall spire among many, this one painted white among the pointed forest of golds and reds. He knew it vaguely; it was one of Arnes’ Sanctuary spires, home to their strongest magicians and what passed for their religion. White had many gods and many beliefs, each sprinkled throughout Makt, but he’d never been able to figure out what god ruled the Red London. 

“Do you know why we have the Sanctuary?”

“No.”

Kell’s voice turned conspiratorial, as if he was sharing a secret, but Holland could see he was simmering in his own anger. Strange- he’d seemed merely wistful, perhaps irritated a moment ago. “We have the Sanctuary,” His hand finally fell, where it was quickly tucked into a coat pocket like its twin. “Because we don’t really have religion anymore.” 

He let the statement hover, as if expecting Holland to ask for more, but the Maktahn Antari wasn’t going to. When the moment fell, Kell continued.

“After the worlds split and stopped speaking, Red was at an impasse with magic. It was angry, it had nowhere to go, and there was so much more of it than our world had ever been prepared to handle. More than any world, really. The Antari were dead, leaving nothing to buffer its wrath, and if nothing was done our world was going to end up just like yours.” He sniffed. “Well, maybe not just like yours, our world doesn’t snow, but it would have been dead, and Arnes couldn’t have that. So it did the only thing it could do; it bowed. We left our gods on magic’s altar and prayed that it was satisfied, sacrificing those we had to and keeping the others as our nameless saints. We left our remaining Antari live, let them roam, but-” His voice cracked, just a little. “There were incidents with that, too. They say the river flooded, when Rowan died.”

The wind whistled. The river hummed and glowed its same perpetual shade of crimson. 

“And?”

The calm broke. “And what, Holland?” Kell snapped, turning to glare at Holland with a mirror of his own bitterness. It was sudden, this change, but Holland welcomed it, happy to see he wasn’t the only one miserable on this same bloody riverbank. Let us both suffer, he found himself thinking. There was something so satisfying in sharing pain with someone else, especially someone who would undoubtedly cave the moment he glared back.

But when Holland glared back, Kell’s eyes only narrowed in turn. There were many things swimming in those eyes- not just anger at Holland’s own, but desperation, the same as a man drowning. Holland wondered if he’d look the same if he’d actually tried to throw him into the water, back when the man had been folded over it. He repeated himself. “And?”

Kell drew back as if stung, and Holland found himself smiling. He didn’t say anything else, instead basking in the weary frustration that was now leaching out of the other Antari. What had he expected? Decades of distaste weren’t going to fade with one simple story, no matter how true or how false.

The Arnesian Antari only shook his head. “We are not our worlds, Holland.”

“I’m not an idiot, Maresh, but I don’t see the point-”

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Kell snapped. “And you have every right to your anger. Sanct, you have every bleeding right. But don’t think I missed the way you spoke, the way I did too.”

Nothing changed for you.

It’s still your fault. 

Red. You. Your. Red.

Kell turned to go, stalking off back towards the bridge that would take him back into the palace. Holland didn’t know if the man thought of it as home, but that was the weakest of questions he felt could be asked. Who needed home, really? And who was Kell to think of it? He was tired of warmth. He wanted to go back and seethe, to remind himself of the differences between the worlds.

But Holland waited to leave himself until the man turned and glanced his way, just as he’d known he would. 

“Holland?”

“Yes, Maresh?”

“Answer me this. If I threw myself at your feet, pleading forgiveness for the sins of forgotten centuries, would you want them? Would you count them mine?”

The wind continued to blow, the clouds raced overhead, but neither man spoke again. They each walked away, back to their worlds, and left the Isle to glow and sing.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Witch”

Happy Saturday, everyone! Well, it's perhaps happier provided you didn't watch today’s episode lol. Getting through these 18 minutes felt like watching an extended version of a CinemaSins vid. I heard a little 'ding!' every time something nonsensical, contradictory, or just downright stupid happened. My mind became a pinball machine. 

Which, in the interest of being fair as opposed to just snarky, only matters if you're looking for something resembling emotional depth in this show. RWBY, for all its faults, is enjoyable as a mindless spectacle. It's when you expect — or simply hope — for anything more that this very fragile house of cards comes tumbling down.

If it’s not clear already, today’s recap contains copious amounts of salt. Fair warning. 

With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s dive in. Episode nine is titled "Witch," which is fitting since many members of our group go toe-to-toe against Salem herself. The narrative issues inherent in having your heroes fighting their final boss years before the series is meant to end might have been avoided if it weren't for Oscar's ridiculous, sacrificial attack... but we'll get to that.

We open with a sweeping shot of the Atlas battle, as hundreds of dead soldiers segue into endless grimm. Hold onto that image for a bit. At the end of this carnage is, of course, the mouth of the whale. We cut to Jaune, Ren, and Yang already safely inside.

"Well," says Yang, "that was harrowing."

I'm on the fence about this choice. On the one hand, yes, it's good that RWBY knows it can skip over extraneous scenes. We have NINE characters to keep track of and develop, fourteen if you count Ozpin, Maria, Winter, Ironwood, and now Whitley. Plus villains. There simply isn't time to show every insignificant moment... but was this insignificant? Obviously finding Oscar and escaping Salem's clutches is the true hurdle of this mission, but that doesn't mean getting through an entire army of grimm is in any way a cake walk. I'd be more willing to ignore this time skip if it weren't likewise presented as such a challenge for Winter's team. They have to "clear a path" to the whale, but our trio got there unscathed and unnoticed? The obvious implication here is that Ren just masked them the whole way — supported by his aura breaking later in the episode — but it still feels like we missed an important chunk of this task.

I'm nit-picking though. As said, I’m straddling the fence on this one and, given that, I'm inclined to settle on a, "Good job, RWBY. You're keeping the writing tight," if only because I don't have much else to praise about this episode. Throw the poor, struggling show a bone lol.

Now that they're inside, they realize they haven't the slightest idea how they'll find Oscar. “Like finding a needle in a giant…whale… why did we think this was a good idea?!” Because you and your friends are idiots who no longer bother to think about a situation before throwing yourself straight into it? This isn't me being mean to Yang, she literally says as much later on. Our heroes no longer get by on intellect, strategy, and skill, but rather plot armor and a staggering number of coincidences. For example, Ren.

Yang: Wow, it sure is lucky for us that on our way to this incredibly dangerous mission Ren inexplicably developed a new part of his semblance. Now he can not only mask peoples' emotions, see the true emotions that someone is feeling, pull thoughts out of their head about what they believe about a situation, but can also track someone across long distances through their emotions alone. Even that doesn't actually help us find Oscar, we just got lucky again when, in this maze of a whale, he ran right into us!

Me: So what were you going to do if this meta-world stopped giving you the most contrived solutions in Remnant history?

Yang: Die gloriously, I guess.

What Yang actually says is, "Okay. That's new!" and they enter the literal belly of the beast wielding a shield of convenience.

Jaune is also being awkward again because remember, RWBY doesn't know when to incorporate humor and when to treat a situation seriously. He reminds Ren not to "drain [himself]," he'll help him, and it's clear the scene is hinting at their earlier fight. There's a lot to unpack there, but I want to save it for the second conversation.

For now, we cut to Oscar, curled up in his cell, repeating stories to comfort himself. Yeah that's fine. I could use a broken heart right before Valentine's Day.

“She brushed off her bumps and bruises, for nothing hurt worse than the loneliness in her chest." It's a line from The Girl Who Fell Through the World, which Ozpin recognizes given that he's "lived through" a fair number of fairy tales. He immediately asks how Oscar is holding up — because he's a caring person! — and Oscar admits that he never understood why the girl of the tale was sad upon reaching home again. Now he does: she wasn't the same person anymore. I don't think the fact that Oscar has had both a metaphorical fall — leaving his farm to 'fall' into this war — and a literal one — falling through Atlas to unlock his magic — is lost on anyone. This is a nice allusion to our themes. Yang's speech to Salem later on? That’s something else entirely. 

Storytelling done, Ozpin says he thinks "this plan to divide might have run its course” and it's time to try and find a way to leave. I'm sorry, I love my farm boy, but what plan? He didn't do anything. At least nothing that could remotely be termed an intellectual plot. Oscar convinced Ozpin to try and turn Hazel by telling him the world would end under Salem's rule and the only reason that worked is because the story decided to chuck out Hazel's entire character. You know, the one that hates Ozpin above all others, wants the world remade into a non-Academy horror show, can't understand that people make their own choices, is terrified of Salem, and has no reason to trust a prisoner he's currently torturing. Oscar's "plan" hinged on his writers erasing a great deal of work to build a new story that fits said “plan.” He didn't even get Emerald involved, she just — again, conveniently — eavesdropped outside their door at just the right moment.

To be clear, I'm not against a story being written to work in the hero's favor. Of course things are going to be convenient in a happy-ending tale. Someone manages to hold out just as long as they need to, a sword is lying just within reach, you, yes, happen to run into the one person you're desperate to find. This kind of stuff is reassuring, telling its audiences that sometimes things do work out for the best. It's enjoyable... but only provided the hero's entire success doesn't hinge on fate being shockingly kind to them. That's what RWBY has become. A world where Salem doesn't attack Mantle, Amity Tower is suddenly finished, the group can charge into any deadly situation they want to and bank on destiny twisting around itself to ensure they come out of it safely. A hero finding a convenient weapon nearby to defeat their enemy with is only reassuring after we've seen them implement a brilliant attack, struggle, nearly win, but then suddenly be faced with failure, necessitating that little push from coincidence. They earned it. The hero doesn't get to run in blindly and find a Defeat Bad Guy plot point gift wrapped for them at the first sign of trouble. They just die.

RWBY used to be a better written show because that's precisely Pyrrha's story. She charged a Maiden unprepared, without a single plan or hope for success, and she died. That's what happens in a dangerous, internally consistent world, but RWBY has since lost the second half of that formula.

I'm harping on this because this entire episode is built on that foundation of coincidence, something that shouldn't be happening at all, but especially not when you're pitting the heroes against Salem herself.

So yeah, it just gets worse from here.

Back to Oscar. Without the cane magic is the only weapon they have at their disposal, but he's reluctant to use it because every time he does, they merge more quickly. 

They... do? 

Okay, there are three major problems with this announcement:

I'm pretty sure we've only seen Oscar use magic once: creating that barrier to survive the fall through Atlas. That was the point of his near death experience, to unlock something that had previously been unavailable to him. Yet if he's only used it once, why is he so sure that it hurries the merge along? What's this "every time" business? This confusion could have easily been avoided if the show had just let Oscar use his magic this volume, tackling some other questions and gaps in the process. Let him use it to fight off the grimm in Mantle, giving him the opportunity to admit to at least Jaune, Ren, and Yang that Ozpin is back. He could have used some magic against the Hound with Ozpin's encouragement, answering the question of why he was entirely silent while the two of them got their ass beat. Give us a moment where Oscar uses his magic against Hazel, nearly escaping in the process, but is captured again at the last moment. Basically, his line makes it sound like magic has been this ongoing resource with an established downside when... it hasn’t.

Coinciding with all of the above, how is it that Oscar can suddenly use magic at will? Yeah, yeah, he unlocked it during the fall, but really? You open up the magic gates and from then on out it's as natural as breathing? This is the same issue with Ruby's silver eyes. The story gives these characters incredible powers, but never has them talking about how they work, let alone training them. They just exist, perfect in execution, as soon as the plot needs them. (See: the final shot of this episode.) At least Weiss had to practice her summoning for multiple volumes.

Finally, the question of how Oscar instinctively knows how to use magic could easily be answered with, "Well, he's kind of Ozpin now," but that would require the story to actually explain what the merge is. "We merge faster," Oscar says, but what does that mean? The Ozpin and Oscar we see in this scene are fundamentally indistinguishable from the Ozpin and Oscar who existed at his aunt's house, four whole years ago. They're still separate people, with one controlling the body and the other existing as a consciousness he can talk to. Nothing has changed. The show keeps insisting that Oscar is going through this deep and painful arc of losing himself to Ozpin... despite the fact that he has yet to lose a single bit of Oscar-ness. Has he changed? Well of course, but anyone going through these experiences is going to change. Remove the "merge" aspect and Oscar's confidence or power up is likewise indistinguishable from any of the other characters' developments. Nora is becoming more of an individual this volume. Ren is becoming more powerful in his semblance. Neither have an Ozpin to force that change, it just happens on its own. So what separates Oscar from every other character going through a formative experience? When is “I’m not the same person anymore” due to unnatural magic vs. just growing up? 

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy our boy is getting more screen time — and that the cast is actually being kind to him now — but overall his arc is objectively terrible. He bought some clothes, told Ironwood he was as bad as Salem, told Hazel how to access the Relic, and then asked him not to be a villain anymore. Somehow these things are presented as significant moments of growth while the real questions surrounding his merge go unanswered.

“Honestly, I think you’re doing just fine on your own," Ozpin tells him, but he's not. God knows our boy is trying, but this is a moment where Ozpin's self-hatred (and the story's insistence that the younger generation is intrinsically better than the older) is blinding him to the situation. Oscar has made terrible decisions lately, in as much as he's been able to decide anything at all, and now he's rejecting escaping captivity because he's terrified of a concept he doesn't even understand yet. None of that is fine. Reassurance is one thing, but painting this situation as Oscar making better choices than he would with Ozpin's input is insane. He literally just decided to keep them in Salem's clutches indefinitely because something something magic is scary, I guess. Oscar doesn't need a, 'You're better than me' speech, he needs a reality check so they don't both die. Remember back in Volume 5 when Oscar, a brave but idiotic 14 year old, insisted on fighting someone entirely out of his league and Ozpin was like,

then saved him from getting his head crushed in like a cantaloupe? We need more of that. Our teenage heroes need guidance, but because RWBY keeps insisting that every adult they encounter is corrupt or incompetent, that hasn't happened in three volumes. They're just aloud to decide things like, “Let's tell our captor the Relic's password because UwU ~trust~” and then the story bends over backwards to make that work. Instead we could, you know, let characters learn that they can be wrong. 

The snow scene was the beginning, but RWBY really went off the rails the day it let Qrow warn the group against stealing from and attacking an allied city, only for them to call him an idiot for doubting them. Now, Ozpin doesn't even get to warn Oscar about stupid decisions, he just agrees with them, reassuring and passive. Never mind the complication of whether Ozpin is even emotionally capable of providing guidance after they labeled him the worst thing to ever happen to them. 

Why does RWBY keep ruining my faves 😔

Anyway, we’ve got to stay on track. Oscar has decided to just lie there but, luckily for him, Hazel's redemption — I use that term so loosely — has begun. He drags Oscar out of his cell before we cut to Winter. 

She's leading a portion of Ironwood's army, trying to get things ready for when the bomb arrives. Neon and Flynt are a part of her team, sharing scared glances and trying to remain optimistic. It's a legitimately hard-hitting moment, striking that balance between horror and hope. Funny though, I wonder that RWBYJNOR would think of their friends fighting for evil Ironwood...

Marrow, continuing the tradition of insisting that our heroes be both adults and kids simultaneously, looks sadly at the soldiers heading into battle and goes, "But... they're just kids." I would like to remind everyone reading that Ruby is younger than them. Anyone who thinks that these teenagers shouldn't be fighting grimm — the thing they have been training to do as their professional career, during an unprecedented attack on their home — should not simultaneously be looking to the girl who is two years younger as his savior. (Something that, while not overt yet, is very much where Marrow is heading as he continually doubts the Ace Ops and looks to RWBY's group as his new, moral leaders.) I'm glad that, for once, this perspective is firmly called out. Elm arrives to tell him point blank that he needs to figure out his personal ethics later. It doesn't matter because there's an army of grimm out there and monsters aren't going to spare anyone, adult or child. Quit philosophizing and kill some already.

Back to Hazel where we get the doorway shot from our trailer. He's taken Oscar to the Relic, because of course he has. Do I really need to list how convenient this is too? Apparently, "the moment we move that thing, this place goes on high alert," but there’s no alarm for when Oscar is taken from his cell, they enter the Relic's room, or when they use it. What does a movement alert matter if someone can just waltz in and waste the last question themselves? Put some of those endless grimm in the room to guard it, Salem!

Just assume that I am, at any given point in this episode, letting out the longest sigh my lungs are physically capable of.

Emerald shows up, demonstrating both the convenience of everyone arriving when they need to, and the very real danger that Salem herself could come in and discover what they're up to. Hazel has Oscar summon Jinn, only to immediately say that “Actually, I think all my questions are answered now.”

I'm sorry, how does this answer any of Hazel's questions? His driving question was not, "Is the Relic actually a magical object capable of doing magical things?" but rather "Are you telling me the truth about Salem's plans to summon the Gods and destroy all of Remnant in her quest to finally die, thereby changing who I'm going to support in this war?" Seeing a naked, blue djinn does not answer that question. 

Hazel's "redemption" is non-existent. He — we — learned about Salem's death wish despite how that contradicts previous lore, then he trusted Ozpin despite that contradicting his entire character, now he joins the heroes because, literally, he sees Jinn floating there. It’s bad enough that Hazel goes from clear villain to sacrificial hero in a matter of in-world hours, but we don’t even get a reason for why that change occurred. 

Oh, there's also this:

So Jinn doesn't come out of her lamp unless someone intends to ask a question, but does it for Ruby because she's special, yet still reiterates that this won't happen again. Then Oscar summons her without intending to ask a question, she comes out anyway, confirms that none of them seek knowledge from her, and happily pops back inside her lamp because eh, it’s whatever.

If RWBY had any courage the three of them would be cursed now for toying with a powerful, magical object. Remember the days when Jinn was a little terrifying because it felt like she was warping her answers and we had no idea what she might do to someone who used her carelessly? When she felt like a djinn? Good times.

Or better times, at least. 

So Good Guy Hazel and Good Gal Emerald promise to get Oscar out. Never mind all the horror they caused, the people they killed, and that for Hazel, at least, this defection is coming out of nowhere. 

Anyone remember that Emerald orchestrated Penny's death? No? Just me?

As they leave it turns out Neo was camouflaged against the wall, because she was also precisely where she needed to be. Does everyone just periodically pop into the Relic room to see what’s going on? At least this time it's not working in the heroes' favor. Remember when I said it's beyond idiotic for Oscar to just hand out the Relic information to known enemies currently holding him captive and torturing him?

Yeeeeaah.

So Neo's got the Lamp. Funny how all of this could have been avoided if Ruby had just put it in the vault like she came to Atlas to do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We return to our trio where Jaune and Ren need to rest because their aura is giving out. Good! These guys fought a battle, fought Neo, fought more grimm, fought the Hound, traipsed through the tundra, presumably fought through more grimm to get to the whale, and have been using both their semblances to look for Oscar. It's about time their reserves started to falter.

Jaune decides to scout ahead a bit, leaving Yang and Ren to talk about nothing of importance. I mean that seriously. Remember a few days ago when I spoke about how, if the snow conversation does come back up, Ren's points would be entirely ignored for a nonsensical “I’m glad we’re friends” speech? Remember how I also spoke about how every emotional beat now is entirely generic and you could replace any character with another and not a single thing would change? Yeah. This is both those arguments in one. Nothing is said about the points Ren made. His problems with how the group has been acting lately and the very real, very deadly consequences it has had are flat out ignored. We went from

"But these aren't the kinds of decisions we should be making because we have no idea what we're doing!"

to

"Forward, no matter what!"

in a matter of hours, with precisely zero insight into how Ren went from one perspective to the exact opposite. Kind of like Hazel. Because see, RWBY doesn't write arcs, it just writes one thing until it decides to switch it up for something else, with the opposite idea presented as a “resolution” or a “twist.” Our creators writes scenes they know the fandom is begging for without considering how to get a character to that place, let alone how to get them out of it. That's all Ren's speech was, the equivalent of moral fan service. Here's a glimpse of actual character depth and a morally gray situation... now forget it ever happened because we're back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Instead of working through the laundry list of issues Ren raised, Ren instead accepts Jaune's aura help — something they've been doing since Argus — and tells Yang it's okay to be scared. These moments are meaningless and, as said, could have been between anyone in our cast. Ren could have told Nora she doesn't have to use jokes to cover up that she's scared. Jaune could have reminded Ruby that she can depend on him. Yang could have tried to keep Blake and Weiss' hopes up. This scenes ignores the individuality of the characters, like the fact that they just fought over very different world views, to instead favor any dime-a-dozen moment of support. The number of times this volume has rejected the conflict and resolution the group needs for bland, generic reassurances staggering.

Also, apparently Jaune isn't scared at all? I don't think that's as good a thing as Ren seems to think... 

Then Jaune immediately rounds the corner, terrified lol.

One of the seer grimm is on its way and he tells Ren to mask them. Apparently he had been masking them before — one of the reasons he's so tired now, trying to do two things at once — but it's only here that they go black and white again. Ren manages to keep it up for a little while, but his aura breaks before the seer passes and they're spotted.

Hark! A consequence!

That was well done. It makes sense and it adds to the stakes. We've seen the insane amount of fighting the group has done since Volume 7, we just established that they're at their breaking point, and then Ren's aura fails him right when he needs it the most. Add this to the miniscule pile of things that were well done this episode. 

Salem runs into Emerald and Hazel, the former of which is acting very suspicious when asked if he's made any headway with Oscar. The seer's alarm interrupts them though and... okay. Was I the only one who cackled during this moment? Between Salem's voice acting and the fact that she just yeets herself down the hallway, it came across as really funny to me. 

Either way, it is a bad situation. Our trio is trying to figure out what to do, to which Yang responds, "Do what we do best… charge blindly into danger!!”

Ren's aura is broken. Jaune barely has any left and it’s unlikely he could heal right now even if Ren had any aura to amplify. If Ren takes a single hit anywhere important he is dead.

Me, on my knees, surrounded by the ashes of the Hound, the last bit of serious storytelling we had: "For the love of God, the kingdom is on fire and simultaneously dying of cold. There's a grimm army decimating hundreds outside. Half their group is missing and they're wandering lost inside a devil whale, about to have the most powerful being Remnant has ever known personally try to kill them — can we please have their attitudes reflect that?"

The answer, in case you were wondering, is no.

Back to the bomb. Whatever scientists were given this task have completed it and Marrow watches as it's flown out towards the whale. "Come on, Juan" he whispers and I'm all, "Juan?" Apparently it's a callback to last volume when Marrow couldn't remember Jaune's actual name, but it took me hopping onto the RWBY wiki to remember that. 

As death via explosion inches closer, the trio runs into Hazel and Emerald. Turns out though that Hazel is really Oscar, disguised through Emerald's semblance. Nice trick! Jaune immediately drops both weapons to hug Oscar and, while that's nice and all, it's also the stupidest thing he could possible do in enemy territory. Also, Oscar has been beaten up by the Hound, tortured with magic, and likewise beaten bloody by Hazel. I was hoping for a tender hug like the one Nora gave him, not a giant squeeze for more comedy purposes. It just feels like RWBY has no idea how to manage the tone of this volume, let alone the torture of a child...

There's the obligatory, "Why should we trust you?" from Yang regarding Emerald joining the team, to which Ren responds, "Because she's scared, just like us."

That doesn't prove anything. Literally everyone is scared right now. There is a war going on. I really cannot emphasize enough how RWBY throws out Deep™ sounding lines that are, upon inspection, absolutely nonsensical. Nora reminding Penny that there are different parts to her personhood, Hazel saying that all his questions have been answered, Ren announcing that Emerald is scared... it's all worthless chatter that has no bearing on their problems: How do I keep from being hacked? How do I know you're telling the truth? How do we know you're trustworthy after you spent years trying to kill us? But of course, because it's RWBY, Ren's announcement is treated as some sort of secret truth that everyone accepts. Emerald joins up.

As they head for an exit we return to Marrow who, frankly, is getting on my last nerve. I know the fandom loves him because he's clearly leaning towards Team RWBY, but does anyone actually listen to what he says? He starts yelling at Winter for sending in the bomb because the trio might still be alive in there, despite:

Seeing for himself the hundreds of soldiers that have fallen trying to keep Atlas safe

Knowing and hearing again from Winter that the only way to stop this carnage is to take out the whale. Given more time, the whole city falls

Sadly announcing to the world that children shouldn't have to fight in a battle, rather than just joining the fray and helping to keep those kids safe

How does Marrow think those kids are going to be able to stop fighting? How does he think he'll get a city to return to? It's no wonder that he's drawn to Ruby because both characters stand around twiddling their thumbs, mourning that things are bad, and blaming others for imperfect solutions rather than doing something to make the situation better. Marrow's disgust at Winter over the bomb is precisely the same as Ruby's disgust at Ironwood over Mantle: how dare you not have a plan that results in both victory for us and zero sacrifices? They want perfection which, yes, is an admirable trait, but their problem is they refuse to do anything until that perfection appears. They’re paralyzed, a trait that’s particularly dangerous when your story insists that perfection will never appear: it’s not a fairy tale. So they just continue to get mad at others for the fact that they live in an unfair world. You want that perfect solution? Think it up yourself. Otherwise, stand aside and let those coming up with something do what they can to make things better. 

Marrow goes so far as to drag Weiss into things, trying to guilt Winter with the knowledge that she'll have to relate the death of her sister's friends back to her. Winter, because she's a badass who isn't in denial over the situation, tells him that yes, she will shoulder that responsibility. To Marrow's credit he backs off then, but man. RWBY has legitimate moral questions here — when is holding out for a few worth risking the many? — but they go about exploring it in the most frustrating way possible. I personally have no respect for the guy who wants to announce that Children In War Is Bad instead of, you know, using the power he currently has to protect those kids already neck deep in a battle. 

Because John Mulaney remains relevant:

"There shouldn't be a horse in the hospital :( "

"We're WELL PAST THAT."

Marrow is the one going, "There shouldn't be kids in a war :( We shouldn't have to kill a few to save the whole kingdom :( " and everyone around him is like, "No shit, dude! But this is the hand we were dealt! You going to help us, or what?"

Literally all of these characters could have been so much more than what they currently are.

Except Winter. She's doing great.

Now for the final scene. Our group nearly manages to escape the whale, but is incapacitated by some sort of screechy power that Salem employs. 

She contorts her body, stretching out her arms to snag Emerald, and the others have a brief, but intense skirmish. Jaune manages to block a blast of magic aimed at Ren with his shield — nice — and Yang dots Salem's face with a bunch of bombs before blowing her sky-high — double nice. Oscar shoots out some magic of his own because, yeah, I guess he can just do that now? It really feels like it came out of nowhere after eight episodes of being the punching bag. 

Of course, Salem immediately reforms. She traps the group with grimm arms that come out of the whale, interrogating Ozpin about why he bothers to keep coming back. There's a very sad answer there of, "I don't," referring to his lack of choice in reincarnating to fight her.

Yang interrupts their little tet-a-tet to throw the question back in Salem's face, calling her out on her choices. A great idea but, as always, execution: "because something bad happened to you once upon a time? No one gets a fairy tale ending."

I’m sorry, but that dialogue had me cringing. Like I said before, way too on the nose. There's keeping with the fairy tale theme, and then there's shoving the viewer's face in it. More of Oscar's musings on how he relates to the protagonists of fairy tales, blurring the lines between storytelling and reality, which in turn encourages the viewer to consider how they see themselves in the RWBY cast. Less... whatever this is.

Yang goes on to talk about how many people Salem has taken from her, which upon reflection makes a certain amount of sense if you toss in all the people who are here, but changed somehow due to Salem's influence, as well as acquaintances who died as a result of her meddling: Raven is scared off, Tai suffers as a result, Pyrrha dies, Penny dies, Yang loses her arm and her school. I think the dialogue could have been revised to reflect that better though because what Yang implies is that Salem has killed countless of her loved ones, yet what she says is, "Summer Rose. My mom." Honestly, for the few seconds this exchange was happening my thoughts weren't even on Summer. Yang calls Salem out for killing loved ones and my brain went, "Pyrrha??"

That's how little they've done with Yang and Summer. I know in the past I've argued that RWBY has a "better late than never" situation going on, that I would praise them for making the right writing choices even if they arrive years too late... but now that we're here, I find that it's a hard problem to overlook. Summer is Yang's mom? When's the last time we heard that? Volume 2? Whenever the conversation with Blake was. Since then Yang has called Raven "Mom," focused on that emotional connection (or lack thereof), was excluded from the conversation with Qrow, comforted Ruby after she was blindsided by Salem's taunt, and otherwise hasn't mentioned Summer at all. There is no foundation for this accusation except a few lines about getting cookies as a child and the fact that we're tossing references in now makes me worried that we'll indeed get a grimm!Summer reveal. Better remind the audience that she exists before the twist arrives! Honestly, as much as a part of me wants to praise RWBY for trying to get things back on track, moments like this just ring hollow now. They waited years and now it’s too late. It doesn't help that this is the episode where we shrug off Ren's speech. What will Yang's cutting admission amount to based on this trend? Probably nothing. Summer will become Yang’s mom again in another six seasons. 

Salem, obviously, doesn't care. The real Hazel arrives and she orders him to take Oscar back to his cell. Instead, he gives him his cane with a whispered, "No more Gretchens, boy."

Behold, another meaningless line. Hazel hates Ozpin for "forcing" Gretchen on a mission and "getting" her killed. The whole point of his villainy is that he doesn't understand the concept of choice and that bad things can happen to good people with no one able to prevent it. Not every loss has a responsible party attached (outside of, you know, Salem/the grimm). So what is he even demanding here? No more huntsmen schools? That's what you wanted Salem for. No more "forcing" people to fight for you? Ozpin never did that in the first place. Or is it just a strange promise that no one else will die here? RWBY seems to be under the impression that they can just name drop dead family members — Summer, Gretchen — and that's that. Emotional depth created, never mind a lack of buildup or clarity. 

Then Hazel punches Salem across the room and she releases every single hero from their bonds. See the theme of this episode: convenience. Hazel shoves a whole bunch of dust crystals into his shoulders and yells that he's doing what Gretchen would have wanted, clearly sacrificing himself so that the others can escape. The battle between him and Salem is pretty decent. I enjoyed the dust vs. magic creativity and the sheer damage Salem can take before reforming. This fight really showcases how not human she is.

It does, however, bring into question Hazel's reveal about her needing an hour to heal at the longest. I mentioned how unlikely it would be that our heroes would get the chance to "kill" her multiple times, yet here we are, just a few episodes later. They got that opportunity and... does it matter? Salem's reforming doesn't appear to slow down at all, despite her head getting obliterated at least three times, so at what point does she need longer than a few seconds to heal? If this was meant to be a potential weakness the group would eventually exploit, we needed to see it here, both for that setup and to keep it consistent with Hazel's story.

Regardless, they fight and at first it looks like a pretty straight-forward sacrifice on Hazel's part, giving the group their chance to escape. Except... Oscar.

"She'll just come after us," he tells Jaune, turning away from him to fight.

I need a list for this: 

Of course she's going to come after you. This is not some shocking revelation. At no point has anyone thought that escaping the whale is the answer to all their problems, it just creates one less problem to deal with. Namely, the problem of "Our ally is captured, being tortured, and may give up important intel to the enemy. Oh, also he's about to be blown up with a bomb." Salem coming after them doesn’t matter. What matters is making her plans as difficult as possible as you work to come up with more solutions of your own. This is just a smaller version of the Ironwood conflict: “Well, Salem will just follow Atlas into the sky so it’s useless to attempt escape, or to buy ourselves time.” It’s really not. I know I’ve used this ridiculous comparison before, but if you’re ever chased by a horror movie serial killer hell-bent on your destruction and your reaction to this problem is, “Why run? He’ll just chase us. The only possible choice is to fight him with a 99% chance of our death,” then I beg you to re-evaluate things. 

What was the point of coming to rescue Oscar if he was just going to stay behind? The whale is about to be blown up by a bomb and the trio risked their lives ten times over to get to him. If I were them I would be pissed. We went through all that to get you out and now you’re refusing to leave when we have a chance? Thanks for that. 

Same with Hazel. Not that I care about the guy, but if I was sacrificing myself for others to escape I'd be pretty annoyed at them randomly deciding not to do that.

What does Oscar even think he's going to do? Kill the immortal witch? The entire point of our series is that they can’t do that (yet). 

However, if he is able to do something significant via Ozpin's magic, why didn't Ozpin do that generations ago? Somehow I don't think a younger Ozma closer to the height of his power was in a worse position to attack Salem than a tortured, aura-less kid who unlocked his magic yesterday. The more RWBY reveals about Salem, the more I go, “Okay, but why didn’t his happen [insert any number of years] ago?” 

Did Jaune actually leave? I assume he's just grabbing an airship or something before coming back to drag Oscar away, but seriously where did he go?

There's no way I can approach this scene without throwing up my hands and going, "What? WHY?" Which is a real shame because we finally get to see a bit of what the cane does and it’s... precisely what Ozpin's magic has always done? I mean, we saw that green shield five years ago and now there's a giant white beam. Okay.

If the beam just hits Salem with Generic Magic Power then there was never anything secret about the cane, it’s just, you know, Ozpin’s weapon. If the cane does something significant to hurt her we're left with the question of why it took literal generations to use it. Nothing is making sense to me and the only way I can think to salvage this scene is if Jaune runs back in, snags Oscar like a sack of potatoes, and runs out yelling about how he's clearly suffering from a concussion because what are you trying to accomplish here?

It doesn't help that this moment feels... final. Hazel has managed to hold Salem in place. Oscar has unlocked his cane and lands some mega hit right before Hazel passes out and looses his hold. Not only does this feel like a scene that should be at the end of the volume (we've still got five episodes), but also the end of the series. RWBY is building Salem into an unbeatable enemy by giving her more and more powers, and simultaneously eliminating the stakes by having our currently weakest character (in terms of exhaustion/injuries/aura/training) landing a shot like that. Why would you nerf Salem's threat level like that in the middle of a volume? Especially with a tool our group has had available from the start? If the cane does damage, maybe lead with that in the, “Here’s why we should stay and fight” office conversation. 

I assume that Oscar's hit will obliterate Salem to the point where both he and Hazel have time to escape, or he obliterates both of them (“Do it”) and that's somehow presented as a better choice than just running while Salem is captured, or the bomb will interrupt things somehow... but it's just so shoddily done. At the very least, if they were going to have Oscar refuse to let someone fight alone, have it be an actual friend he's staying to assist. Having Oscar refuse his own rescue to help Hazel has more than one problem attached to it. We can say what we want about RWBY's themes of forgiveness, but this guy was torturing him just a few hours ago while serving Remnant's version of the devil. Just let him sacrifice himself and move on.

And that's where we end. Oscar powering up, the cane getting all magic-y, and him shooting a crazy big blast that engulfs both Salem and Hazel. I can't believe how not excited I am about my farm boy doing something badass, but here we are.

Overall I think this episode was way worse than last week's. We absolutely had problems in "Dark," particularly when it came to the Hound and the group's blind devotion to Ruby, but at least those moments were cushioned by an otherwise decent episode. "Witch" felt like I was watching something closer to a parody of RWBY, one deliberately poking fun at the fandom's desires: erase all conflict for awkward silly times, your favorite villains are instantly good now, the heroes go toe-to-toe with the main antagonist because why not, throw a bunch of magic in there for good measure, and wrap it all up in some over the top "this isn't a fairy tale" lines. I can see the pieces of a much better episode here — Emerald sneaking Oscar out with her semblance, Neo snagging the relic, Flint and Neon, Hazel attacking Salem — but it simply didn't come together.

I know I said this last time, but I have no idea what we're going to do for another five episodes. Salem slowly reforming from bomb damage as the group tries to keep Penny from opening the vault? The grimm attack halted with the whale gone so Qrow can go after Ironwood? The longer this volume runs, the more I think it was a mistake for them to introduce Salem as a fightable antagonist now. RWBY doesn't know what to do with her besides have her inevitably fall in the final season, so until then she's left being stupid (Relic), passive (Mantle), or, likely, written out of the story temporarily so the heroes can turn their attention towards smaller conflicts and weaker foes. They literally can’t beat Salem yet, but they can’t focus on other problems when she’s around without coming across as negligent, so if you have to find ways to erase her to make room for that... what was the point of bringing her here in the first place? We could have established that Salem is bound to her realm and had her send the Hound and whale to attack Atlas. There, all the fun parts of the volume without her complicated presence. 

Well, the next five weeks will certainly be interesting, at the very least... 

Until next time 💜

[Ko-Fi]

[welcometothemxdhouse]

Lectures (pt.3)

I know this took a while i’ve just restarted uni after a year off so it has kinda been chaos. Originally i was only going to make this a three part small fic but i’m actually kinda enjoying thinking about how i’m going to develop Frederick in a timeline outside of the tv show. I want to try and keep his personality as close as possible, and i know there is a dark side to that which i may explore, but mostly this is just me wanting to give him a hug. 

Also just a mention; all the words in italics are like internal thoughts.

This is gender neutral except one line which indicates that reader is female. I wanted to write the line because it is important to me but there was no way for me to make it gender neutral-i’m sorry, i hope you can easily skip over it.

Warnings: Actual smut this time lmao. Nothing crazy just basically oral (male receiving). Also mention of an age-gap/student-professor relationship.

Taglist: @feedthemadness-sweetie​ @prurientpuddlejumper @jonesy201​ @madamsnape921​ @charlottegrice 

Three weeks had been and gone before you were alone with Doctor Chilton again. It was excruciating watching him peacock around the lecture hall twice a week as if nothing had happened-as if you didn't fall asleep every night with the thought of his lips on yours and his hands on your thighs. 

You were snapped out of your daydream by the sounds of annoyed groans, disappointed sighs and an exam paper being dropped on your desk. You looked up just enough to spot the grade written in black ink before dropping your head down into your hands. Fuck, you thought, i’ve really gotta work on that. Before you even had time to consider dropping out for the 100th time this semester, the stern voice of your professor muttered what you’d been hoping to hear for almost a month,

“See me in my office after class.”

It wasn’t a question but a demand and fuck if it didn’t shoot electricity straight to your core. You knew there was a possibility he really did just want to talk about the exam but considering the reactions of everyone around you and the way Doctor Chilton was currently giving them a collective telling-off about how “nobody takes the class seriously” and “no one was proving themselves intelligent enough to be in this class”, you assumed he wanted to see you privately for a different reason. 

You began to pack your things and followed your best friend out of the hall. Ever since you told them about what happened between you and Doctor Chilton they had stopped being so mean to him with everyone else, unfortunately right now they were clearly too angry to care.

“I worked my ASS off for that exam and what? He just decides i’m too dumb to take his class because I misunderstood one question? Which, by the way, was phrased shitty anyway”, you interrupted them by grabbing their arm and dragging them to a halt, “WHAT?” they snapped in response.

“Chilton wants to speak to me about the exam.” you replied. Your friend stopped and stared at you for a second, the smirk rising on their face matching the blush rising on yours. 

“The exam, huh?” 

“Yes. The exam” 

They freed their arm from your grasp and condescendingly patted you on the cheek before turning on their heels and walking away,

“Have fun!” they shouted from down the corridor. Well...at least they stopped being angry for two seconds.

                    ----------------------------------------------------------------

You found yourself, once again, in the corridor outside your professor’s office, only this time the awkwardness of the first meeting was gone. Assuming he wouldn’t have returned from the lecture hall yet you leant against the wall and began mindlessly scrolling on your phone. Your thoughts began to wander to the last time you had been here:

You had just begun to reach down and unbuckle his belt when the sound of a heavy knock on the office door made Doctor Chilton practically jump out of his skin.

Suddenly you became aware of a presence in front of you. You looked up quickly, assuming it was Frederick trying to pull you from your daydreams for the second time today but instead locked eyes with a guy you recognised from one of your classes.

“Hey?” you muttered, trying to wrack your brains for any memory of his name.

“Hi”, he replied, meeting your stare so intently you felt yourself shift uncomfortably on the spot, “I saw you stood here all alone so I assumed you’d want some company”

The actual audacity of men, you laughed to yourself, where the fuck do they get it? 

“I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

He lifted himself off the opposite wall and stepped closer to you, crowding you so close that you subconsciously squeezed your knuckles and held your breath for what was to come.

“If you are going to make out, please do it somewhere other than outside my office.” 

You whipped your head around to see Doctor Chilton standing next to you both nonchalantly, leaning on his cane with one hand and unlocking the door with his other. When he raised his eyes to meet yours you threw him your best ‘i am two seconds away from kicking this guy in the balls’ face before said guy turned his attention back to you,

“Apologies Professor”, he smiled to himself, “you know my name Y/N, message me.” 

You watched the almost-stranger leave before turning back around to meet Doctor Chilton with a sigh,

“I actually don’t know his name.” You whispered, just loud enough for Frederick to hear and you smiled to yourself as he let out a small laugh in return. 

Frederick signalled for you to enter his office first and then closed the door behind the both of you. He paused as if he was debating what to say to you before settling on a quiet,

“Are you okay?”

You wondered briefly if he was normally this gentlemanly. If this is what the real Frederick Chilton was like then his strict, obnoxious image was not doing him any favours. You decided you liked this version better.

“Yeah i’m okay. Not to get all feminist on you but it’s nothing every girl isn’t used to.” you paused and dropped your head to look awkwardly at your shoes, “i guess that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though.”

A painfully long silence followed and you wondered, just like last time, if you’d put him off with your stupid comments. You were just about to apologise when his voice, softer than usual, mumbled

“You can leave if you want, Y/N. I’m not a monster, i’m not going to force you to be here.” 

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you moved to reassure him. You stepped closer to him and rested a hand on his cheek, relishing in the feeling of his stubble scratching your palm as he tilted his head to lean into your touch.

“I want to be here, Doctor Chilton.”

“You can call me Frederick while we’re alone, Y/N”

You reached up on your toes and tentatively pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, Frederick.”

You moved to pull away until Frederick grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you back to him, moaning softly as you lightly bit his bottom lip after a few seconds to deepen the kiss. His hands moved to circle your waist as he walked you back towards the door, reaching behind him and twisting the lock. As soon as you heard the click in the door you detached yourself from Frederick and smiled as you heard him whine quietly at the sudden loss of contact. You grabbed his hand and lead him to his desk, pulling the chair out from behind it and pushing him down to sit. As soon as his legs hit the chair you saw his body stiffen and his eyes began darting around the room, looking anywhere that wasn’t at you. Your stomach twisted in a knot as a million worries passed through your mind within seconds. 

“Frederick...? What’s wrong?”

“I just...”, he flicked his eyes back to you and away again, “I don’t do this often.”

Your breath hitched as you realised what the issue was. He was nervous. This handsome, smart, sexy professor was nervous about having sex with you. Damn this man and his adorableness. If your time alone with Frederick so far had taught you anything it was how easy it was to forget this man was your senior by a substantial amount of years. You momentarily wondered what happened in the course of his life to make him have to cover this shy, awkward, sweet personality with the one that makes everyone hate him. You must be so lonely, Frederick Chilton. You walked over to the desk and perched on the edge, the irony not lost on you later that all three of your first encounters began with you on one of his desks. You leant forward and traced his jaw with your index finger,

“If you don’t want this, we can stop.”

“No i do want this, i want you.” He paused again, “i made you wait three weeks...i don’t want to disappoint you.”

He hardly had time to finish his sentence before you surged forward and captured his lips again. The height difference between the desk and the chair meant his neck was exposed to you above his collar as he reached up to match the energy of the kiss. You dipped your head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his jawline, the whimpers and groans that slipped out of his mouth made shock-after-shock fire down to your core. Watching “Professor Chilton” outside of this office would never have given you a clue that he would be as submissive as he seemed to be now. You made a mental note to explore that later on if this ever happened again. Oh this is definitely going to happen again. As you moved off the desk Frederick’s hands instinctively went to rest on your thighs like the last time you were in this position. You, however, had other ideas. You shuffled to your feet then rapidly dropped to your knees. Frederick’s eyes widened and you heard his breath catch in his throat as he realised what you were doing.

“Fuck Y/N” he groaned, looking down and almost coming in his pants at the sight of you with your dishevelled hair and kiss-swollen lips reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“Is this okay...” ,you asked, stilling your hands and peering up from under your lashes, “sir?”

The moan that came out of Frederick as you simultaneously brushed your hand over the bulge in his trousers was positively abhuman and shit it was hot. You undid the button and zipper on his trousers before pulling them down just enough to lift his dick out of his underwear. If you weren’t dripping before then you certainly were now. You had no idea how he could ever be worried about disappointing you with a dick the size of his - your jaw was practically aching just looking at it. With no hesitation you settled back on your heels and began kitten-licking the tip before licking a stripe along the underside of his dick and taking him into your mouth. Frederick grunted and moaned above you as you took him deeper with every dip of your head, eventually gagging slightly when he hit the back of your throat. The sound of that alone made Frederick grasp the back of your hair with both hands and pull you off him in a panic,

“If you keep doing that i’m gonna..” he stuttered, embarrassed. When you looked up at him he was so flustered it was almost sweet. You wrapped one hand back around his dick and reached around to place your other hand on top of his on the back of your head.

“Come for me, sir” 

You tapped the hand on the back of your head as a signal for him to push your head back down and you took him in your mouth again, bobbing up and down with even more ferocity, scraping your teeth lightly along his veins a few times. You felt his dick throb against your tongue and you moaned, hoping the vibrations would be what he needed to push him over the edge.

“Shit Y/N i’m...” and with one last bob of your head you felt his come hit the back of your throat and you instinctively swallowed.

You pulled off Frederick with a obscene ‘popping’ noise before meeting his eyes and licking your lips, making sure he knew you’d taken every last drop. You buttoned up his trousers and raised yourself to perch back on the desk-you wanted to revel in the scene in front of you for a second. Frederick was a mess. He was breathing heavy and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. His hair was sticking up in every direction and his hands had settled to rest on his thighs as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop them from shaking. He wasn’t lying, he really doesn’t do this often.

“What is the saying? Take a picture, it will last longer?” he snarled, clearly off-put by your staring.

“Maybe one day i will.” You smiled as you hopped off the desk and nudged his legs open with your knee so you could stand between them. You bent down and pressed a heavy kiss to his lips before walking towards the door.

“See you soon, Frederick”.

[collecting-stories]

Peace - pt. 04 - Rafe Cameron

Summary: The moments leading up to your wedding to Rafe.

A/N: I’m so sad to see this series end honestly, I’ve so loved writing this version of Rafe. Could probably write him like this forever😂 (I should note that I truly hate the Reagan’s but I do admire the love they had for each other and that’s why I reference them.)

One Thing Right Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

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Rafe’s first apartment in Boston was a little generic. It was sleek though, modern, like someone had plucked it right out of a magazine and stuck it, piece for piece, into his living space. And it stayed that way for almost three years and then you left your coat hanging in the hall closet. It was banana yellow and looked like it belonged in a Paddington Bear book. But it was just one jacket and when he closed the closet door no one could tell the difference.  

But then a toothbrush popped up, green against his color coordinated grays. A pair of sneakers you wore to the gym sat in his bedroom, a pastel rainbow of colors highlighting the white of everything else. They were small though, little minute changes that he could hide away until slowly, maybe without him even realizing it, you were all over the apartment. A dog bed for Fivel, throw blankets that you somehow smuggled into his place and never took home, by New Years his apartment looked more lived in than it had in three years prior.  

It wasn’t just your things that made their way into Rafe’s apartment though. It was you. Somewhere between a one-night stand in college, a first date, and your second New Years eve together, you had made room for yourself in Rafe’s life. The somewhat generic party boy that had coasted through every other aspect of his life, relationships included, was suddenly thinking more than a week in advance.  

He was thinking about houses, about where you could live together. A place that was yours and his, that was a space you both chose, you both decorated, you both lived in together. He thought about actual schedules, yours and his, but he thought far in advance to. What it would be like to come home from work at night and spend time with you. Watching dumb TV shows and eating take out and trying to cook and buying groceries together. It was all on his mind, all the time.  

He’d taken up showing you houses now, brownstones in Beacon Hill that had enough bedrooms for kids, “I liked the one with the garden.” You said, passing Rafe his phone back.  

That was new, at least in the last year that you were together. Topper had been the first one to say something about it when he’d been up to visit for Rafe’s 27th birthday. Sitting there on the couch watching the game, talking about what bars they were going to hit up.

“I can check...” Rafe patted his pocket for his phone, “babe, do you have my phone?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Mine died and I plugged it in the bathroom.” You had walked into the room like it was nothing and handed over Rafe’s phone and Topper just sat there in mild shock. There hadn’t been a time in their friendship that Topper could pinpoint Rafe ever letting anyone use his phone. Just looking at the lock screen ran the risk of incrimination.  

“He lets you use his phone?”

“As long as I don’t look at the messages his other girlfriends send him.” You joked, your sentence dissolving into laughter when Rafe tripped you and pulled you down into his lap.  

“I don’t want to sound like a broken record here but...you’re just totally different man.” Topper confessed later once the two of them went out bar hopping. A school day the next morning demanded that you stay in but you waved them off and told them to have fun. Topper had been friends with Rafe since high school and he had seen all the bad sides of him. The excessive drinking, the recreational drug use, “I’ve never even known you to be monogamous.”  

Rafe shrugged. It was probably true but there in the bar, where any other time, regardless of a girlfriend, he would’ve been more than happy to get some attention, he was just drinking, texting you sporadically. “I don’t know. I gave her a key to my place over Christmas.” He admitted, “I think I'm losing my mind.”

“That might not be a bad thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.”

Two months later, in March, when Rafe suggested, for the first time, that you should live together you had assumed he meant in one of your apartments. Yours was smaller than his so you figured it would be ruled out immediately. But you didn’t necessarily love his apartment building and the co-op that owned it could be a little strict for your taste. But Rafe didn’t mention either apartment. Or anything more on the matter until April when he asked what you thought about a brownstone while you were walking Fivel.  

“Kind of big for two people and a dog.” You joked, slowing down in front of one of the brownstones in Beacon Hill. They were beautiful, the epitome of Boston life, a dream you’d definitely let yourself have before.  

“What if we’re not two people and a dog forever?”  

Rafe had a way of asking questions that sent your head spinning with all the giddy hope and optimism you thought you’d packed away when you decided that traditional life and milestones weren’t for you. When you knew for sure that people who got married for 30, 40, 50 years were just flukes, it wasn’t something to aspire to because it was never going to happen to you. The cynicism had been easy for a long time but then, whenever you were with Rafe, you felt like it was melting away.  

He told you to look at brownstones, see if there were any for sale that the two of you thought could fit into your life. You looked on the cheaper side of things while Rafe was more realistic about his finances. And yours, you had told him around the same time as Ian’s wedding that your grandparents had set up a substantial trust for you that deposited to your account monthly. Enough that working was just because you wanted to.  

It was no surprise that it was Rafe who found a house. A beautiful brownstone right in Beacon Hill with a garden entry, nestled back from the street, between two other homes,  the courtyard in the front. It was gutted inside, closer to your proposed budget but it would require enough of an overhaul that you and Rafe would be putting a decent amount into renovations.  

“You said you liked the one with the garden.” And somehow it became the second real argument you had. Silly, because you both loved the place. But you seemed willing to resist, to hold out even though he knew you wanted it.  

You had sent pictures to your mom, saved images on Pinterest boards of all the house inspiration you could find, had bookmarked different tiles and wallpapers and furniture stores. And yet every time he mentioned it you said you weren’t sure.  

“We’re supposed to sign today to buy it.” Rafe complained as you stalled. He was pulling his coat on and his scarf, the temperature drop in Boston was a nightmare, especially for Rafe. He hated the winter, and the fall, and part of the spring.

“I’m just not positive.”

“What’s the matter with it this time?” He asked, a little more than exasperated honestly.  

You sighed, sitting down on the bar stool in Rafe’s kitchen. You knew what was the matter, the same thing that was the problem every time that you thought about the brownstone a little too long. “What if something happens?”  

“What do you mean?”  

“What if something happens between us? What if we start renovating and you hate all the stuff I like or what if we move in and you break up with me-“

“Can I ask why I’m doing all these things?” He asked, walking back over to where you were sitting, turning the seat of your stool so that he could cage you in a little. “What if you hate the stuff I like or you break up with me?”

“That’s ridiculous.” You dismissed.  

“Yeah and it’s ridiculous for you to think that stuff about me.” He replied, “look, I get it. I’ve never taken anything seriously before. All the shit my dad says about me is true but this,” He waved his hand between the two of you, “there’s nothing I want more than this. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, “but I want pink cabinets in the kitchen or no deal.”  

Rafe smiled, shaking his head before. “Whatever you want.”

“That’s dangerous.” You teased, leaning forward in your chair and tilting your head up a little, silently asking him for a kiss which he happily reciprocated. “I love you, I just freak myself out sometimes.”

The brownstone took six months to finish, six months of meetings with a contractor, six months of walking through half finished abstractions and picking out tile and flooring and cabinets and paint. Six months of talking about color schemes and trying to convince Rafe that the pink velvet sofa was moving into the house.  

And somehow, during those six months, it wasn’t Rafe’s modern, spacious, sleek apartment that you co-habituated in but your apartment. Smaller, brighter, more homely. Rafe’s lease ended before yours and he wasn’t sure how you convinced him but he moved out of his apartment, sold furniture he didn’t care about, and moved into yours.  

-

The brownstone wasn’t the only thing that occupied Rafe’s mind during those six months. Between work and renovations Rafe had started spending an unhealthy amount of time looking at rings. There was a significant difference between what he knew you would like (which he had to base solely on what he knew about you because damn it if you never brought up a wedding at all) and what he would’ve liked to give you. He considered asking but he thought that might be in bad taste, who asks someone to help with their own proposal. So he did the next best thing he could think of.  

“This is so exciting.” Nina’s high pitched whisper was hardly a whisper at all, far too invested in this ‘no one could see them talking’ conspiracy. She claimed it was for your benefit, to keep the secret a little longer, but Rafe had a better idea that it was just so she could boast about having helped after the fact. “God, this one is beautiful.”  

“I thought she’d like it, it’s not very traditional and it’s something she’d feel comfortable wearing at work.” Rafe replied. He decided that was an important criteria. You didn’t wear a lot of jewellery solely because you worried about six year old hands grabbing at it or losing it throughout the day.  

“I like it, I think she’d really love it.” Nina replied honestly, “you should just go with your gut, you know what she likes.”

“I just second guess myself.”  

“Well don’t, you guys are…it’s nice, to see her with someone that makes her happy. She used to be so stressed all the time with Ian and he was always such a dick to her.” Nina commented. She let Rafe take his laptop back, the two of them sitting at a table in the Starbucks near your apartment.  

The ring was modest and, for lack of a better word, delicate. It had been the first one he’d seen that he’d felt confident about and hearing Nina confirm that you would love it reassured that anxious feeling in his gut. He didn’t know how to explain it in a way that made sense, that didn’t sound like some cliché sound bite, but this wasn’t something he ever thought about it. He had friends who thought about stuff like that, who made plans or thought further ahead than a week but he had never been one of them. Topper had been right, this wasn’t him. Or, not the version of him that he had been before.  

“You have plans to propose?” Nina asked, sipping her latte and watching Rafe so casually ordering the ring right there in Starbucks like it was a pair of shoes.  

“The house is done in two months so, I was thinking about waiting until then.” He shrugged.  

“You’re gonna ask her to marry you just, in your house?”  

“It’ll be first thing, kinda a ‘here’s our house, marry me’ thing. Why?” He asked. Rafe thought it was a pretty good idea. Take you to the house for one last walk through before you officially moved and ask you to marry right on the rooftop deck that you loved so much.  

“Just wondered,” Nina replied. “You were so worried about the ring, I expected you to be more unsure about everything.”  

“I knew the brownstone was the spot when we toured it with the realtor.” He replied, matter of fact. “Obviously don’t say anything.”  

“I won’t, I promise.”

-

Rafe could’ve asked you about a ring, a wedding, future kids, and you probably still wouldn’t have put two and two together. It wasn’t that you didn’t think about those things because you did. It was like flipping on a TV that was only playing a series of ex machina broadcasts. Even if you weren’t thinking about it immediately it crept in. When Anya had told you about her honeymoon you immediately wondered what your own might be like, if it would ever happen. When a new class of kids started and a name stuck out to you as one you liked you’d start to wonder about your own future children.  

You thought about the future to an overwhelming degree and you always had. But you didn’t think that Rafe did. Or, more accurately, you didn’t want to think about whether or not he did. What if dating was enough? What if the brownstone was enough? Your mom always spooked you with the same advice, “never move in with a guy before you’re engaged or you’ll never get married”.  

You only broached the subject once, laying on the couch after a day of parent-teacher conferences and watching the Bachelorette because it was ridiculous and you needed ridiculous television.  

“You could audition for this show.” You called as Rafe came out of the bedroom, changed out of his work clothes (slacks, button downs, you were truly blessed to see both sides of his wardrobe as often as you did).  

“For…” he looked at the screen as he pulled his Duke University shirt over his head, “for the bachelorette?”

“Yeah, I bet you’d be like, a fan favorite.”  

“I don’t know how you watch this, it’s all manufactured.”  

“It’s kinda nice though, I mean they all get right to the point.” You replied.  

“Saying ‘I wanna marry that person’ before they even know each other is dumb. Very rarely does that happen in real life.” Rafe said, walking into the kitchen.  

“Will you make me popcorn? Also, it’s not dumb…you’ve never met someone and been like ‘that’s the one’ right off the bat?” You called.  

Rafe grabbed the popcorn out of the cabinet, Fivel appearing at his feet at the sound of rattling. “Did you feed Five?” He asked, already opening the fridge to grab his food.  

“Only dry food before I walked him.” You called back, “you didn’t answer my question.”  

“Your question is a trap.” He replied.  

You sat up, leaning over the back of the couch so that you could see him in the kitchen. “It is not!”  

Rafe only hummed, ignoring you as you flopped back onto the couch to watch Chris Harrison announce that the guys were flying to Ireland for the next leg of the competition. Rafe looked back over at the TV before putting your popcorn in the microwave. Fivel ate and then headed into the living room, jumping up on the wing chair that you always kept a heating pad and blankets on. Somewhere in all the domesticity of his life Rafe had stopped thinking so much about the differences. He didn’t dwell too much on the kid he’d been in North Carolina and just let himself enjoy doing absolutely nothing with you on a Tuesday night, watch trash TV and talking about all the stuff you had to do in the upcoming weeks.  

He carried the bowl of popcorn into the living room with a beer and a diet coke, depositing everything on the coffee table. He turned the heating pad on for Fivel before sitting on the other end of the couch from you, your socked feet tucking under his thigh. “College,” Rafe said, glancing over at you.

“What?” You sat up a little bit, moving away from him only to move closer.  

“When I saw you in the stairwell at Duke. I was pretty sure.” He replied. Pretty sure was an understatement. If there was one thing that Rafe was positive about it was that he had known then and there, as you stood on the other side of the door in the cold, or maybe before that even, when you first walked into his line of view, that you were it. He would’ve chased that feeling forever if he’d never gotten a second chance at it.  

“I was so nervous that night...I thought like worse case, you were gonna try to take advantage of me,” you pointed out.  

“There goes my credibility.”  

“Well, in hindsight, we did sleep together. But you’re just…I don’t know. Especially in college. I don’t think I’ve ever met a person in my entire life who so embodies the phrase ‘I get what I want’ but you certainly did then.” You replied. He still did now but you didn’t want to give him too much of an ego boost.

“I’d say I can’t argue but you never did call me back.”  

“Yeah well you’ve got me now.” You teased.  

Rafe had told Nina he had it all figured out. In two months he would propose to you, in the house you bought together, and it would be romantic and thoughtful and planned. And all of it went out the window for a Tuesday night in a cramped apartment watching the Bachelorette and eating popcorn.  

“Marry me.”  

“What?” You looked away from the group date that was dissolving into chaos on the screen. You had to shift back a little to look at him because when you’d moved you’d leaned your whole body against his.  

“Marry me.” He repeated, that same confidence that had been seeped in every word that he spoke when he flirted with you in college was there now, as if he was just so incredibly sure of himself. “I was gonna wait another two months to ask but I’d rather not.”  

“Okay, yea, yes.” You nodded. You felt like a whirlwind was going in your mind, all the things you wanted to happen, the things you pretended not to think about, that you spent far too much time on, came rushing forward as you kissed him, unconcerned with the TV or anything other than your boyfriend in that moment.  

Rafe kissed you back, pulling you over his lap, hands on your hips. He was all for a quiet Tuesday but he certainly wouldn’t complain about having this instead. “Bedroom?”  

“Yes sir.” You replied, arms wrapped around his shoulders and smiling against his mouth. Your grip tightened when Rafe stood suddenly, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you into the bedroom.  

You had teased him the first time you toured your future home that he would have to buy a really good couch for the living room so he wouldn’t have to carry you up a flight of stairs. He’d only replied that he would have to put an elevator in.  

-

“You didn’t ask about a ring,” Rafe pointed out, laying in bed with you, hand holding yours over his chest.  

“What do you mean?”  

“People usually propose with a ring.”  

“Oh,” you scrunched your nose up and pressed your forehead against his shoulder, you hadn’t even thought about a ring. Anything that wasn’t solely Rafe had gone out of your head without much effort, your sole focus on him and the fact that he’d asked you to marry him. There was nothing else you could even imagine thinking of in that moment. “I totally forgot.”  

“I was going to propose at the house, when we moved in,” he commented, tightening his grip around your waist as if he could pull you any closer.  

“That would’ve been really nice.”  

“I know.” He had it all planned perfectly, “so I won’t have a ring for another month or so.”  

“You shouldn’t have mentioned it then! I might not’ve even realized it.” You teased.

“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t have.” Rafe replied, “you probably would’ve forgotten we were engaged. I could’ve re-proposed.” 

“You should’ve, you could’ve made it more romantic.” 

“What can I say,” he shrugged, “I’m impatient.”

“That’s okay,” you reasoned because honestly it was fine. This was good enough, “you just couldn’t resist me.”  

“Yeah that’s what it was.”  

“Hey!” You laughed, untangling yourself to sit up in bed, “hey, did you have a speech and everything? Was it gonna be like, really sappy?”  

“I did have a speech, yes.” Rafe replied. “It was pretty good too.” And it should’ve been, he had drafts saved on his phone of different possible speeches he could’ve given you.  

“Are you gonna not read it to me now?”  

“It’s on my phone.”  

“Easy fix.” Before he could grab you, you had gotten off the bed, running out to the living room. You made it to the other side of the door before you ducked back in, grabbing Rafe’s shirt off the ground. “Mrs. Murphy is home.”  

“Flash her, she’d love it.” Rafe joked, laughing when you threw up the middle finger at him as you left the room.  

Your window ‘neighbor’ was a retired older lady who liked to sit in her living room and pretend to watch TV. In actuality she had angled her TV just so that she would be able to watch all the windows on the building beside hers, your building, and she’d caught you in some fairly compromising positions since you had started dating Rafe. She was happy to peep and you were pretty sure Rafe purposely walked around the living room naked or next to naked just to give her a show but you most definitely were not.  

“Is it in your notes?” You asked, coming back into the room with Rafe’s phone in your hands, swiping through apps.  

“I’ll get it, give me my phone.” He offered, holding his hand out.  

“I wanna read it.”  

“I’ll read it to you.” Rafe replied.  

“Fine.” You climbed up on the bed, hand pressed against the arched ceiling above your head to keep your balance, Rafe’s shirt riding up. When you got close enough he wrapped a hand around the back of your thigh, pulling and causing you to fall into his lap, knees on either side of him. “I was this close to kneeing you,” you said, holding your thumb and forefinger almost together as indication.  

“But you didn’t.” Rafe took the phone from you, searching his notes to find the speech he’d drafted.  

-

Though you were sure Mrs. Murphy was sad to see you go you were practically bouncing at the prospect of the new house. A house. The word felt so foreign. And maybe because you’d packed up all those silly childhood dreams ages ago when you decided that you would never be the type of person to meet someone that felt so wholly part of you. Nina got the childhood sweetheart life you’d wanted for so long and when you finally cancelled those plans and put your focus on a life that revolved around you and Fivel things like houses felt silly.  

But there it was, something you’d only ever walked passed before. Three stories of space, four bedrooms, an office space, a kitchen that looked fit for the pages of a magazine. Rafe was sorting through books to put on the shelves in the living room space, and you were tackling the kitchen while Fivel napped on the back patio space.  

“We should have an engagement party here.” You called over the music you had turned on. “Honestly we could have the whole wedding here.”  

“I think we might need a little bit more space for a wedding.” Rafe replied, leaving the books in boxes momentarily to find you in the kitchen. You were on the floor, unpacking the pots and pans and loading them into the lower cabinets.  

“I saw this post that this woman and her partner had a small wedding and did a lot of diy stuff and then saved all their money for the honeymoon.” You replied. “If we time it right we could honeymoon in the summer.”  

“That’s fine with me.” Rafe shrugged, “you’ll be planning by yourself though, I’m going to Beijing in May, for the-“

“For that whatever thing your boss is having you do.” You cut him off, leaning back against his legs, “Lucky you. And don’t think for a second that I won’t harass you every day with emails and texts and facetime asking about what venue should we rent, where should we get pictures, what should we eat.”  

“Can’t wait,” Rafe laughed, “we’ll figure something out. Though I do like this small wedding you're talking about.”  

“That’s cause you hate everyone.” You replied.  

Rafe was a party person in the sense that he liked showing off and parties gave him the opportunity but he was not fond of too many people. Polite, friendly even, sure, but he wasn’t rushing to plan too many outings that didn’t immediately benefit him in some way. The only close friends he had were from childhood.  

“Fine then, we’ll have a big wedding.” He shrugged, stepping away from you and causing you to grab the floor before you fell on your back.  

“No,” you groaned, “I don’t like people either.”  

“I’ll only be gone a month; we’ll figure out the wedding details and all that shit.”  

“All that shit.” You repeated, getting up off the ground and walking over to him.  

“What?” He asked, skeptical as you smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and tilting your head back slightly to get him to kiss you.  

“We’re living together.”

“We have been living together.” He pointed out, just barely kissing you, nose brushing yours.  

“Yeah, but this is our house.”  

-

The wedding was small, exactly the way you both wanted. Rafe’s sisters were there by Ward and Rose stayed in North Carolina. Your family came and a few friends, you skipped inviting anyone from work aside from Anya, who came alone. The small church in was in Western Massachusetts, in your hometown, decorated with wild flowers and greens.  

“Topper,” you whispered, waving your soon-to-be husband’s best friend, and best man, over to where you were, peeking out of the pastor’s office. You were almost completely ready, all you needed was your veil and you’d be ready to walk down the aisle. Rafe was already in the chapel, talking with your family as they waited for the pression to start.  

“Hey,” Topper came over, giving you a quick hug. He’d arrived yesterday and you hadn’t gotten the chance to seen him because you were staying at your sister’s. You had made Rafe swear that the two of you were going to spend your pre-wedding night separate. “Cold feet? Want me to stall so you can make a getaway?” He teased.

“No.” You laughed, “will you get Rafe for me though?”  

“Yeah.” He squeezed you in a hug one more time, kissing your forehead before pulling away, “you look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you.”  

Topper disappeared back into the chapel, walking up the aisle to where Rafe was, whispering in his best friend’s ear that you wanted him. Rafe glanced down the aisle, as if he could see you through the doors. He clapped Topper on the shoulder and headed down the aisle into the vestibule where the pastor’s office was. A few stragglers were chatting as he passed them, coming to the door and knocking.  

You opened the door enough that he could just see you, your robe obscuring the dress you were wearing. “Hi.”

“Hey, you trying to cancel the wedding on me?” He teased.  

“No, god, don’t listen to Topper.” You laughed, “I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“Rafe!” You pouted, glaring at him.  

He placed his hand on the back of your neck, leaning in to kiss you, “hey, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Rafe promised, kissing you one last time before letting go, heading back into the chapel.  

Everything felt like a blur that fast forwarded to the vows, standing there at the top of the church, pastor in front of you and crowd of family and friends sitting, watching, as Rafe read off the index cards he’d written his vows on. He’d obsessed over them, from the moment you said yes until now, he’d gone over them and over them and back over them. What if he said the wrong thing, what if he sounded stupid or insincere? But you were looking at him like he’d hung the stars, like no one had ever looked at him before.  

He took a deep breath before beginning, “one time at your parents' house you tried to tell me about something Nancy Reagan said to her husband and I know I cut you off then but when we went home afterward, I read up on the President and his wife and I don’t know exactly what you intended to say but in a letter to Nancy, Reagan said ‘I more than love you, I’m not whole without you. You are life itself to me. When you are gone I’m waiting for you to return so I can start living again.’ When I saw you across the street, waiting outside the restaurant on our first date that was it for me. I knew in the stairwell of Duke that you were it and when you messaged me the first time after that I knew I was never letting this go…”

You listened to his vows, blinking furiously as you tried not to cry. It was a useless attempt, by the second sentence you could feel the tears, probably soaking through makeup that you’d have to redo before pictures.  

“You never told me you read that,” you laughed, trying your best not to cry, “damn it.”

Rafe smiled, that same smugness he always had when he did something he knew you would undeniably love. You pressed the folded piece of paper to your chest, taking a breath before steadily unfolding it and looking down at your handwriting scrawled in successive paragraphs, all collections of feelings.  

“Okay,” you breathed, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop crying and then down again at the papers...

-

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